"No."
"Bells."
"I'm walking to Rex's room on my own two feet, Phoenix. You two can walk next to me in case I fall over so I don't eat linoleum. That's the compromise."
He stares at me.
I stare back.
"Fine," he mutters, throwing his hands up. "Fine."
The hallway is bright enough I have to squint as I make my way up the hall. It fucking reeks in here and I'm acutely aware of air on my ass. Raf helpfully points out I'm flashing everyone, so I stop to let him tie it, but I'm already walking again the moment he finishes.
Phoenix flanks my left side. Raf takes the right. Two massive alphas escorting a barefoot omega in a hospital gown through the ICU in the middle of the night.
We lookridiculous.
A nurse at the station looks up, sees us, and opens her mouth.
"AMA," I say before she can speak. "I'll sign whatever you want on my way back."
She looks at Phoenix and Raf and doesn't stop me.
The elevator takes us up two floors. Phoenix keeps his hand near the small of my back the entire time without touching, hovering and radiating anxious energy.
"You need to rest," he says again.
"I will. In Rex's bed."
"That's not what the doctors?—"
"Phoenix." I look up at him. I must look as fucked up as I feel because his protest dies mid-sentence. "Please."
Raf gives him a look.
Phoenix's jaw works, but he nods once.
The elevator opens into another hallway. This time Raf handles the nurses' station with a charming smile and some smooth bullshit about being a pack even though I'm not even marked yet, and the nurse waves us through with the exhausted resignation of someone who has already given up on enforcing visiting hours tonight.
I push Rex's door open.
He's lying on his side, face turned toward the window, his dyed black hair messy and the platinum roots showing more than ever under the harsh lights. The scarred side of his face is pressed into the pillow, hidden by habit even in sleep, and his bare back is visible above the blanket. It's bandaged heavily around the left shoulder blade where the bullet was, the burn scars webbing across his skin.
"You're supposed to be in bed," he mutters.
"I am." I pad across the cold tile. "Yours."
I'm already climbing in and he's already growling at me.
The bed is not designed for two people. Definitely not designed for an alpha the size of Rex and his still-kinda-drugged omega. I wedge myself into the space between his body and the bed rail, careful of his bandaged back, careful of the lines running from his arm to the IV stand and taking care not to look at his face.
"You're a fucking psycho," he grumbles.
"Noted."
My body finds his like it was designed to. My shoulder slots under his arm. My hip presses against his hip. My forehead finds the curve of his neck, the warm skin below his jaw, and I breathe in his cold, familiar scent.
Despite the growling, his arm settles over me, heavy and tentative, like he's still not sure he's allowed to do this.