Page 27 of What We Don't Say: Part Two

“I don’t fucking know,” he says.

Zana’s eyes lower to the folder, giving him the only privacy she can. Dr. Mercer looks away too. Sloane does not. He watches Idris like he's ready to catch him if the answer opens too much.

Idris presses his good hand over his mouth, then drops it. “I’m not sure what I was waiting for. She was ready. I know she was.” His voice roughens until the words barely hold shape. “I think I told myself there would be a better moment. After you settled. After Garrett stopped making every room feel like strategy. After we had proof, or quiet, or time. I thought restraint was care because I didn’t want to push her into a bond while the house was shifting around her.”

His throat works. The rain in his scent turns sharp and bitter, but he keeps it pulled close, contained where it can't crash over me.

“She was ready,” he says again, softer, and this time the words sound like punishment. “I knew she was. I just kept waiting for a version of this house where loving her didn’t have to be negotiated around Garrett’s rules. I was wrong.”

Sloane makes a small sound beside me, wounded and furious, not at Idris exactly. At time. At all the doors they left open for Garrett to close.

Idris looks at me then. His eyes are red, but his voice steadies because he's speaking to me now, and that matters to him. “I’m not waiting when we find her. If she’ll let me, I’m not waiting again.”

I press Callie’s sweater to my mouth. The wool smells faintly like honeyed pear and vanilla tea, almost gone and still enough to hurt. “She’ll let you,” I whisper, though I don't know if I’m saying what I believe or what I need to be true.

Idris closes his eyes for one breath, then opens them. “I hope so.”

Zana waits a few seconds before she moves. I like that she doesn't rush to turn the pain back into procedure. When she does speak, her voice is quieter than before. “Theo, I need to ask you directly. Do you want Idris to give you a temporary witnessed bite?”

I think for a moment and then nod. “Yes.”

Dr. Mercer leans forward slightly. “I need you to say what you understand it means.”

I look at her, then at Zana, then at Idris. My face heats again, but the words come more steadily than I expect. “It means Idris bites me, but it’s temporary. It will fade unless I choose to make it more later. It means my body recognizes him as one of my Alphas for care and placement. It means Garrett can’t say he’s the only Alpha with standing over me.”

Zana’s expression softens for half a second. “Yes.”

“It means I’m choosing,” I add. “Not because Garrett scared me. Because Garrett scared me and I still get to choose who touches me.”

Idris makes a sound like the words have hurt him. “Theo.”

I turn toward him before he can say anything else. “I want you to.”

He nods once, but he doesn't reach for me. “This bite gives us standing tonight. It makes my body part of your protection in a way Garrett can’t talk over. But it doesn’t decide the rest of your life. We can let it stay shallow. We can reinforce it later if you want. We can leave it as protection and revisit everything when Callie is home and you’re not afraid.” His voice breaks just a little on Callie’s name. “You don't owe me forever because Garrett made paperwork out of your fear.”

My eyes sting. “And if I want it again later?”

“Then you ask me.” Idris’ gaze holds mine, steady and dark and full of things he won't push into the room. “And I give it to you properly. With no lawyer watching, no threat at the door, and everyone you want close enough to hold.”

A soft, embarrassed sound catches in my throat. I cover my mouth with Callie’s sweater, mortified, but Sloane’s thumb strokes once over my ankle, and Idris doesn't smile. He only looks at me like the sound is something he has been trusted with.

Dr. Mercer clears her throat gently, not to interrupt the feeling, but to give me somewhere else to look. “I’m going to check your pulse and temperature before we proceed. Then you’ll sign first. Idris signs after. Zana and I witness. At any point before the bite, you can stop. After the bite, if your body reacts badly, I’ll treat you.”

“And if Garrett tries to come in?” I ask.

Sloane’s answer is immediate, low and certain. “He gets through me first.”

Idris looks at him, then at Zana, and his mouth tightens as if he knows violence isn't the answer she wants in a room with documents. Zana caps her pen with a deliberate click. “Garrett doesn't enter this room. I informed him in writing five minutes ago that any attempt to participate in Theo’s medical-legal care conference without Theo’s consent will be documented as interference.”

My heart gives one hard, frightened beat. “You told him?”

“I told him the door is closed,” Zana says. “That isn't the same thing as inviting him to knock.”

I listen for footsteps. There are none. Still, my body keeps waiting.

Dr. Mercer takes my vitals with efficient hands. She asks each time before she touches me, and I answer each time with words. The cuff squeezes my arm. The thermometer beeps. Her fingers press lightly to the inside of my wrist, and I watch Idris watching the contact, not jealous, not impatient, just attentive. Sloane keeps his hand open on the blanket near my knee, and when my fingers drift toward him, he lets me take two of his.

Zana places the document on a clipboard across my lap.