Page 141 of Altius
Kelsey was about to nod when a cloud of rank boxwood rolled in, followed by Wyatt, rubbing his sweaty face with a hand towel.
“Listen to him, Kels. He’s talking sense.” He shot me a shit-eating grin. “For once.”
I blinked with a deadpan expression. “What a resounding endorsement, asshole.”
“Why are you here?” he asked.
I shoved my phone at his over-muscled chest without answering. Then I turned back to Kelsey. “You good?”
“Other than having to deal with early morning alpha visits, yeah.” She crossed to the ventilation control panel and turned it up a few notches.
Grabbing Wyatt by the shoulder, inadvertently coating my hand with boxwood stink, I steered him toward the door. “Time to go—before you contaminate all her orders.”
“Hey, I smell fine,” he grumbled, sniffing the front of his damp shirt as he trudged toward the door. “Well, almost fine.”
Shaking my head, I glanced at Kelsey over my shoulder. “If you’re interested in better, more informed advice, might I make a wild suggestion?”
She quirked her head at me, messy blonde ponytail falling to the side.
“Talk to Morgan,” I said. “If anyone knows how to beat the odds, it’s her.”
She crinkled her nose, then let out a light laugh. “Yeah. I know.”
“Bye, Kels.” Wyatt held the door for me.
“Sleep at your own place tonight,” she called after us as the door clicked shut.
What a short, sneaky stinker. He’d basically moved in with Morgan on the sly. Alijah and I needed to play some major catch-up.
“What do you think of Morgan’s text?” I asked, following him back to our place.
“How’s it any different than my usual vibe with Owen?” Wyatt asked, reaching for the door handle.
Ouch. I might be irked at Owen for disregarding Alijah and ignoring multiple requests to address this whole pheromone bomber situation, but he wasn’t a shit brother.
At least, I didn’t think he was.
But maybe I understood my old friend better than Wyatt did. The benefit of living together from the age of eighteen, I suppose.
Deciding that since I’d helped patch up one sibling schism this morning, I might as well go two, I followed Wyatt up the stairs—ignoring the steely gaze following our every move from the kitchen—and trailed Wyatt into his bedroom.
The space was as sad and bare as the day he moved in.
“And here I thought Owen was the skinflint in your family,” I said, closing the door behind me.
Wyatt whipped around with a glare. “The fuck are you doing?”
“Talking,” I said flatly and leaned against the wall. His little tantrum wouldn’t work on me. I had seven inches of height on him and dominance to spare. “We can get you a proper bed, you know.”
“I need to get ready for work.”
“And I need to know why you keep turning us down. Not Owen. Us. The pack. And don’t blame it on Morgan.”
“But that’s the answer. I want to be in a packwithMorgan.”
“Weallwant to be in a pack with her. But do you want to be in a pack withus?”
“I do—and I don’t.” His shoulders dropped, his chest deflating as he sank onto a chair littered with gym clothes. “Packs have never made sense to me because I… You know how we grew up. The lights were on, but no one cared if I came home. Owen was too worried about making sure the rent got paid to give a shit about much else.”
