Chapter 5

Marcus POV

The smell of antiseptic and blood assaults my senses as soon as I enter the small single-story hospital located just outside Grey Ridge. The truck driver from a crash I was at yesterday was kept overnight for observation after getting a nasty bang on the head, so this is my first chance to interview him about what happened. I walk up to the nurse’s station to sign in, showing my credentials and getting an update on how he is before I make my way to his room. They took blood samples when he arrived, and my bet is that he was full as a tick with alcohol when he got behind the wheel. If that was the case, I was going to take great pleasure in throwing the book at him, there was little I hated more than drink-driving.

As I fill in the visitor’s log, I hear two of the nurses in the office speaking in hushed voices.

“Can you believe it? Poor Rex,” the blonde-haired one whispers, shaking her head sadly.

“I heard…,” the redhead glances quickly over her shoulder to make sure nobody is coming in before leaning close, and her friend copies her movements, bringing their heads together to hear the juicy gossip she is about to spill. “I heard that she just wanted to be Luna, and when she realized that wasn’t going to happen, she hightailed it back to her filthy rich boyfriend in San Francisco.”

“What a bitch,” the blonde one hisses. “God, what I wouldn’t do for a man like that, and she just rejects him and bolts?”

“Right? I mean, he’s in bits. He’s locked himself away, barely eating, one of the kitchen staff said nothing they send up is ever touched, and that he looks like a ghost.” Ginger shakes her head and looks genuinely worried. Rex. Rex. I’ve heard that name. “And Leila is beside herself. I’m surprised she’s even here, but we’ve been so busy. They’re all worried he’s going to do something stupid,” she frowns, and sighs.

“Shit,” I mutter as understanding slams into me. Rex, Leila’s brother. She mentioned him at the bar. He was the oldest brother though, why wasn’t he going to be Alpha? This is what she meant about having enough to deal with. They must be going through hell.

Both nurses’ heads whip up to look at me when I curse, and I make a show of pretending that the pen wasn’t working, rather than letting on I was eavesdropping on their conversation.

Poor Leila. Poor Rex. I know how much wolves treasure the mate-bond, and how painful rejection can be. It’s been known to kill wolves, or if not kill them, have a long-lasting impact mentally. I’d seen one rejected wolf before, he completely lost it and went on a rampage, ended up having to be put down by his pack. She has all this going on at home and I feel awful for being so difficult the last time we spoke.

As if I conjured her with my thoughts, her delicate scent reaches me just before I hear her gentle voice carrying closer as she travels down the corridor, file in hand, chatting away to a colleague beside her, before closing the chart and handing it to him. As she reaches the doorway, her eyes lift to meet mine instantly and she freezes. The two nurses look at her in confusion as they come out from behind the counter, and glance between the two of us curiously. Leila shakes her head gently before fixing a polite smile on her face and moving slightly closer to me.

“Marcus, I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” she says, totally professional and civil, with no trace of the flirtatiousness from the bar, or the anger that I got at the roadside a couple of weeks ago.

“I’m just here to speak to one of your patients, a truck hit the bridge and he knocked himself out…” I begin to explain, and she nods, but her lips are set in a tight line, disapproval clear on her face.

“Ah yes, Mr. Abberly, lovely man,” the slight edge of sarcasm in her voice makes me almost smile, “puked all over one of the nurses and then tried to punch the security guard when he wouldn’t let him out of the ward to buy whiskey.” She rolls her eyes and gestures for me to follow her as she leads the way to his room. She points at the door, and hesitates for a second, as if she is about to say something, but instead she just sighs softly before turning to leave. My hand shoots out of its own accord and grabs her hand. The skin-on-skin contact sends my heart racing and our eyes lock as she stops, body still half turned away from me.

“Leila, I …” I don’t even know where to start with all the things I want to say to her, and the things I don’t want to say but probably should. She raises her eyebrows and I finally see how exhausted she looks, not just physically tired but emotionally drained, and for a split second, I think I see her lip wobble. My chest aches at the sight of it, at seeing how vulnerable she looks. I release her wrist and scrub a hand down over my beard, shifting from one foot to the other, unable to get the words out.

“Thank you. Can we, um, talk? I feel like we need to clear the air and…,” I mutter, and I curse my surly ways for not helping me in this situation. At times like these, I wish I had the gift of the gab. I see Leila’s shoulder droop slightly and I long to just reach out and pull her to me for a hug, but it’s not the time or the place. “Just a coffee, Leila, five minutes, please?” I ask. She bites her lower lips as she considers it and eventually, she gives a tiny nod.

“I’ll meet you in the canteen in twenty minutes,” she says, before walking away quickly. Relief floods me but then I realize I don’t even really know what I want to say, just that I hate how things were left. She’s angry with me, and I don’t blame her. I am angry that I can’t just do what I want to do. The least I can do is apologize properly and try to ease the tension between us. I convince myself that that is all that I’m doing, not just trying to spend time with her, as I turn to head into Mr. Abberly’s room to give him a grilling.