Hospitals were never fun. Not when I was there for foundation business and especially not when I went to meet my mate’s mother for the first time.

The nurses greeted Killian as we passed—no surprise given the amount of time he had spent there the past few weeks. It was no small part of me that worried that he was going to collapse under the weight of the stress without his work, mate, and fur babies to ground and distract him. But that was a fight I was never going to win, even if I tried. We joked about which one of us was more stubborn, especially when it came to money. So far, it was a draw.

His mother was in the infectious disease ward for no other reason than the doctors couldn’t rule out the possibility that she had contracted something, and the team’s lead doctor said his gut felt that was more likely than something genetic. The ward was creepy. All of the people who worked there suited up before entering a patient’s room, although thankfully Mama, which Killian already told me that under no circumstances would I call her anything else, wasn’t under such stringent guidelines.

“Hi, Mama,” Killian called into the room. His mother was sitting up and eating breakfast.

She looked up and her face went still with shock. “Killian, you said you were bringing Marcus by. You didn’t tell me… who arranged this? Was it Marcus? You need to… my hair!”

I knew the minute she began babbling that she knew me and had more than likely met me…. as my pseudonym. I thought back to all the events my publisher had conned me into going to before I put my foot down. I loved my readers, but keeping a pen name a secret when people were snapping your picture left and right and posting on social media was becoming increasingly difficult.

Killian looked worried, and I remembered he’d said one of her symptoms was getting mixed up and confused. Damn it. He thought she was having an episode. “What are you talking about, Mama? This is—”

“I know who this is.” She sat up a little straighter. “Romeo DiMarco.”

“Umm, nice to meet you.” Talk about an awkward moment. Killian and I had talked about my writing career a little over the past few weeks, but the subject of pen names never came up, probably because other things usually arose before we got to it… and that seemed to always take precedence. “My everyday name is Marcus.” I held out my hand, but she was having none of it, pulling me into a hug.

“You’re mated to Romeo DiMarco!” She wagged her finger at Killian, a smile on her face. “You sly boy. Good on you.”

For the first time since I walked in, I was able to get a good look at her. Her spirits were bright given the situation, but her eyes were sunken and dull, her skin tinged almost gray. Her very unwashed hair told me that standing up long enough to clean it was a challenge. She was not holding up well despite the façade she was trying to present.

“Would somebody explain to me what is going on?” Poor Killian sounded so confused.

“Remember when I said I wrote books?” I went to his side, wrapping my arm around his middle.

“Yes…”

“My pen name is Romeo DiMarco. Usually people don’t recognize me, though. My author photo is photoshopped to almost deceptive levels.” There was no almost to it. I wore over the top clothing with a hat to shadow my face and then had the photographer change my proportions. It was not the most honest approach, but the publishers were adamant I had to have a headshot and it was just easier than fighting them.

“You probably don’t remember me, but I was at the Long Island Romance Palooza.”

I groaned as it all fell into place. We may have both been judges in a Mr. Palooza competition… tequila may have been involved.

“What happens at Romance Palooza—” she started.

“—stays at Romance Palooza,” I finished

I liked her already. Actually, I already had before I walked into the room. Anyone who brought up such an amazing alpha as mine was fabulous in my book.

“You’re him? The guy who… Next topic.” Killian finally caught up. His mother had won a contest proving she was my biggest fan, and the prize had been an all-expenses paid trip to the Romance Palooza. It appeared Killian was piecing things together correctly. At least it was distracting him from the situation at hand.

“Nope, not changing the topic.” Mama giggled like a school girl, the little sparkle in her eye telling me she was playing him like a fiddle and relishing his discomfort. “You’re mated to one of the all-time biggest romance authors around and you want me to sit here and not talk about it?”

“Look at him.” Killian pointed at me, his face burning red. “He’s the color of a fire engine.” I turned his finger around so it faced himself, making the statement true.

“Oh, he wrote this one series about a fire station and each book followed a different fireman.” She fanned herself. Killian buried his head into my shoulder, his fingers in his ears, not that I could blame him. If either of my godmothers had teased me the way Killian’s mom was teasing him, I’d want to die a little, too. “I’ll stop,” she promised, although I was unsure if that was true.

I was grateful for the momentary reprieve, though, for both Killian and myself. “I appreciate it, Mama. And just for that, I am going to make sure you get my next book before it is released.” Her face lit up as she clapped in over-exaggerated glee.

“And I do remember you. You were one of the winners from the publisher’s big giveaway.” I accidentally on purpose skipped the tequila part.

“That’s the only reason I could go. Long Island’s idea of reasonable accommodation just isn’t.”

“Long Island?” A voice I didn’t recognize cut in.

“Hello, Doctor Kuyper.” Mama answered. “Yes. This is my new son-in-law and it turns out we met on Long Island—when was it? Almost a year and a half ago now.

“Something like that.” I shrugged.

“Why didn’t I think to ask? Of course…” the doctor mumbled to himself.

“Of course what?” Killian asked.

“I’m not saying it is, but Long Island has a huge Lyme Disease problem and I never thought to test for it because you don’t live in a risk area. But untreated Lyme could easily look like Mrs. Daye’s symptoms.”

“Wouldn’t she have a bullseye or something?” I didn’t know much about Lyme, but I did know that anytime someone posted a picture of a bug bite someone mentioned if there was a bullseye, you have Lyme. Because, you know, everyone on social media is now a doctor.

“Not necessarily.” He tapped the stylus on his tablet a few times. “Ok, I’m going to go order the tests and treatment.”

“Treatment even though it could be something else?” I didn’t blame her for asking. She had been through so much already.

“It is only IV antibiotics to start, and if it is Lyme, we want to start treatment ASAP. The test results aren’t a hundred percent, so if you start to feel better it can help confirm a positive result.”

IVs didn’t sound “only” to me, but then again, I only had a hint of what she was going through. I hadn’t pushed Killian, wanting to use our time to distract him so he got a few moments peace from the stress he carried.

“I didn’t think Lyme disease was so serious.” Killian was talking into the air, not even looking at anyone, almost as if he were processing aloud. I gave his hand a squeeze.

“It isn’t if caught early. She may need some long-term treatments to kick this bad boy if it comes out positive, but this is the least scary of the things you have been tested for since you came in, so let’s cross our fingers.”

“I never thought I’d say this, but, Mama, I hope you have Lyme disease.” Killian’s tone was teasing, but there was no joke to his words.

“Me too,” Mama and I said together, giggling, hope finally entering the room.