Page 86 of Knot Just A Fan

She swallows instinctively but sputters, spitting up a bit of soda. But I think she got the pill down in time.

Now all I can do is cradle her, rock her, and wait.

“Please, Briella. Please be okay. You’re my Omega. You’re our Omega. I will never forgive myself. But I hope, someday, you can forgive me.”

Tears sting the corners of my eyes. I lean over her and kiss her breathing mouth, then place my lips against her shoulder atthe base of her neck, and mark her. Gentle, soft, but hopefully hard enough that she can feel it, even in her state.

“God above,” I whisper.

One corner of her mouth creeps up in the smallest of smiles. Her eyes flutter open for a second.

“I’m marking you next,” I swear she says, before her head falls back again, her eyes rolling up into her head.

She is mine. And I will be hers. I will not let her go.

Ash, Cami, and I are huddled in the A&E waiting room. We’ve done our pacing. Now we’re just unable to do anything but sit in silence. My phone buzzes with a text from Kyren.

Has Philippe shown up? Mac says he’s the best. Fingers crossed, mate.

I shoot back a quick reply. Kyren’s been a life-saver, hooking us up with his buddy Mac’s old colleague here. He was just starting his shift when Briella came in. I’ve had a few texts from Grayson who I can tell is fucking livid that he’s had to stay behind, but I just said I’d call him the second we know.

The buzzing of the phone broke a spell. Cami looks up at me, the magazine on her lap sitting unopened. “Has your tour manager blown a gasket yet?”

To be honest, I can’t believeAshhasn’t. He’s changed, in a matter of days. He looks dazed but he hasn’t been on his phone nonstop like usual. He’s just staring at his hand entwined with Cami’s.

Though to be fair, he put his endless skills to the test while negotiating on my phone with the promoter and texting Alejandro updates simultaneously. The gig is only postponed by two hours right now, and the crowd outside waiting to be let in is sitting in a queue singing our songs. Somehow social media knows about Briella, and some are chanting, “Get well, Briella.”

I feel sick about her. And how when we go in to see her and she realizes the show isn’t on, she will curse our names to highest heaven that we delayed because of her.

And that’s why she’s our Omega. She’s got to be. Because she’s selfless, and compassionate, and feels things as deeply as—well, as I hope I do. But she’s a step way ahead, because she can articulate them, and find a way through them. Even if that way is letting down a wall so you see her cry. That’s a strength I don’t have. I just put walls up and hide behind them.

I want to learn from her. And I want to protect her with my life. I can’t believe how ignorant, how willfully blind I’ve been, and how much heartache I’ve caused her.

Especially when I think back to what I said to Cami all those years ago.

I shoot her a look now. We’ve never talked about this since. I dare to hope she’s forgotten.

“We should keep her overnight for observation. But I see no reason she can’t be discharged in the morning. Will someone be staying with her?”

I’m grateful that everyone we’ve spoken to here has impeccable English. And ashamed that none of us can string more than a few French phrases together, but they leap right over this and explain everything clearly.

Briella will be okay.

She will be discharged.

Cami’s telling Philippe she’ll stay with her, sleep in a chair by the bed. She turns to Ash and hurriedly directs him to get the show moving and that everyone can come by afterwards.

I’m still digesting what Ash told me during the wait about Willow showing up with a lawyer and two other dudes, demanding we sign paperwork in the middle of our sound check, stating she is to receive one-fourth of all tour earnings as well as for the next five years’ worth of tours, in lieu the support she would’ve had had we made her our Omega and wife as had been “verbally promised” by Gray two decades ago.

Apparently Gray laughed in Willow’s face, and she began a yelling match that got ugly. Then Alejandro came out and a battle of words commenced.

At six-foot-seven and weighing about the same as an entire rugby club, Alejandro’s not an Alpha to fuck with. But Willow didn’t back down. She didn’t ever want us, our hearts, our bodies, our protection, or our pack. She just wanted security, knowing she’d always have a cut of any pie we might someday be served. And now that that day’s come and we’re close enough by for her to put on a show that she cares—well, she clearly isn’t happy that it failed.

Maybe her business isn’t doing so well after all.

My head throbs at these thoughts but it’s all secondary to our Omega in that room.

“Are you the family?”

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