That's not entirely true. Normal would be pretending none of this happened, going back to being best friends who spend Friday nights together and never talk about feelings. But normal isn't an option anymore, not with this mark on my neck and this bond humming between us.
"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Nick frowns, concern evident in his voice. "New bonds need time to settle. And you were pretty sick yesterday."
"I'm a nurse, Nick. I know how bonds work." My tone is sharper than intended, defensive. I soften it, because he's trying. "Besides, sitting around here all day won't help. I need to know I can still function on my own."
What I don't say: I need to know you won't try to control me now that we're bonded. I need to know this fighting-for-us thing doesn't mean you think you own me.
He doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't argue either. "I'll drive you," he offers instead.
"I can take the bus. It's not a problem."
"Micah." There it is, that alpha resonance that makes my spine straighten instinctively. "Let me drive you. Please."
I should resist on principle. Should maintain my independence, prove I don't need him to take care of me. But the thought of fifteen more minutes with him before facing the day apart is too tempting. And maybe...maybe I want to see if he'll respect my boundaries when I set them.
"Okay," I concede. "Thanks."
He said he's sorry, that he wants to talk about everything. But words are easy when you're desperate to fix what you've broken. Actions are what matter.
When he pulls up to the hospital entrance, I expect a quick goodbye. Instead, Nick reaches across the console and takes my hand, his touch sending warmth radiating up my arm.
"Call me if it gets bad," he says, his eyes holding mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch. "I mean it. Don't try to tough it out alone."
I nod, unable to speak past the sudden lump in my throat. He squeezes my hand once more before letting go, and I force myself to exit the car without looking back.
Because if I look back, I might see something I want to believe too badly to trust.
The children's hospital where I work is usually my sanctuary—bright colors, cheerful murals, and the resilience of my young patients providing perspective on whatever problems I bring through the door. Today, though, every step away from Nick feels wrong, my body protesting the increasing distance between us.
"Well, look what the cat dragged in!" Tanya, the charge nurse, greets me with a raised eyebrow as I enter the pediatric ward. "Thought you were out sick till tomorrow."
"Feeling better," I manage, heading to my locker to stash my bag. "Anything exciting happen while I was gone?"
"Just the usual chaos." She studies me with narrowed eyes. "You sure you're okay? You look flushed."
I touch my cheeks, feeling the heat there. "Just rushed to get here. I'm fine."
The lie comes easily, but I know it won't hold up under scrutiny. Nurses are worse than doctors when it comes to diagnosing colleagues. I need to get to work before Tanya starts asking more questions.
The morning passes in a blur of medication rounds, vitals checks, and comforting frightened children before procedures. I function on autopilot, my training carrying me through despite the mounting discomfort. By noon, though, the ache in my chest has intensified to the point where I need to take breaks in the supply closet, leaning against shelves of gauze and IV tubing while I wait for waves of dizziness to pass.
"Micah." Amara's voice startles me as I exit the closet after one such episode. "A word, please?"
My stomach drops. Amara isn't just the hospital's leading specialist in omega health—she's also the doctor who first met Nick when we ran into her at the restaurant. Her knowing look tells me she's already put the pieces together.
"Of course, Amara." I follow her to an empty exam room, my heart pounding against my ribs. Once inside, she closes the door and turns to face me with an expression that's both professional and concerned.
"You shouldn't be at work," she says without preamble. "You're dealing with a brand new bond and you look like hell. That's not just uncomfortable, it's not safe."
I open my mouth to protest, but she holds up a hand, stopping me.
"As your colleague, I get why you want to work. As someone who's seen too many rushed bonds go sideways, I'm worried about you." She studies my face with the practiced eye of someone who's dealt with omega health issues for years. "You're flushed, your pupils are dilated, and I can see that bond-mark from here. How recent?"
"Two days ago," I admit.
She nods, making notes on her tablet. "During heat, I presume? The same one you were beginning when I saw you at the restaurant?"
"Yes."