The Code Of The Alpha

I stared at the mug in front of me. I knew if I tried to pick it up, my shaking hands would drop it.

“We’ll head out,” Blaine said, pushing himself away from the counter.

“Let us know if you need anything else,” Bates added, following Blaine to the front door.

When the front door shut behind them, I looked at Luca to find him already staring at me.

I knew what that look said. too. It was as if I knew exactly what he was thinking: You still want to go home?

“He sounded crazy,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Luca pursed his lips.Belonging to NôvelDrama.Org.

“Don’t let him scare you.”

“I don’t know why he would think I was hurt. I told my mom that I was okay and Mady knows I’m okay—”

I stopped mid sentence.

“The packages,” I said suddenly.

I bolted from the barstool and up the staircase to the loft.

“Amore, wait…”

Running into the bedroom, I sunk to my knees and began to open each box, dumping their contents to the floor.

“Security never checked these,” I muttered frantically.

“There might be something in here. He’s probably tracking me using these—”

I felt Luca’s arms wrap around me, making me drop the pair of pants in my hand as he pressed my arms to my chest.

“Let me go,” I said, fighting against him as he pulled me away.

“You need to calm down,” he said sternly.

“But the boxes—”

“I looked through them yesterday when you went running,” he interrupted.

“There’s nothing in there.”

I halted my struggle against him as I felt a sharp pain travel up my right arm. In the midst of my panic, I had forgotten about my hand being broken.

“Please let me go…”

Luca loosened his grip and moved his hands to my shoulders as he turned me around to face him.

“Get dressed. We’ll go and get those x-rays,” he said, gesturing to the bandaged, throbbing hand I now held close to my chest.

I looked up at him and we held each other’s gaze for a few moments before I found myself leaning into him. Luca hesitated, dropping his hands from my shoulders as he backed away.

“Get dressed,” he said, turning to leave the bedroom.

I added rejection to the list of things I felt in that moment. Somehow, it was more overwhelming than the rest. I found Luca waiting outside in his truck after I’d changed and come back downstairs.

I tucked my bandaged hand under my left arm in hopes that the compression would help with the pain. I was reminded in the worst way that I’d forgotten to take the pain medication that morning.

Thankfully, we weren’t a far drive from Dr. Witt’s clinic. After a few minutes of heavy silence, we pulled into a small parking lot where a simple, single-level white stone building sat.

I followed Luca inside.

It felt awkward to walk past the receptionist as though she weren’t there, strolling right past the front desk into the clinic. Dr. Witt was in the hallway reading a chart when Luca approached her. She looked up, over her red-rimmed glasses and nodded to the room across the hall.

“You’re lucky the room is available,” she said.

“I was expecting a call giving me a heads up that you were on the way.”

“We’ve been a little preoccupied this morning,” Luca replied.

“I don’t want to know what that means.”

Not what you think it does, I thought.

Luca opened the door to a dark room and flipped on the light switch as we walked in. Dr. Witt followed us inside and pulled a chair up next to the cot that was covered by sanitary paper.

“You can sit here,” she said.

I took a seat and she had me place my hand on the cot next to me.

After unraveling the bandages and inspecting the swelling, Dr. Witt centered a white board under my hand. She then maneuvered the machine above the cot to hover over my hand, a light coming on that shone on the board. With a few adjustments and the quick flip of a switch, the x-ray was done and she removed the board from under my hand.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, closing the door behind her as she left the room.

I took a deep inhale, glancing over at Luca, who stood with his back against the wall, staring off into space. I desperately wanted to know what he was thinking about. Maybe it was about all the things he had to do that day. Maybe it was about my dad. Maybe he was thinking about me.

The door opened and Dr. Witt came back in with an iPad. “Textbook boxer’s fracture,” she confirmed with confidence.

She showed me the x-ray on the screen and pointed to the base of my pinky finger.

“You fractured the neck of the fifth metacarpal. It’s non-displaced so it doesn’t seem to be too bad. We should be able to splint it today and have you healed within four to six weeks. I’ll give you some physical therapy exercises when you come back to work on regaining strength and range of motion.”

I nodded slowly, looking apprehensively at my swollen hand.

“Do you know when I’ll be able to hold a paintbrush again?” I asked her.

The expression Dr. Witt made didn’t seem promising.

“I would say six weeks, maybe more,” she said, uncertainty lacing her tone.

“You may just need to work on abstract art with your left hand.”

She laughed at her joke, but I wasn’t amused.

Two months was a long time. As though Dr. Witt sensed my annoyance, she awkwardly cleared

her throat.

“I’ll get you buddy taped and in a splint and you guys should be good to go,” she said.

Luca and I nodded, both of us ready to leave.

As soon as she had taped my two fingers together and strapped my hand into the splint, I was on my feet.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Happy to help out anyone who punches assholes,” she smiled.

I halfheartedly returned the smile.

Luca pushed himself away from the wall and went to the door, opening it for me.

“Do I need to tell you that you can stop at the desk on the way out and make a follow up appointment or will you barge in four weeks from now and make your own?” Dr. Witt asked Luca.

He gave her an unamused stare.

“We’ll be in touch.”

“That’s what I thought.”

He guided me down the hall with his hand on my lower back, reaching out in front of us to open the door. The sun shone brightly against the concrete sidewalk we walked on, making me squint as my eyes adjusted to the bright daylight.

I followed Luca to his truck and climbed inside as he opened the door for me. As he made his way around the truck to his own door, I sat patiently, staring down at the brace on my hand.

“I need to stop by the meeting house; it will only take a minute, Luca assured me.

I nodded.

We drove for a few minutes, pulling into the driveway of the manicured house alongside Bates’ red jeep and the SUV that I assumed belonged to Blaine.

Luca kept the truck running as he got out and approached the house through the garage. A few minutes passed before I saw Bates walk outside from the front door.

He smiled and waved when he saw me.

“What’s up, buttercup?” He asked as I rolled my window down.

He pulled himself up to stand on the side of the truck and peer into the cab.

Frowning, he picked up my fractured hand.

“Damn,” he remarked.

“I thought it was going to be a real cast. I wanted to sign it.”

“I haven’t heard anyone ask to sign a cast since middle school,” I laughed.

“It’s a lost art,” he said solemnly.

Bates pulled a permanent marker from his pocket and pulled the cap off with his teeth.

“You keep a Sharpie in your pants?”

“For emergencies,” he said, teeth still holding the cap of the marker.

He pulled my hand closer to his face and began to scribble along the clean, white strap that held the brace together.

“If you draw a penis, I’ll end you,” I threatened.

“Don’t give him ideas,” a voice said behind Bates.

Blaine popped his head into the truck window next to where Bates stood.

“Can I sign it next?”

I sighed.

“Sure.”

Bates handed the marker to Blaine.

“Your handwriting is shit,” Bates said, watching Blaine scribble his name.

“At least I can spell my name.” Blaine retorted.

“For the last time,” Bates said, pinching his nose, “I was drunk and I just combined my first and last name, I didn’t actually misspell it.”

“Go ahead and explain to Carrie why you were trying to forge Luca’s signature on a fake excuse note for yourself so you didn’t have to go into work for Luca the next day…”

“I was drunk,” Bates reiterated.

Blaine was laughing as he handed the marker back to Bates.

“It’s framed in my office,” Luca said, walking up to the truck.

Bates flipped Luca off.

“We’ll see you later,” Luca said, climbing into the truck.

Bates and Blaine both waved as Luca began to back the truck up the driveway. We were both quiet as Luca drove us home.

He looked over at one point and we made eye contact for a brief moment. I couldn’t decipher the look he gave me. When we drove up to Luca’s house, the gate was already open.

As we drove down the driveway, I saw a slate gray SUV parked in front of the garage.

“Who is that?” I asked as he parked behind the unknown car.

I looked over to Luca when he didn’t answer, only to see him close his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Luca?”

He let out an exasperated sigh before turning to me.

“My mother.”