"I may be your second chance, Wade, but I will not be your second choice."
Reeling from the death of his mate, Alpha Wade tried everything in his power to bring her back to life. So consumed with raising her from the dead, he almost missed his secon...
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"YOU should start planning the funeral," Henry's doctor advised.
Both my Dad and I had been brought into an adjoining room, away from Henry's listening ears. It was small and stuffy. Much like my tiny room back at the Training Grounds, there were no windows, but the hospital had made at least an attempt to appear as if there were.
A set of white drapes hung around a picture frame that had a generic landscape picture taken inside. The light wood of the frame matched the light wood of the table and chairs in the room.
Henry's doctor, Dr. Lud, came to check on Henry's progression earlier. He took a brief look at him and declared he was beginning to show signs of decline. Henry was lucky enough to still be cognizant of his surroundings.
But Dr. Lud assured us that would not be for long.
Henry would more than likely slip into a coma and hang on for another day before death finally granted a reprieve.
Because of this, Dr. Lud asked both Dad and me to step out of the room. He had directed us to a small conference room, marked with the name Grief Counseling.
I was not prepared to hear the doctor be so blunt in his wording. I was not prepared for him to tell us to already begin funeral preparations. Henry was still alive and—albeit—unwell. He wasn't dead yet, but Henry's doctor wanted us to act like he had already passed.
It would be easier this way, I told myself. It would be easier for us all.
And, I knew there might be some truth to that.
When Mom died, we had no warning. We were all wildly unprepared to make all the preparations for a funeral. As a result, we ended up spending too much on things we didn't need while also not getting all the details just right for Mom's final resting place.
She had not left a will, so it was left to us—Henry, Dad, and me—to plan her funeral and make all the necessary arrangements.
Really, though, it was left to just me.
Dad had been too much of a mess to be able to even think about planning the funeral without bursting into sporadic and never-ending tears. Grandpa had taken to comforting Dad during that period of time while I made the preparations. When Grandma was having one of her better days, she'd lend a helping hand. But Mom's death had really thrown her for a loop.
Mom often dropped by Grandma and Grandpa's house to leave leftovers we had from dinner—at least when it was not Reaper season. Grandma did not take to this change well.
None of us had.
"He's not even dead yet!" Dad's fists collided with the table. His jaw clenched. "My son is not dead."
"I know," the doctor acknowledged with a sigh. This clearly was not Dr. Lud's first time delivering such horrific news. And it, most certainly, was not the first time he had encountered such a reaction. "Mr. Campbell, I know this is a hard time for your family."
