Chapter 357: Chapter 357: Numbers don’t lie
The car ride from the main house to the clinic wing was barely three minutes, but Lucas hated every second of it. He sat angled toward the window, coffee forgotten in the cupholder, eyes fixed on the immaculate sweep of the gardens as though the roses and trimmed hedges could answer the questions grinding against his ribs. His fingers drummed once, then stilled. The platinum band on his hand glinted whenever sunlight cut through the trees, a reminder of the promises they had made and the ones he feared might still break.
Trevor’s hand never left him. From the moment Windstone guided them out of the manor, through the brief walk to the car, and now across the leather seat, Trevor’s palm rested steady on his thigh. The cedar of his pheromones pulsed slow and even, wrapping around Lucas’s body until the worst of the tension uncoiled from his muscles, even if his mind refused to quiet.
"Breathe," Trevor murmured, his thumb stroking a slow line back and forth. "You’re going to make yourself sick before we even get there."
"I’m fine," Lucas said, but it came out sharper than he meant, too quick. He sighed and leaned back against the seat, green eyes sliding toward Trevor. "I just... want to know. That’s all."
"I know," Trevor answered simply, violet eyes calm, anchored in a way Lucas envied. His pheromones deepened fractionally, sinking into the car like warm cedar smoke, coaxing Lucas’s body to listen even if his thoughts still spun. The hum under his skin softened, and his breathing evened. He hated how much he needed it, why couldn’t he just trust Trevor?
’I thought I left that past behind... But it seems like its claws would never leave me.’ Lucas thought while his hand found Trevor’s.
By the time the car stopped in front of the discreet glass doors of the clinic wing, Lucas’s shoulders had dropped a fraction, and the restless twitch in his fingers had stilled. Trevor helped him out before he could protest, his hand sliding down to twine again with his, the cool brush of his wedding band grinding against Lucas’s skin.
"Still with me?" Trevor asked quietly.
Lucas squeezed his hand once, jaw tight but steady. "For now," he said.
Inside, the familiar hush of the clinic greeted them: antiseptic air, polished floors, and the steady hum of machines. Dr. Marin-Shaye was already waiting, tablet in hand, her expression brisk and unreadable. She gave Trevor the briefest of nods before focusing on Lucas.
"Come in. Let’s begin."
Trevor stayed close, cedar steady in the air, his hand never leaving Lucas’s as they crossed the threshold together.
—
The examination room was too clean and quiet. Lucas almost preferred the hum of the car, even the silence of the manor halls; here, the stillness pressed against his ears until his pulse seemed indecently loud.
Dr. Marin-Shaye gestured toward the chair angled near the machines, her expression neutral, but her eyes already assessing her patient’s state. "Sit, please."
Lucas obeyed, though his legs felt heavier than they should. He lowered himself onto the padded seat, fingers curled around Trevor’s hand until he had to let go. The absence was immediate, a sudden coldness against his palm, though Trevor remained close enough that the cedar in the air didn’t thin.
He kept his eyes fixed on the floor tiles as sensors were clipped to his wrist and collarbone, the faint click of plastic sharper than it had any right to be. He knew it was routine, but knowing did nothing to blunt the edge scraping inside his chest.
’What if it’s my fault? What if the numbers are wrong, broken, useless... what if I am useless again?’
He exhaled through his nose, too shallow to matter.
Trevor’s hand settled back on his shoulder, grounding him. "Lucas."
The name was soft and cut through the static better than the cedar alone. He turned his head just enough to meet violet eyes, calm and steady as stone, and for a moment the gnawing inside eased.
"Try to relax," Marin-Shaye said, then paused, eyes flicking over his pale face. "Actually... don’t. No patient has ever managed it, and I’d hate for you to be the first to make me revise my notes."
It startled a breath out of him, halfway between a laugh and a cough, but enough to break the tight knot pressing against his ribs. He dragged a hand across his face, embarrassed at how much he needed that thin sliver of levity.
"Better," Marin-Shaye said as if she’d accomplished something profound. She adjusted one of the leads on his collarbone with brisk efficiency, then added in the same even tone, "And before you ask, yes, the floor is polished enough to see your reflection, but I don’t recommend checking. Fluorescent lighting is unkind to everyone."
Lucas blinked at her, then let out a short, incredulous huff. His mouth tilted, reluctant but genuine, and the suffocating stillness in the room loosened a fraction.
Trevor’s hand squeezed his shoulder once, approval unspoken but present in the warmth of his touch.
The monitor chimed as the first numbers came online, green lines steady across the display. Lucas’s eyes flicked to them, but the dread that usually rushed in like a tide didn’t strike quite as hard this time. He was still braced, still coiled tight, but the edge had dulled... at least enough to breathe.
"Good," Marin-Shaye murmured, her tone slipping back toward clinical but not quite as distant as before. "Let’s keep going. We’ve done this before; you know what is happening and no matter what the results are, you have a hell of an alpha by your side."
Her words landed heavier than he expected. Lucas’s throat worked, but no answer came. A hell of an alpha by your side. It was true, undeniably true, and yet the truth scraped against the old fear that Trevor’s steadiness wasn’t something he deserved, that it might vanish the moment the numbers failed to measure up.
He swallowed, eyes fixed on the steady pulse of green across the screen. For once, it didn’t look hostile, only indifferent. Numbers didn’t lie, but they also didn’t care.
Trevor’s fingers brushed his again, coaxing, until Lucas let his hand be caught. The cool press of the platinum band met his skin, grounding him in a way the machines never could.
"Lucas," Trevor said quietly, voice pitched so only he could hear. "Look at me."
He did. And for a heartbeat, the room seemed smaller, quieter, as if the antiseptic air and the hum of monitors had been pushed aside by cedar smoke and violet eyes.
"Whatever comes up on that screen," Trevor said, low and steady, "it changes nothing."
Lucas hated the heat that rose behind his eyes. He blinked hard, his grip tightening, the sharp edge of his wedding band biting into his own palm this time.
Marin-Shaye adjusted the tablet in her hands, her expression still clinical, but the faintest curve softened her mouth. "He’s right," she said dryly. "Though I’ll admit, it’s rare to see an alpha who doesn’t immediately start lecturing me instead."
That startled him again, this time a thin laugh, fragile but real. The dread didn’t vanish, but it loosened enough that his chest didn’t feel like a cage anymore.
The monitor gave another chime as the next set of numbers appeared, brighter this time, bolder. Lucas’s eyes flicked to them despite himself, pulse quickening.