Claimed by the Wrong Alphas Chapter 69: Hidden condition

Rhett

Eamon tried to scramble down from my bed, but I held him.

"It’s fine, doc," I said firmly. "He’s my best friend."

"It doesn’t matter, Alpha Rhett," the Doctor Maxwell sighed. "You’re in no state to be doing that, especially with the high chances of you getting an infection increasing by the day."

The door opened again, and Sarah entered the room, her eyes going wide with fear.

"Doctor, you’re here?" she said with a placating tone. "I didn’t hear you co in."

"Didn’t I give clear instructions that he should not have any visitors?" Dr. Maxwell turned to Sarah.

"It’s not his fault, Doc, and since they are best friends, our young Alpha doesn’t have a lot of friends who visit him."

"This is different, Sarah," Maxwell said slowly. "He needs intensive care. His immune system is weak as it is, so please, no more visitors."

Then he turned to Eamon. "Leave. Now."

"C’mon, doc," I held on to a struggling Eamon.

"You think this is a damn tourist site, Rhett?" he said fiercely, looking at before turning to face Eamon. "Does he look like he needs a schoolboy prancing around, feeding him howork?"

Eamon finally broke free from my hand. "I’m sorry," he murmured. "I just...I didn’t see him today and—"

"And you won’t be seeing him again unless I say so," Dr. Maxwell cut in. "He’s not like the rest of you. One wrong move, one emotional spike, and we’re calling in a resuscitation team."

Eamon flinched.

"Do you understand ?"

He nodded.

"Good, get out."

Sarah looked apologetic, but she said nothing more. Eamon paused for a minute to remove so books from his bag, which he placed on the table inside the room, and with one last glance at , he slipped out.

Sarah murmured sothing about helping Eamon and left after him, too. As soon as we were alone, I turned to my Dr. Maxwell.

"You didn’t have to be so harsh, doc. Eamon is harmless..."

He ignored coming close to the bed to check my vitals. I sighed, allowing him to do his thing. After a while, he finished checking my vitals and moved to check the tubes, wires and monitors.

Several minutes later, he stepped back with a puzzled expression.

"Did soone co to check you while I was away?" he asked .

I shook my head. "No, why?"

"Because you’re doing much better than you were earlier today," Maxwell said, studying the monitor readings. "Your blood pressure levels, which we’ve been trying to get to a normal reading since this year, have normalised, and from the imaging of your chest, the inflammation has decreased significantly. This kind of improvent usually takes days, not hours. Tell the truth, who ca here?"

"No one!" I stared at him strangely.

"Seriously, who ca here while I was away?" Dr. Maxwell pressed, his eyes still fixed on the monitor readings with bewildernt. "Did another doctor examine you? Because your cardiac arrhythmia has completely stabilised, your blood oxygen levels are back to normal range, and the inflammation around your heart that was showing on this morning’s scans has reduced by nearly seventy per cent."

I shook my head, staring at him strangely. The intensity of his questioning was making uncomfortable, like he suspected of lying about sothing I didn’t even understand.

"Of course not. Why would you even ask that?" I scoffed, though part of was genuinely curious about what had him so rattled.

Maxwell kept staring at the readings, his brow furrowed in the way it got when he encountered sothing that didn’t fit his dical expectations. I could practically see the gears turning in his head as he tried to make sense of data that apparently defied explanation.

"Did you get across to my father?" I asked, changing the subject to sothing that mattered more to than mysterious dical improvents.

Maxwell was so absorbed in reading the charts that he completely ignored my question. I watched him flip through pages of test results, look back at the monitors, then mutter under his breath and occasionally shake his head.

"Maxwell," I called out more sharply.

He finally looked up, blinking as if he’d forgotten I was there. "What? Oh, yes. He’s coming to visit you here. He should be on his way now."

For a mont, I was sure I’d misheard him. "My father is coming here?"

The words ca out strangled with disbelief. I hadn’t seen my father for nearly nine months now—not since the last ti I’d been hospitalised and he’d made it clear that my "dramatics" were embarrassing the family na. He wouldn’t even take my calls anymore, leaving to communicate with him through his secretary or my step-mom, like I was so business associate rather than his son.

"You’re serious?" I asked, my voice cracking slightly. "He’s actually coming? Here? To see ?"

Maxwell nodded absentmindedly, already turning back to his charts. "I don’t think you’ll need the digoxin infusion again," he murmured, more to himself than to . "Your heart rhythm has stabilised completely."

I barely heard him. My mind was reeling with the announcent of my father’s visit. Alpha Terry Thatcher didn’t make house calls, especially not to the disappointnt of his son, who couldn’t even manage to pass his first year at Ravenshore. The fact that he was coming here, to Ravenshore, ant sothing serious was happening.

"Did he say why?" I pressed. "Did you tell him about this morning’s episode?"

Before Maxwell could answer, the door burst open and Sarah rushed in, her face bright with excitent.

"Young Alpha," she called out breathlessly. "Your father is here."

"My father?" The words tumbled out before I could stop them.

I sprang from the bed instinctively, but imdiately groaned in pain as the tubes connected to my chest yanked back down. The sudden movent sent spikes of agony through my torso, and I collapsed back onto the mattress, breathing hard.

At that exact mont, the door opened again, and my father entered.