Page 76 of Impossible

The radiator starts rattling, matching the choked down growl in my chest.

I wheel back to kick it, but almost crash into post-nasal drip instead.

“Oh!” he says. He has a half-full cup of coffee in his hand, the other half now spilled down his front. I look around and catch the other grunts in the bullpen staring. Eyes dart away.Way to go, Hollis. I smooth the rage from my face, trying to put on some semblance of my practiced smile.

“Sorry.” I bow my head. I should really learn his name at some point. “Let me get you a new one.”

“That’s fine,” he rushes to stop me. Probably doesn’t want the hazard of me with hot liquid in throwing range. We both sit.

Indie. Under Marcus Phoenix.A little bony. I pull out my phone to call Dr. Gray and check on her condition, then think better of it. Clearly our interest in her has already been noted, and I don’t like that. Not if it will be used against us. I pull up Leon’s number, knowing he’s having lunch with her, but stop myself again. He’s already pissed at me. After the fight on Tuesday and then Joshua last night, I know he has some choice words saved up for when we’re next alone.

We woke this morning in the pack bed with Joshua between us. We were both awake, but neither of us spoke. Joshua was snoring, a soft murmuring sound that only happens when he feels safe. I always thought it was restful. It reminds me of when I first met him, just a boy, barely fifteen. So afraid, so in need of somebody—anybody—to protect him.

How could I lay there next to them, depriving them of the bond? What comfort am I really? All I protect them from now is me.

I got up first.

With Joshua finally out of his room, I changed his sheets and started a load of laundry. His hamper was almost entirely pants and underwear, and when I went in search of his shirts, I found them all piled up in the corner of Risk’s bed. A bottle of Vicodin and a little baggie of yellow pills were stashed underneath, along with a pair of my underwear and one of Leon’s favorite pairs of sweats. A nest.

I cringe to think of Indie and Risk comparing notes on how best to self-destruct.

Indie. God. Leon reeked of her last night, and she’s still in the creases of my skin.

Can I really subject her to this? Fated mates or not, is it what’s best forher? She’s so young.

There’s an aimless pull in me, a desire to go to her, and I don’t trust it. What would I do? What do we have to offer her? Midas Pack is a disaster. I can’t condemn her to that. This physicalcravingfor her is punishment for the fact that I have nothing to give her in return.

Everything keeps going wrong. I could blame it on the attack, but that would be a lie.

Indie. I could blame Tuesday’s fight on her, but what would have happened if she hadn’t come along? Joshua sure as hell wouldn’t have gotten out of bed. Leon wouldn’t be smiling. Risk… I shake my head. I don’t know what to make of him, I never have. What was he going to do with those Vicodin? What are the yellow pills?

He’s been on third shift since returning to work. I never even considered that missing nights with us might affect him. He was always the one who wanted to sleep in the pack bed. I always thought it was because he’s a horny bastard. Come to find out, he’s gone and nested with our scents. A goddamn alpha, making a nest.

I sit at my desk and pinch my brow and ignore the garbled half-coughs from post-nasal drip and the rattling radiator. I ignore the folders from Marcus and try to think. There has to be a solution here. An answer.

There’s case studies demonstrating correlation between positive mental health outcomes and increased genetic marker matches in mated packs. Fated mates are the highest that the genetic markers can get. Could we fix Indie and her illness? Could she fix us?

That’s a lot to put on a nineteen-year-old. My fingers curl with the need to hold her. I bite the instinct back.

Indie. She’ll be a ward until she’s signed a heat-contract or mated. Which means she has no choice but to choose from her pack sheet. We have to get on that goddamn sheet.

I head for Aaron’s desk. Aaron is the guru of pack clearances.

“Hey Hollis! How are you doing? Saw you at the mixer last night, good to see the whole pack out and about again.”

“Sorry I didn’t say hello.” I put on my best politician’s smile. “You and the boys courting any lucky lady in particular?”

Aaron smiles back, immediately disarmed. “Paperwork went in this morning for her first heat. But enough about us, you looked like you were getting cozy with that omega in the wheelchair. Is she new? I don’t remember seeing her before.”

“She’s actually what I’m here to talk to you about.” I lean over his desk, like I’m bringing him into my confidence. “She’s sick.” I keep my voice low. “Real sick. Manifested late and her hormones aren’t playing nice.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Aaron says.

This is the moment of truth. I can’t tell him we’re fated mates—the only thing it can do is hurt us. So, I settle for something in between. “We’ve gotten close with her since she landed at the Complex. You saw—she’s comfortable with us. Her heat is coming soon, Aaron, real soon, and we’d like to be there for her.”

Aaron’s face tenses. I almost wish he wouldn’t speak—that hesitation is enough.

“You know I wish I could, Hollis, but rules are rules. If I started giving exceptions now, I’d never hear the end of it. How many clearances left until you’re eligible?” He begins tapping away at his keyboard, then pauses to read the screen. “Ok, this isn’t too bad. Just the psychiatric clearances across the board for you, and it looks like the final mission report—well, it’s classified, so that might take a minute, though it did just get put in this morning for processing, so at least the ball is rolling there. Get those appointments in and I’m sure you guys can be on next month’s sheet, maybe the month after.”

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