SADIE
"You’re fine, Sadie."
Dr. Julian says while staring at the blood pressure monitor, and I immediately glance at Trey.
See?
Those are the exact two words I’ve been trying to get through his skull since we left Fulton Hall.
Maybe I looked worse than I thought when he found me with Ezra. Bad enough to earn a pity trip to the clinic, at least.
I suppose this could be his version of consolation. Feelings are complicated. Doctors have equipment.
Well, there. The doctor said it.
I’m fine.
"Heart rate, blood pressure and temperature are normal." Julian pulls the stethoscope from his ears and lets it hang around his neck. "Aside from the change in your eye color, which I can’t explain because I’ve never seen a suppressant cause anything like this before, everything else checks out. Nothing here concerns me."
I look at Trey again, just in case he missed the important part.
I’m not dying. Yes, the eyes are worrying, but I haven’t grown any extra limbs or sprouted wings yet, so I’d say accidentally drinking his suppressant is going pretty well.
Julian rolls his stool back toward his desk. "Our specialist is running late today."
That would be Dr. Samuels, the campus clinic’s specialist and someone I know far better than any reasonably healthy college student should know a doctor.
Being an omega with a weak wolf has its advantages. I’m sure they’re out there somewhere. I just haven’t found them yet.
One definite disadvantage is that illnesses other wolves can sleep off with a blanket and a few extra hours in bed tend to take one look at me and see an opportunity. Leave a simple cold unchecked long enough and my body starts reconsidering its commitment to keeping me alive.
So yes, Dr. Samuels and I have met. Several times.
"I’d still rather have her take a look at your eyes herself," Julian continues. "Everything else looks normal, but whatever the suppressant did to them is more her territory than mine."
"Okay."
"She should be here in a couple of hours. Come back then and I’ll have her squeeze you in."
"Perfect." That’s all the permission I need to slide off the examination table. "Thank you, Julian. Always lovely seeing you."
His eyes narrow. "You say that every time you’re running out of here."
"Because distance makes the heart grow fonder."
I grab my bag before Trey can find another harmless thing about me to report as a symptom and head for the door.
"Stay alive, Sadie," Julian calls after me.
I laugh, looking back. "I’ll do my best."
I’m still smiling when I step into the hallway, with Trey right behind me.
"The first doctor said to call if anything changed, remember?" I turn to him.
His mouth pulls into a scowl. "You always flirt with doctors who need someone more qualified to do their job?"
My brows pull together. Flirt? And was that a dig at Julian?
"He’s not a wolf specialist." I tilt my head. "And I’ve known him for years."
"Didn’t ask."
He brushes past me and keeps walking.
I stare after him. He brought Julian up, asked the question, then didn’t ask?
The Mercers are exhausting.
Worse, this particular one is already halfway down the hallway.
"Can you walk a little slower?"
He doesn’t.
I hurry after him, my shorter legs doing twice the work his have to, and finally catch up.
"Anyway, you heard him. I’m fine." I adjust my bag on my shoulder. "If anything changes, I’ll tell you. You don’t have to keep checking."
"Don’t want you dying on me," he says over his shoulder.
*****************
There’s an entire side of Boreal I’ve somehow managed to know nothing about for almost four years.
That feels statistically unlikely. I walk everywhere. My dorm is ten minutes from the clinic, Fulton Hall another five from there, and I spend an unreasonable amount of time at the student center in between thanks to Quiz Bowl. After nearly four years of walking that little stretch of campus back and forth, I thought I knew Boreal pretty well.
Sadly, I was wrong.
Conte Forum is barely a seven-minute walk from the clinic, and I’ve never set foot inside.
I slow down the second we enter. Trey either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care because he keeps walking.
The first thing that catches my attention is how aggressively Boreal everything is. Maroon and gold cover almost every surface. Team photographs line the walls, banners hang overhead, and the trophy cases are packed so tightly I have to wonder if athletes get awards for breathing correctly too.
Somewhere farther inside is the main arena where the basketball and hockey teams play. We pass an opening that gives me a glimpse of polished hardwood and rows of seats climbing toward the ceiling before Trey leads me down another hallway.
The farther we go, the more the place seems to branch out. Training rooms, offices, locker rooms, and several doors I’m fairly sure I couldn’t walk through without Trey beside me.
Hands go up as we pass. A few people call out to him, others nod, and Trey returns most of it with a nod of his own or a lazy lift of his hand.
A few minutes later, he pushes through another door and I follow, only to stop just inside.
Oh.
This is where they all disappear to.
The student-athlete lounge is much less locker-room-ish than I expected. Couches surround low tables, study spaces take up the quieter end, and televisions line the walls, most tuned to sports because apparently, playing them isn’t enough.
And jocks. Everywhere.
Some are asleep across the couches, a few are reading, and one guy has a girl practically folded into his lap. A little farther away, another couple is making out with enough enthusiasm that I immediately look somewhere else.
Holy macaroni. Does nobody complain about that?
"Hey, Cap."
The call comes from our left, and Trey lifts a hand without looking for whoever said it.
Everyone else seems to be looking, though. At me.
Suddenly, my cream cardigan and flowy skirt feel very noticeable among all the athletic wear. I glance around, trying to figure out what kind of staring this is. Nobody looks hostile. Or annoyed. Or anything I know how to categorize.
They’re just...looking.
Someone passing by holds an apple out to Trey. A few steps later, a guy sprawled across one of the couches reaches over the back with an open bag of chips. Trey refuses both without breaking stride.
By the time we reach an empty table in the corner, I feel like I’ve been inspected by half the room.
Trey pulls out a chair for me, and I drop into it before the other half gets its turn.
"Did he just pull out her chair?"
The question floats from somewhere behind me.
I pretend I didn’t hear it.
"Who is she?" someone else asks farther away.
"No idea."
"Why’d he bring her here?"
Okay. Lola wasn’t exaggerating.
"Why does she look familiar?"