Page 74 of Saddle and Scent
The same word that's been following us around for a decade.
The same excuse, the same deflection, the same refusal to actually address what's broken between us.
"Then uncomplicate it," the woman counters, her tone sharp with impatience.
The suggestion seems to surprise them.
I can feel the shift in the room's energy, the way all three of them go still like they've been called out on something they weren't expecting to defend.
"It's not like we're not interested in her," Beckett says finally, and there's something careful in his voice, like he's testing the waters of a conversation he's not sure he should be having.
"No shit," the doctor replies with the kind of blunt honesty that makes me want to cheer. "That's pretty obvious with how you guys nagged me to do a home visit despite me having a twelve-month waitlist."
Twelve months?
They convinced a doctor with a twelve-month waitlist to make a house call?
How the hell did they manage that?
And more importantly, what did they say to her that made my situation sound urgent enough to bump everyone else in line?
"I'm thankful that you made it a priority to come at Beckett's father's request," Callum says, and there's genuine gratitude in his voice. "But things are complicated because this isn't a simple thing to fix. There's history, and hurt, and..."
He trails off, apparently unable or unwilling to finish the thought.
Unable to put into words the decade of damage that stretches between us like a chasm that might be too wide to bridge.
I hear the doctor huff, followed by the sound of her gathering things—the snap of a medical bag closing, the rustle of papers being shuffled.
"All you Alphas are the same," she says, and there's a weariness in her voice that speaks of experience with exactly this kind of situation. "Let me guess. You douche bags were probably head over heels for this Omega, and you fucked it up. Fucked it up so badly that she probably said 'fuck y'all' and ditched, and then you guys have been miserable ever since."
The accuracy is breathtaking.
And devastating.
And somehow both validating and humiliating at the same time.
Because yes, that's exactly what happened.
But hearing it laid out so clinically, so matter-of-factly, makes it sound both more and less significant than it felt at the time.
When none of them answer—because what could they possibly say to that level of brutal honesty?—she sighs, and I can hear her moving toward what I assume is the door.
"I'll take my leave," she says. "Make sure she follows the medication schedule I've outlined, and call if her condition changes."
"Wait," Wes says, and there's something desperate in his voice that makes my chest tight. "How did you know that? About what happened between us?"
The doctor's laugh is short and humorless.
"Because you Alphas are all the same," she repeats. "You get scared of commitment, scared of responsibility, scared of actually having to be worthy of the Omega you claim to want. So you fuck around, waste time, make excuses, and then act surprised when the Omega gets tired of waiting for you to grow up."
Her words hit directly like a shot fired at a target.
Bullseye.
Because those words are true.
They cut right to the heart of everything I've spent ten years trying not to think about.
