Page 185 of Altius
I gave the extra padding around his waist an affectionate poke. “You, Dr. Carling.”
“Oh, yeah.” Slumping back in his chair, Cal knocked his leg against my knee. “Forgot I’d already asked you out, since we kind of rushed things to get set up here.”
To say I was touched by what he and Owen had done was an understatement. They’d dropped everything to concoct a legitimate reason for their presence tonight, using PheroPass to keep me safely isolated from Wyatt without sacrificing productivity—a vast improvement over my plan to isolate myself by sticking close to the visiting team.
“Does it have to be Mexican?” Owen asked, eyes locked on his computer screen as he typed. “Arlotti’s is—”
“Mexican,” Cal and I said at the same time.
Exchanging amused glances with Cal, I stifled a laugh and refocused my attention on the beam.
But my eyes couldn’t help but stray to Wyatt.
He was staring right back at me, blue eyes ablaze with desperate yearning.
My breath hitched.
The comforting expanse of Cal’s hand settled on my lower back once more, while the very tip of Owen’s polished shoe pressed against my sneaker.
It was okay. The pounding of my heart wasn’t half as bad as the friction in my head.
Temporary. This was temporary. I just had to maintain focus.
And eat copious amounts of salsa.
Forty-Four
Morgan
The following week was spent keeping myself as busy as possible.
On Sunday, I took Christine out to celebrate her fellowship placement and listened as she excitedly shared her plans to relocate to Michigan.
Owen continued to join me for silent morning workouts. Then I dove into a blur of clinic appointments, rotations, and game coverage—made possible by pain pills and copious amounts of scent-canceling spray.
Wednesday’s standing date night with Alijah turned into a vent session with Reyhan over Nepalese food. The three of us shared our frustrations with Northport’s hiring practices and the job market in general.
Otherwise, I had dinner with Kelsey and Cal—always making sure to eat a passable amount of food, despite not having much of an appetite.
Evenings were spent giving Rory virtual tutoring sessions for his biology course, exchanging emails about the latest vibration therapy prototypes, poring over PheroPass data, and waiting for Wyatt to call.
All while ignoring my hormone readings. I’d made the mistake of checking them once on Monday morning and refused to risk it again.
Despite my best efforts, the headache refused to abate, and a deep-seated ache radiated throughout my body at all hours of the day. It worsened at night, when even Cal’s reassuring weight failed to provide sufficient comfort to fall asleep.
Wednesday night was the worst. It felt like ants were crawling through my veins, each screaming for me to run across the hall and throw myself at Wyatt. To sink my teeth into his neck and put us out of our misery.
Instead, I untangled myself from Cal’s embrace and slunk into my closet. A skeptical Kip watched as I unzipped the suitcase containing my stash of gifts and contraband I’d collected from the guys. I’d intended to grab one of the fantasy novels Wyatt had given me to commemorate the tenth anniversary of my accident before heading to the library to read myself to sleep.
But my omega had other ideas.
Cal found me a few hours later, huddled in a makeshift nest of his sweaters, wearing Alijah’s polo shirt and Wyatt’s basketball shorts over my pajamas, with Owen’s tie wrapped around my hand, clutching the book to my chest, trembling as I fought the urge to cry.
He didn’t ask what was wrong or what I was doing—because the answers were obvious.
Instead, he scooped me up, sweaters and all, carrying the entire mess back to bed, where he resettled me against his chest and read the first few chapters of the novel aloud in a deep, sleep-tinged voice, purring all the while.
An achingly sweet gesture that provided no relief.
