Chapter 107: Trey: Four Days Alone

TREY

FLASHBACK

"Mum, please." I hold my hand out, but she’s too far away to take it. I move a little closer, wiping my eyes on my sleeve. "Come back here. Please."

"I love you, Trey." She smiles, and the ground drops out from under both of us and my eyes flutter open.

Something’s wrong with my skull. That’s the first thing I understand before the room, before the light, before anything else. Like someone’s taken a hammer to the inside of it and left the job half-finished.

Everything’s white and too bright, and it takes three or four tries before the ceiling stops swimming long enough to actually be a ceiling.

The walls and the sheet covering me aren’t offering much variety in color. A slow look around tells me I’m in a hospital. Or a clinic. Wherever the fuck I am, the smell is terrible. I turn my head, trying to work out where it’s coming from, but the pain makes me stop before I get very far.

How did I get here?

The last thing I remember is— nothing, actually. I stare at the ceiling, waiting for my brain to finish the thought.

A girl. There was a girl.

Big brown eyes, peering into mine as she leaned over me. Her mouth kept moving, and I remember wanting her to stop talking until she actually did. She was helping me through the woods.

Where is she?

I try to sit up, and pain catches me in the stomach first, then drags its way up through my back and arm, like someone pulled me apart and didn’t bother putting the pieces back in the right order.

"Damn it."

I sink against the pillow, breathing hard as I take another look around.

Whatever this place is, somebody clearly ran out of budget halfway through building it. The equipment’s crammed so close to the bed I could reach out and knock half of it over without trying, and the walls have that water-stained texture.

My eyes drop to the gown someone’s stuffed me into. Faded, thin, barely reaching my knees, which means my bruised legs are on full display for anyone who walks in.

Where are my clothes? My phone? Did nobody think to check my ID before squeezing me into this low-budget excuse for a hospital?

The door finally opens, and I brace myself for a doctor or a nurse. Hell, I’d take a vet at this point. Instead, my father’s Beta walks in.

My frown deepens as Johnson approaches in his usual suit, buttoned so tightly I don’t know how he gets through a conversation without passing out.

He stops beside the bed and looks me over. An itch starts beneath my skin, and I want to grab him and drag him closer, but I can barely move without hurting myself. Trex took too much last night. I can’t even feel him, let alone ask for his help tearing this man apart.

"You’re finally awake."

He sounds about as happy about it as I am to see him. Not that I expected balloons and a cake after nearly dying, but I would’ve appreciated someone who didn’t seem disappointed I’d survived. Still, finding myself in this room makes more sense now that he’s standing in it.

I keep quiet while his eyes move over the bandages before returning to my face. "Your father is disappointed in you."

Of course he is.

Johnson gives me a moment to respond, then adjusts his cuff when I don’t. "You’re too old for these tantrums, Trey."

A groan leaves me as I turn toward the window. I’m in enough pain without having to look at him too. "Is this really the best place you could find?"

"You’re still in Silvercrest, and we’d like to keep this discreet," he replies. "Besides, this is their VIP room."

"Other hospitals exist, you asswipe." My gaze stays on the window. "You brought me here on purpose, didn’t you?"

"Your father decided this is for the best, given the circumstances."

I manage a scoff through my bruised lips. "What circumstances?"

"You disappeared after an argument with him. Then you were found mauled half to death in Silvercrest territory. Lycan land, boy." He pauses. "Do you understand what it looks like if word gets out that the Goldenmoon heir nearly died somewhere he had no business being, the same night he ran away from home? Your father is handling it. Let him."

"I’m pretty sure my pops didn’t specifically ask you to stuff me in here. Did he?"

He doesn’t answer. His footsteps circle the bed instead, unhurried, until he’s standing in front of the window, blocking the light that made it through. Now I’m looking at his suit instead of the sky, and the headache building behind my eyes gets worse.

Johnson smiles down at me. "You were very lucky someone found you out there. Another twenty minutes, and this conversation wouldn’t be happening. You’d think gratitude would come more naturally to you."

My fingers curl into the sheet.

"Though I suppose that’s the trouble, isn’t it?" He tilts his head, studying me. "You ran from home, decided you were done being the heir, done being a Mercer. Without your title, how would you afford a better hospital? You’d just be an ordinary boy, Trey."

I keep staring at him, and he holds my gaze like there’s nothing wrong with saying that to someone who can barely sit up.

Trex stirs faintly, barely there, but enough. At least one of us is glad I woke up. Johnson clearly isn’t, and neither would Celia or Ezra be. They’re all quite happy to kiss my pops’ ass while treating me like a problem they’d rather get rid of.

"Get the doctor. Whoever’s meant to examine me." My head sinks back into the pillow. "Do your job, Johnson. I’m too unwell for this. Learn when to pick a fight."

His face tightens, jaw working. "I’m not your errand boy."

"My father sent you here because of me, didn’t he? To make sure I’m being looked after?" I glance around. "You’ve already failed halfway. Do better from now on. And while you’re at it, a little more respect for the heir wouldn’t kill you."

He grinds his teeth. There’s clearly plenty he wants to say, but he settles for turning sharply and slamming the door behind him.

My eyes close at the noise. My head’s too heavy to do much else with it.

They hate it when I use the Mercer name, then lose their minds when I say I don’t want it. What the hell am I supposed to do with that? Thank them for the privilege and shut up?

Next year, I’m going to college. Out of that house, out of their reach. They can figure out who to hate once I’m not around to make it easy for them.

And if my pops makes Celia Luna, I’ll hate every one of them until my last breath.

*********************

"How do you feel, Trey?" the doctor Johnson called in asks after pressing on what feels like every sore spot on my body.

He gave me his name when he came in, but I lost it somewhere during the introduction. I’m not particularly interested in remembering it now that he’s watched me grimace through the examination and still needs to ask how I feel. If I felt good, I’d be out of this bed.

"You can tell me anything," he adds.

"I don’t feel good." I look at him. "When can I leave? You said I’ve been here four days, and I’m still like this."

He smiles and gestures toward a nurse, who adjusts the blinds to let more sunlight into the room. I don’t remember asking for that either.

"You only regained consciousness a few minutes ago," he says. "We’ve spent the past four days treating the poisoning from the rogue attack and keeping you stable. Now that you’re awake, your recovery should progress much faster."

The other nurse is writing something down, and my eyes settle on her. "Where’s the girl who found me? Has she been here?"

Her pen stops. She looks at the doctor before turning to me.

"What girl?"

"You were brought in by paramedics," the doctor explains. "We contacted your family, but Beta Johnson didn’t arrive until the following day."

"She’s a teenager. Big brown eyes. Very skinny," I explain, watching their faces for some sign that they know who I mean. "She saved me. Are you sure she hasn’t been here?"

The nurse shakes her head. "No one matching that description has come to ask about you."

There’s a strange pull in my chest, and I can’t tell whether it’s because I’ve missed the chance to thank her or because there really is nobody on my side. It’s a stupid, painful thing to realize here.

My father hasn’t come. He sent his Beta instead.

Most of my so-called friends are idiots who like being able to say they know a Mercer. Four days in a pack that isn’t mine, and maybe her showing up would’ve meant somebody wanted to know if I was alive. Maybe it would’ve made me feel a little less fucking alone.

Her name would’ve been a good place to start. She asked me questions, and I couldn’t be bothered to ask her anything back.

Turning toward the window, I let my head settle against the pillow.

"You can leave."

"We still need to discuss your treatment," the doctor says. "The wounds will require—"

"Just get out."