Page 155 of Altius
And because fate loved to fuck with me, just when I thought it couldn’t possibly get any worse, Amir clawed his way up my arm, chin digging into my shoulder…and vomited again.
Hot chunks of mortification clung to my hair, sliding down the back of my neck and seeping into my shirt collar.
At least I couldn’t smell it.
Thirty-Seven
Morgan
Bent over the sink in the stadium’s private medical office bathroom, shirtless save for my bra, I tried to wash my hair. It looked clean enough, but I was worried about the lingering stench—for Alijah’s sake.
Deciding I’d done my best, I turned off the tap and stood up. Paper towels were a piss-poor substitute for the fluffy clouds Kelsey kept stocked in my bathroom at home.
A glance in the mirror revealed a large, fresh bruise mottling my ribs. Turning, I spotted another on the back of my shoulder. Evidence that Garvey had crossed the line. Cal and Wyatt were going to lose their shit when they saw them.
A gentle knock sounded on the door. “It’s me.”
Alijah had returned from his emergency run to the nearest merch booth to buy me a clean t-shirt.
Throwing back the deadbolt, I cracked open the door. “Any luck?”
“Let me in,” he insisted, bumping his hip against the door. My work bag was slung over his shoulder. His arms were full of clothes and towels.
I moved aside, obscuring that I was basically half-naked, allowing him to slip inside before locking the door behind him.
Alijah dumped an assortment of Northport gear and towels on the counter, then hung my bag on the wall hook.
“There wasn’t much left,” he said, unzipping my bag to rummage through the side pocket where I kept my personal essentials. “But it should be good enough to get you back to the hotel. Reyhan grabbed your bag before he left in the ambulance with Amir.”
Taking one of the towels, I resumed drying my hair, trying to keep a leash on my simmering temper. I should have been the medical fellow taking care of Amir.
“She’s hysterical.”
That’s all Garvey had to say to turn my boss and most of the crowd against me. No one listened when I tried to explain what happened. Not Dr. McEwen or any of the other medical staff.
After telling Reyhan to call for medical transport, Dr. McEwen ordered me to return to the hotel and avoid contact with the team.
Banished. Excommunicated. Disgraced.
For acting in self-defense, for protecting my patient from a pheromone-addled alpha, for being harassed and belittled, for doing the right thing.
For simply being an omega.
Alijah turned, holding the travel bottle of scent-canceling spray, eyes widening as his gaze trailed from my cleavage down my bare stomach—but then he caught sight of my vomit-splattered jogger pants. He grimaced and turned away.
“Take those off,” he said in a tight, quiet voice. For a second, I thought he was looking away out of respect, but then he half-hissed, “I can’t stand it.”
He wasn’t protecting my absent modesty. Nor was he disgusted by the presence of the vomit on my pants, but rather, by what it represented.
What the university allowed to happen because of their negligence.
And the indignities to come.
The disciplinary hearings. A possible suspension. They might even fire me for using force against an alpha.
It didn’t matter who started it. I was the one who ended it. And if the antiseptic spray caused lasting damage…
A call to my lawyer was in order.
