“If there’s someone you don’t want to see, tell me,” Dom said. “I’ll make them go away.”
Sinclair scoffed. “You think I’m a kid?”
“No. But the offer stands anyway.”’
“I don’t get why you’re being so damn nice,” Sinclair muttered.
“Because.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Neither is ‘Or else.’”
At that, Sinclair cracked a tiny smile. It was the first time he’d smiled these past couple weeks. Dom decided that he wanted to see Sinclair smile more. And he also decided that he wasn’t going to question why he thought that way. Bad enough that he’d gotten into a rut with Sinclair.
He wasn’t... emotionally attached.
They sat in silence through the first half of the drive. “Want some music going?” Dom asked.
Sinclair glanced at the radio. Then he reached up, flipping through the stations.
Music from ten years ago came on. Sinclair listened for a bit, then stiffened when the song changed. He turned the radio off, breathing fast.
“Bad?” Dom asked.
Sinclair was silent for a long time. “It was—” He swallowed. “It was playing in the van. When they took me.”
Fuck. Dom’s arm tensed; the truck swerved. “Sorry. Want me to pull over?”
Sinclair shook his head. “Keep going.”
Dom held Sinclair’s hand again, this time so he wouldn’t be tempted to punch something. The more he discovered about Sinclair’s past, the more it felt like needles under his skin.
Sinclair was young enough to be Dom’s son. Dom had been alive when all that had happened. It felt like he should’ve done something when Sinclair had been in so much pain, except he didn’t know what.
Sinclair stiffened when they pulled up at the Highton Veterans’ Medical Center. Dom wasn’t sure why they’d put Sinclair in a center for vets—his PTSD?—but he wasn’t about to question it. “C’mon. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we get to go home.”
Sinclair steeled himself, overtaking Dom to lead the way.
He seemed to know where he was going. He led them to the Urgent Care department, and handed an identity card to the receptionist. The whole time, his gaze darted everywhere, to every doorway and corner like he expected something to jump out at him.
At the waiting area, Sinclair sat with his back against the wall. Dom sat with him; it seemed that Sinclair didn’t mind.
From the corner of his eye, Dom studied the angular grooves carved into Sinclair’s head, the deliberate incisions that someone had made down the side of his neck.
“Haven’t you seen enough of these?” Sinclair muttered.
Dom hesitated. “I didn’t understand until now.” When Sinclair didn’t answer, Dom asked, “Were you awake for most of it?”
Sinclair looked away, nodding.
Dom breathed out the violence that tried to explode in his chest. He closed his hand around Sinclair’s again—seemed like a good enough reason not to hit something.
The nurse called Sinclair’s name. Dom stood when he did; Sinclair sent him an uncertain look. “You’re not gonna like this.”
“I want to be there,” Dom said. “Please.”
Sinclair looked surprised. After some hesitation, he nodded. Dom followed him into the doctor’s office, taking the empty seat next to his.
“Hi, Jesse,” the doctor said brightly. She was a beta, thin but sunny. “How can we help you today?”
Sinclair fidgeted, glancing at Dom. “I lost my appetite. Been puking for the past couple weeks.”
He’d been throwing up for that long? And he’d hidden it from Dom? Dom narrowed his eyes, filing away his irritation for later.
The doctor kept her smile. “Is there anything else?”
Sinclair paused. “I removed the beads.”
He laid his arms out on the desk—the stitches were gone, and the skin where the beads used to be was now scarred with silvery lines. Dom wanted to smack him, but he understood why Sinclair had done it.
To be honest, he’d probably have done the same.
“Did you leave any beads behind?” the doctor asked.
“No.”
“Have you been supplementing them with any medications?”
“No.”
The doctor’s smile faltered. “Okay, right. Just a few more questions, and I’ll send you for a test.” Sinclair nodded, so she asked, “Do you have any other symptoms? Bloatedness? Fatigue?”
Sinclair hesitated. “Some exhaustion.”
He’d been exhausted? While on duty? Dom glanced at Sinclair, remembering his eyebags, and how he’d been moving slower. He should’ve seen it then. He hated that he’d let it go on for so long.
Sinclair was very pointedly not meeting his eyes; he hadn’t wanted Dom to find out.
“And... another question,” the doctor began, her gaze flickering toward Dom. “You can choose to answer this in private. Have you had sexual contact with an alpha this past year, with you being on the receiving end?”
Sinclair swallowed, his ears turning pink. He wasn’t looking at anyone when he said quietly, “Yeah. I have.”
“Do you remember approximately when that was?”
Sinclair shook his head.
“Seven weeks ago,” Dom said.
Sinclair still couldn’t look at him, but his flush deepened. The doctor glanced at him for confirmation; Sinclair nodded.
“Right. I’ll make a note of it.” The doctor smiled again—a little more cautious this time. “Jesse, I’ll need you to collect a urine sample. When you’re done, hand it over to the lab. We’ll call you back shortly.”
Sinclair flinched, but he took the small plastic container.
Dom waited for him outside the restrooms. Then they sat against the wall again, waiting in silence until the nurse called for Sinclair. Sinclair wiped his hands on his pants, breathing faster.
Dom squeezed his hand. “It’ll be okay.”
“You don’t know that,” Sinclair said between gritted teeth. “Things weren’t okay for a long time, Dom.”
Dom hated that Sinclair had felt so hopeless. Worse, he’d only been a child back then. “What do you want me to say?”
Sinclair shrugged, heading back into the doctor’s office. Dom followed him.
When they were seated, the doctor looked hesitantly at Sinclair. “Would you like me to run through your medical records first, before we discuss the test results?”
Sinclair sucked in a slow breath. “Yeah. Probably.”
“We’ll start with the beads that were in your arms,” the doctor said. “Those were slow-release drug implants. Specifically, they were releasing hormone inhibitors.”
Vaguely, Dom had the faintest
