Page 88 of Impossible

“Let me go get him,” Dr. Gray says, no judgment in his eyes. He’s back a moment later with Leon close behind.

I duck my head, unable to meet his eyes as he follows the doctor in.

Dr. Gray returns to his seat in front of the computer, and Leon grabs a rollie-chair from the side of the room and wheels over next to me. He rests his hand on my leg like he’s done it a million times before, like we’re already bonded and he doesn’t care who in the world knows. I fight the urge to sag into him, wishing that the paper of the gown weren’t in between us. Then I tamp down on that thought as a flare of black tea floods the room, cursing my pheromones.

Dr. Gray—who is quickly becoming one of my favorite alphas, if only for his discretion—makes no comment, checking my vitals methodically before moving on to testing the range of motion in my knee.

“This is healing well,” he comments as he bends my ankle in every direction. “I would say you can start partial weight bearing now. I think the crutches will be more feasible if you’re using them as an aid rather than complete replacement. Want to give it a go?”

I nod eagerly—anything to not need to be pushed around anymore.

He leaves the room and Leon squeezes my thigh gently. His hand can practically wrap around the whole thing, I notice with grim pleasure. I trace a finger over the split on his knuckle and he pulls his hand away sharply. “Let me clean that up for you?” I ask. “Or the doctor?”

“It’s fine,” Leon dismisses, perfect impassivity sliding over his face as the doctor comes back in with the crutches.

He’s right—they are much easier to wield with both of my legs in action. I take a few tentative baby-steps, feeling like a newly hatched chick as I wobble. It takes me about five steps to realize how horrifically weak I am. My arms scream with exertion and I’m breathing hard. On the sixth stride, I place the crutch too far forward and teeter, on the verge of falling. I force myself to remain upright, even when Leon’s arms fly out to catch me.

“First, crutches. Next, marathons,” I joke.

Dr. Gray smiles, but Leon’s expression is stormy again. What did I do now?

“How about we head over to the scale?” Dr. Gray suggests.

I grimace, but follow him and Leon out of the exam room and down the hall. At first, I try to keep up with them, but even their slowed down pace to accommodate me is too fast. I’m too weak.

“Quick break,” I huff out. They stop and turn, not having realized I wasn’t with them anymore.

“Let me get the chair.” Leon turns back to the room, but I stick a single crutch out across the walkway to stop him.

“I said break.” I try to make my voice sound stern. “I need to get stronger.”

A muscle flexes in his jaw, but he doesn’t try to move the crutch. As always, he doesn’t force me to do anything I don’t want to.

After a few more seconds of leaning against the wall and willing my heart to not explode in my chest, I push onwards.

“Now, Indigo, I want you to face me this time,” Dr. Gray says. “Don’t look at the number on the scale.”

I roll my eyes. “Please don’t be one of those doctors. Please. I’ve been eating all week, L—Trainer Midas will tell you. Cecilia and Ms. O’Brien too.”

“Exactly. Seeing your weight increase is a sign that treatment is working, but can also be triggering in the early stages of recovery.”

“Please?” I bat my eyes at him, trying to use some of the omega charm I’ve supposedly been blessed with. No dice. Dr. Gray helps me up onto the little platform and then keeps his hand hovering over the little indicator as it sways and jostles its way towards the number that makes up me.

I feel my cheeks burn as I realize Leon can see the number. Our eyes lock for a moment before he looks away.

“Ok, let’s head on back to the room, get some blood from you, and then we should be good to go until next week.”

“More blood?” I ask.

“Now that you’re eating more regularly, we might be able to get a better idea of when to expect your heat. Give you some more precision than just a vague ‘soon’.”

I trek down the hallway after him again, doing my best to hide my heavy breathing. When we’re back inside I sit on the table and hold out my wrist and watch his expression as he takes in the dark bruises on my forearms from the wheelchair.

“Ok, Indigo.” He doesn’t miss a beat, “I’m also going to have you come in on Monday for an iron infusion. I was hoping your diet changes would be enough, but I don’t need to wait on blood results after seeing this bruising. Stop by when you’re out of class for the day.”

Leon’s already seen the bruises, but the way his gaze rakes over them makes me want to hide them from sight again.

When the blood draw is finished, they leave the room to let me get dressed. It takes me longer than it should, as usual, and when I emerge into the waiting area a surprise greets me—Hollis Midas, standing next to Leon and looking distinctly uncomfortable in his pressed suit and shiny black shoes. They’re both watching the hallway I emerge from, having scented me before I arrived.

---