Page 23 of Altius
Sliding my phone back into my pocket, I silently vowed to make it up to Cal in person. He needed someone in his corner, especially when it came to his family. I had to do better.
“It’s almost like they know we’re onto them,” Reyhan said, turning a suspicious eye to the closest players and coaching staff.
There hadn’t been an unusual pheromone spike since last week, the day before I landed in the hospital.
“Or they caught wind of the leadership meeting on Monday,” I said with a dry laugh.
The university had finally given in to Redwing’s demands, but the meeting outcome was destined to disappoint.
Neither Cal nor Dr. McEwen thought we could convince the head of university athletics to take the possibility of deliberate pheromone intimidation any more seriously than the coaching staff did—or rather, didn’t.
“I know Dr. McEwen said not to get our hopes up,” Reyhan said, trying to keep a lid on his irritation, “but I just don’t see how they can see all the evidence and turn a blind eye.”
“More like ignore it until January. Can’t jeopardize their chances of making the playoffs.”
“Ugh,” Reyhan lamented with a shiver.
He looked down the field, watching the defensive line coaches put the newly promoted second-stringers through their paces. Tyler’s replacement at nose tackle left a lot to be desired.
“Might not have anyone healthy enough to play by then.”
“And that’s precisely why we’ll catch them in the act. It might not be today, but we will. The data’s on our side.”
Reyhan shot me a dubious look. “You ever see the buddy cop show about a nerdy, somewhat neurotic beta and the gutsy omega who doesn’t know when to quit?”
Procedural shows didn’t interest me, although it sounded like something Jacobi or Rory would watch. Maybe Alijah, too, for that matter.
“No, I haven’t,” I said and resumed monitoring the PheroPass data.
“That’s because it doesn’t exist—and for good reason.” He leaned closer and said in all seriousness, “We’re not built to withstand pheromone bombs.”
“I know,” I said without looking up, tabbing through the summary dashboards. “Why do you think I carry pepper spray?”
Dragging a gloved hand across his face, Reyhan groaned. “So much for being the meeker designation.”
Six
Morgan
“Quit the gymnastics team? Haveyouquit thegymnasticsteam?”
If Jacobi weren’t holding a glass of wine, he’d probably roll onto his back and kick his legs in the air, like he used to when we were kids. I hoped the walls of his rental apartment had decent soundproofing.
“Oh, oh, should I post photos of us with other famous people and tag you, just to rub it in?”
“No.” I was sitting in the desk chair in my home office with a blanket draped over my legs and Tenny nestled in my arms, talking to Jacobi via my laptop camera. “She’s still my fellowship director at the end of the day. And Cal’s pack mother.”
“You’re right. Don’t want to give her a reason to go searching for clues.” Jacobi refilled his glass and shifted to a more comfortable position on the couch, holding a throw pillow against his chest. “Not that you or Cal would leave any for her to find… Hey, is he really okay with you spending so much time with shrub boy?”
“Seems like it. Not that there’s anything to be worried about,” I said. Tenny shifted, burying his head in the crook of my arm. He was taking advantage of Cal’s absence to be a cuddle monster. “It’s complicated, and we all know it.”
“Does it have to be?” Jacobi asked, trying to reduce the potential heaviness of his question with a long swig of wine.
“I don’t have the bandwidth. Not with everything going on—and my heat coming up.” I paused. “And Cal’s grandfather had another cardiac event today.”
“Still can’t believe you’re dating old money. The grubby kind that reeks of exploitation.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at his description.
