Page 64 of Haze

Again, Dinah shakes her head as she rolls down the blanket. “None of your tests, early or recently, have detected anything to lead us to believe you were ever or currently are pregnant. We can’t know if your pill worked or if it was a perfectly normal reason.”

Emotions hit me hard. Disappointment, happiness, and relief cycle through my body in waves, making me shudder.

I wipe tears from my eyes. “Good.”

“But.” Dinah holds out her hand, and I give her my wrist. She looks at her watch, reading my pulse, before biting her bottom lip. “There’s a chance the pills caused so much damage to your reproductive system that it’ll be too great for your wolf to heal.” Heavy sympathy laces her words.

“You’re saying...” My lips move, but the words don’t come out.

Dinah nods, squeezing my hand, and I watch the strongest woman I know fight tears out of her own eyes. “Pregnancy might not be an option for you. Lena, I’ve looked. I can’t see anything definite. I think taking care of yourself, avoiding stress, and embracing your wolf over the next few weeks may be key.”

Her tears trigger my own, and I can’t stop them as a few leak down my face. Pulling my hand from hers, I wipe them away.

‘Might’ and ‘chance’ don’t make for certainties. But wolves have healed extreme traumas before. There’s no reason this couldn’t be one of those cases where it takes longer. I squash my emotions deep down. I don’t need to waste energy on a game of probability. Dinah’s gift of future sight means she sometimes gets a clear picture of what your future holds, and other times, her guess is as good as the next person’s.

She’s used her gift to see, and she’s medically evaluated me. Uncertainty is better odds than no.

* * *

Dinah’s run a number of tests for the ‘sixty-ninth time,’ she claims as she giggles. Apparently, with each passing minute of wakefulness, it’s a good sign I may be out of the woods. The swelling and pain in my abdomen aren’t alarming, according to Dinah, despite being abnormal. It’s up to my wolf to help me heal.

Giving me a hand as I sit up, Dinah offers to send me real food before sending off the newest set of samples to my lab associate, Nikki, for analysis. Dinah’s assured me they’ve kept my paperwork limited to Nikki for privacy. I’m glad out of all the people they picked, it was her. We’ve been friends-ish for a while. I’m not sure I’m doing friends quite right, but she seems happy with my presence and texts me first sometimes.

Cade isn’t the one who comes back in when Dinah leaves. Finn’s large frame strides through the door. The dress shirt he’s chosen today is green, which makes his brown eyes brighter when a smile paints his face in what looks like it should be joy.

“Faolan, it’s good to see you.”

The dam I use to stave off my emotions is hit hard by a raging river of disappointment. Tears stream down my face, and I can’t hold back the sobs. Self-loathing and shame come with the reminder that I’ll be responsible for telling him I’ve possibly become worthless as a mate. I am a submissive and might be unable to bear his pups.

“Shhh.” Finn scoops me up from the bed and pulls me into his lap.

I’m curled up, crying into his shirt, before I can even tell him my failures.

The replay of Dinah’s voice stings. The words come again and again: There’s a chance the pills caused so much damage to your reproductive system that it’ll be too great for your wolf to heal.

With my wolf still tucked away from the sedative, I can’t feel Finn’s wolf nor the bond that was weaving between us. I’m a disappointment on every level. I can’t feel the rejection right now. He’s holding me like he has some sort of care for me. Truly, why would he want me even after all the trouble I’ve put him through?

His arms around me draw warmth through my body. This will all go away. Wait until he knows the truth. I’ll miss this when he’s gone. I had thought the feeling of being cared for through my heat would be the hardest thing to get over. But that’s a little more than two weeks a year. This intimacy, comfort, of letting someone touch me will hurt more when it’s ripped away.

Like when Icarus flew too close to the sun, I’m now facing the fall. I’ll lose both my ability to have children and my mate, all from two little pills.

“Kathleen,” Finn whispers.

His voice infiltrates the sounds of my crying. I try to stop and hold it together. Waiting for him to tell me to pull it together or move past it, I fight all the emotions again. Maybe I can put the dam back together.

“Kathleen, I’ve fallen so damn hard for you. Don’t let whatever thoughts you’re having tell you otherwise. I can smell your fear. Don’t do this to yourself.” Finn’s words sting.

He can’t mean that he loves me. That’s not what he’s saying. He’s saying what he is because I’m crying. I sniffle. Brick by brick, I tame the river behind a wall of self-repairs. There’s no reason to love me.

“Let me down.” Weakly I struggle in his arms.

“No.” Finn refuses, holding me tighter.

After days of lying in a hospital bed, and I’m guessing being kept alive by IV fluids and who knows what else, I don’t have any energy left to fight him.

Stuck in his arms, I have no choice but to wait for him to decide this is over. I don’t get the dignity of calling it off. He’ll get to reject me.

“Ten seconds of honesty,” Finn prompts like when I was in heat.

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