Seven – Morgan
Seven
Morgan
“ C areful.” A guy as big as Cal Carling had no business appearing out of nowhere. He stepped between me and a pair of oblivious football players on a collision course with my right side.
I hadn’t even noticed the players coming, even though they looked like a pair of forest green freight trains in their pads and uniforms. My focus had been midfield, scanning for signs of injury after the latest drive. The players apologized and continued to grab a drink.
“You okay?” Cal asked, standing a bit too close. The snarling face of Captain Tusker, the university’s pirate narwhal mascot, glared at me from Cal’s right pec. As if I needed the reminder to avert my eyes.
“Yes, thanks.” I adjusted my sunglasses and watched the defensive line’s ankles as they jogged back toward the sidelines, scanning for any sign of injury. “Sometimes I forget that I’m below their line of sight.”
Cal bent his head at a deep angle to make eye contact with me, blocking out the sun. The reprieve from the afternoon glare only made the fondness in his hazel eyes more noticeable.
“Frequent occupational hazard?”
“Keep poking fun at my height and see how you wind up.”
Cal’s laugh was overwhelmed by the crowd’s roar as our offensive line took to the field. I’d doubled up on pain meds before the start of the game, so the noise didn’t bother me too much.
Tyler jogged over, sweaty red hair plastered to his head, and held out his injured left hand. Someone—probably Tyler himself—had wrapped his fingers with enough layers of tape and foam bandaging to survive international shipping. An entire section had separated from the rest of the layers, exposing his sprained finger.
“I know the game’s almost over, but could you fix it? Please, doc, just in case.”
“Come on.” The medical supply cabinet was further down the sidelines. I turned and started threading through the crowd of coaches and players. Tyler followed at my heels. Cal ambled along a few steps behind him like an extra-large guard dog.
It was a quick fix. I cut away most of the loose bandages and secured everything with a fresh layer of tape. Tyler yanked on a grass-stained football glove, shoving the bandages through an uneven hole where the index and middle fingers should have been.
“Thanks, doc.” Tyler hurried away, eager to watch the team’s progress down the field.
The score was fourteen to fourteen, and the Narwhals had less than two minutes to break the tie.
Cal rested his arm on top of the cabinet. “Our setup wasn’t this nice when I was playing. None of the doctors were like you, either. I’m rather jealous.”
Bodies flowed around us, moving along with the line of scrimmage. A few staff members, including Coach Garvey, came close to bumping into me again, prompting Cal to guard my back, one large hand hovering over my shoulder. I was running out of patience with his protective alpha act.
“Thanks again, Dr. Carling. I’m fine.” I ducked around one of the athletic trainers to put the tape and scissors away.
Cal didn’t take the hint. He followed me.
“Permission to make a comment stemming from professional experience, Dr. Van Daal?” Two could play the title game.
“Sounds like you’re going to tell me, anyway.”
Cal leaned against the cabinet. The solid wall of his body blocked my view of the playing field, leaving me no choice but to pay attention to him—but I knew he would never prevent me from leaving if I wanted to.
“When emotions are running high, and instincts are in control, players can’t see anything they can’t scent. That includes erstwhile physicians.”
I did my best not to glare at him. “Your point?”
“It would be wise to lower your dosage on game days.”
There was a sharpness in his expression that I had never seen before, an intense focus that made me feel exposed. I should have seen this coming. Cal knew all about heat suppressants and their scent-blocking properties. Perhaps too much.
Omegas shouldn’t take large doses of suppressants for prolonged periods of time. Especially not unmated omegas over the age of thirty. Like me.
And I’d been on the highest allowable dose for almost three years.
Chemical warfare was necessary. I needed to be in control. Nothing could put my fellowship in jeopardy. I was less than a year away from success—from becoming a full-fledged sports medicine physician, from undeniable proof of recovery.
Something Cal Carling had no right to interfere with. And I would not pretend that he did.
“I’ll take it under advisement.” My clipped tone betrayed the distance between our points of view.
An uncomfortable smile twisted his expression, digging deep lines around his eyes. My fingers itched to smooth everything back out. But I wouldn’t.
“Morgan, I’m just–”
Whistles pierced the air as the Narwhals failed to advance on the third down. The coaching staff huddled for a brief, tense conversation before calling for a field goal.
A close-up of Landon Choi’s face filled the screens. Slim and composed, he brushed long, dark bangs away from his determined gaze, then pulled on his helmet. To think we’d almost benched him for this game—and now he might kick the winning field goal.
But could he do it?
The slight pressure of Cal’s hand against the small of my back caught me off-guard. I flinched in surprise—but didn’t resist—as he guided me to stand before him, ensuring I had a clear view of the video boards. His touch only lasted a few seconds, but the impression lingered, taunting me with its gentle warmth.
He touched me. Cal had never touched me before.
“Kid’s got good odds from this distance,” Cal said in a low voice, more disarming than a whisper. “He can do it.”
A fresh roar swept across the crowd as Landon took his place on the thirty-seven-yard line. The snap was solid. Landon’s form was perfect as his foot connected with the ball, which soared over the crossbar, dead center between the posts.
“It’s good!” the stadium announcer crowed. “Narwhals are ahead, seventeen to fourteen, with forty-three seconds left on the clock!”
Cal lowered his head, bringing his lips even to the top of my ear. “You did this.”
“It was the data.”
“No, it was you.”
His hand brushed my elbow as if to drive the point home. Again. Cal touched me again .
“He wouldn’t have been on the field today if it wasn’t for you, Morgan.”
I gave a rough nod of acknowledgment but couldn’t bring myself to look at him. A fresh dose of his all-knowing designation science guru expression might set me off.
“You care so much about everyone else’s health.” Cal took half a step closer, his body almost flush against my back. “Can’t you spare some of the same concern for yourself?”
“I’ll think about it,” I said, careful to mask my insincerity.
After a long moment, Cal stepped back, the intimate cocoon of his thoughtfulness replaced with the harsh afternoon sun and thundering cries of victory.
The game was over. We won.
Time to get back to work.
***
Heaving a sigh of relief, I said goodbye to Dr. McEwen and gathered my things. Another win in the books—thankfully, without any significant injuries.
As I headed out of the stadium, I texted my younger brother, Rory.
Finished. Meet me at the narwhal statue in the staff lot.
He attended the game with some other first-year students and was waiting nearby to go home with me for the rest of the weekend. We hadn’t talked much since the start of the semester, and I was looking forward to hearing all about my baby brother’s college exploits.
I arrived first. Leaning against the base of the bronze statue of Captain Tusker, I took advantage of the momentary reprieve to check my email.
The third message was a reminder about my flight to Minnesota on Tuesday.
Ballantyne University wasn’t my first choice for post-fellowship employment, but they had a solid athletics program. And Grace lived nearby. That was a definite plus.
I deleted a few messages before coming across a new follower notification—from Joaquin. Clicking the link to his social media profile, I followed him back. Art wasn’t my forte, but it was hard not to admire the surreal dreamscapes of his lighting designs. The harmony between his work, the sets, the costumes, and the dancers was plain to see.
Some photos looked like an expert had taken them—perhaps Alijah?
There were even a few shots of Piper dancing as Titania, which I saved to share with my family later.
Joaquin’s personal life had scant representation by comparison. A bag of plump donuts on a picnic table in front of a cider mill. Hiking along a ravine. Freshly inked sugar skull tattoo. Lots and lots of barbecued meat.
And a mountain of packed boxes labeled in a crooked scrawl of thick permanent marker. Had their pack business involved moving?
My eyes lingered on a photo of Alijah standing on the boardwalk, looking out over the bay, one hand raised to shield his eyes from the setting sun, a quiet smile on his full lips. His windswept white button-down dyed the same myriad of rosy colors as the water—positively glowing.
Joaquin had tagged Alijah’s account, and after a brief debate, I decided to follow him too. Not that they’d get much out of it—I hadn’t posted since July, and even then, it was just a photo of the cats sleeping on a Narwhals shirt to mark the start of my fellowship.
A silver extended cab pickup pulled to a smooth stop before me. The window lowered, revealing the annoyingly attractive face of today’s tormentor.
“Need a ride?” Cal asked.
“No, thanks. I’m waiting for someone.”
“Oh? Me too.” Cal climbed down from the truck, inadvertently showing off one of his thick thighs. He shut the door and came to stand beside me, scanning the surrounding parking lot for nonexistent threats. There were at least three campus police squads patrolling the immediate vicinity, not to mention dozens of security cameras.
Cal should find someone who could appreciate his overly thoughtful alpha sensibilities. I was an omega who knew her limits—and always carried a can of pepper spray—not a flashing neon sign for harassment.
Once his protective instincts were satisfied, Cal’s posture relaxed, hooking his thumbs in his pockets. He rocked back on his heels and smiled down at me.
“Aren’t you curious who I’m waiting for?”
I gave him a flat stare. “Fine. I’ll bite. Who? ”
“Spencer, my favorite nephew, and his roommate. They’re seniors, and yes, I know I look way too young to have a twenty-one-year-old nephew.”
“Big family?”
His brow twitched. “Never looked me up?”
“Hard pass,” I said, with sarcastic emphasis. Given how skewed my narrative was online, I avoided the internet’s misinterpretation of others as a matter of principle.
“Huh. Well, it’s…more like a big age gap with my half-sister.” Cal’s tone was flippant to the point of sounding hollow. There was a story there, one I did and didn’t want to know.
Children from the same pack almost always considered each other full siblings. This was true in my family. We treated our three dads equally, regardless of who our biological father happened to be. Kelsey and Rory were my siblings just as much as Piper was. Pack moved as one.
Half-siblings were different. Sometimes, the term was congenial, like step-sibling, simply reflecting the different ways a pack could form. But plenty of peopleused half-sibling as a slight, betraying a schism in the pack bond—a not-so-subtle rejection of blood ties.
An opinion his nephew clearly didn’t share.
“He didn’t follow in your footsteps and play football?” I asked.
“His grandmother forbade it. Got him studying business instead.” Cal looked away from me, rocking back and forth on his heels as he watched the small crowd still milling about the stadium. The silence wasn’t tense, but his hesitation was evident. “You know his grandmother—Anya Sethi.”
I stared up at him in disbelief. “My fellowship director?”
“Yeah. She’s one of my pack mothers.”
Dr. Sethi was a well-maintained steel trap of a woman in her late sixties with a penchant for frosted lipsticks and silk blouses. She was also the unseen hand guiding the future of every sports medicine fellow, including mine.
“She doesn’t use Carling professionally?”
“No. Doesn’t use it in her personal life, either. Was already published when she joined the pack.”
I couldn’t picture them together in a family setting. It was like a Great Pyrenees playing house with a python. The only thing they seemed to have in common was a mile-long list of accomplishments.
“A heads-up would have been nice,” I said. “Considering the fact I meet with her every week.”
“I know, I know—and I’m sorry. Wasn’t keeping it from you on purpose.” Cal scratched the back of his neck. “It’s not something I like to advertise, even though it’s public knowledge.”
Unsure if his last sentence was a hint or a warning, I asked, “Why tell me now?”
His voice was quiet. Vulnerable. “Quid pro quo, I guess.”
I hummed in noncommittal agreement. At least he recognized that bringing up my heat suppressant dosage during work hours crossed the line.
Cal nodded at an incoming car with a blonde woman at the wheel. “Is that your sister?”
How did Cal know I had a blonde sister? Kelsey had only picked me up a few times since the start of my fellowship, but she’d stayed in the car, never going inside the stadium or any of the offices where I worked.
No, that wasn’t right. I’d forgotten my pill case at the start of the second week. She met me in the lobby of the sports medicine clinic. Cal was there, passing by, and didn’t hesitate to introduce himself.
He remembered such an insignificant encounter? I would’ve thought his mind had even less room for superfluous details than my own damp sponge of a brain.
“I’m waiting for my brother, not my sister.”
Cal’s face contorted in confusion, tweaking his nose even more out of alignment. “There’s more of you?”
It was impossible not to indulge in a small laugh at his reaction. “I’m the third of seven kids. Five girls, two boys.”
“Huh.” He blinked at me. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you give off strong only-child vibes—independent, high achiever. You don’t need much direction at work. For some reason, I thought one sister was already pushing it on the sibling count.”
“No offense taken. It’s a lot of kids, especially for a pack with just one mother in the mix.”
Cal bit back a smile. “What’s his major?”
“Mechanical engineering.”
“Didn’t he want to follow in your footsteps,” he teased, echoing my earlier question, “and be a Wakeland weasel?”
“Oh, he got in,” I said with pride. Sure, Northport might be the state’s top research university, but Wakeland State had the edge in engineering and medical programs. Which is why I chose it—well, that and a generous gymnastics scholarship. “But Rory wanted to stay close to home, and most of his friends are here.”
“Not going to defend your alma mater’s mascot?”
“Nope.” There was no point. Northport alums calling our mascot a weasel instead of its proper name, Finley the Fisher, wasn’t as clever as they thought. They were both members of the Mustelid family.
“You’re no fun.”
After Rory texted to confirm that he was almost there, I slipped my phone into the front pocket of my work bag.
“Since you’re so bored, want to know how you come across? I promise it’s flattering.”
“As long as it’s actually flattering, even if you have to lie to me.”
I studied him out of the corner of my eye as I straightened my sunglasses. “You seem like a surprise baby boy alpha after a long line of mostly omega sisters.”
“I deserved that—and you’re not entirely incorrect,” Cal said with a mellow chuckle. “But I don’t see how that’s flattering.”
“Oh, but it is. You make anticipating omega needs look effortless. Take your office, for example.”
That knowing look was back on his face. Why had I started this?
Cal stepped closer and asked through a barely suppressed smile, “What about my office?”
“It’s inviting. And well-stocked. I’ve had a ton of different designation counselors, but I can only think of two with readily available blankets and snacks. I understand why. It’s hard to keep things sanitized, and budgets are tight, but it can make all the difference.”
“Does your current counselor have them?” Cal asked, suddenly all business. His reaction and question were both outside my expectations.
I nodded.
“That’s good. Now, what else?”
“Your sweaters.”
“Oh?” Cal leaned toward me, a mischievous gleam in his eye. A loaded silence stretched between us. He was more than content to wait until I cracked.
And crack, I did. “It’s the textures. Exactly the type of thing an omega wants to steal.”
“Come up with a few good ideas for PheroPass,” Cal half-whispered, his voice dripping like honey down the back of my neck. “And I’ll turn a blind eye if you run off with one.”
I took a purposeful step away from Cal. He was too close, and Rory’s compact frame was heading straight for us. My siblings were experts at getting the wrong idea, and I didn’t want Rory to misunderstand our relationship.
The alpha confused me enough as it was.
“Have fun with your nephew. See you next week.” I started toward my brother, then shot a death glare over my shoulder. “And don’t follow me this time.”
Cal laughed—a whole-body experience that lit him up from within. I forced myself to keep walking.
“Morgan!” Rory jogged the final few yards between us, cheeks pinked with happiness, and pulled me into a tight hug, rubbing circles into the fleece of my vest for half a minute before letting go.
Thankfully, one of us could adequately channel our omega instincts.
He had the same luminous allure as Kelsey but with our mother’s auburn hair instead of Papa’s blond. Today, it was pulled back into a careless bun. With a football jersey over a hoodie, cuffed jeans, and spotless white sneakers, he was the perfect mix of effortless cool and the lovable boy next door.
So comfortable in his own skin that it almost didn’t seem fair.
“Who’s that?” Rory asked as he relinquished his hold on me, bright green eyes locked on the alpha over my shoulder.
“Research colleague.”
“Not what I asked, sis.”
“And yet, that’s the only answer you’re going to get.” I took his elbow and steered him toward my car. The name on the back of his jersey came as a surprise. “Since when were you a fan of Landon Choi?”
“Omega solidarity. I swear half my dorm bought one.” Rory lived in an omega-only dorm on campus. It was mixed-gender since there weren’t enough male omegas enrolled to warrant a separate building. “Don’t read into it, though. There’s only like three omega football players to choose from.”
“There’s eight, actually,” I said without thinking.
Rory rolled his eyes at me. I couldn’t help it, not when I spent so much time obsessing over the football team’s data.
He shot another look at Cal while I unlocked the car. As soon as he buckled in, Rory started composing a text. “If you won’t tell me, Jacobi will.”
Of course, he would. This was the kind of sibling meddling Jacobi lived for.
As we drove away, I spared a parting glance for Cal in the rearview mirror. He was leaning against the side of his truck, thumbs hooked in his pockets again, his hair a beacon of gold in the setting sun.
My fellowship was in the hands of two members of the same pack. A potentially divided pack. Would their relationship put my fellowship at risk?
No, of course not. Dr. Sethi had a sterling professional reputation and hadn’t steered me wrong thus far. Yes, she was exacting and overly critical sometimes, but she treated everyone that way. She would never involve an unrelated medical fellow in her family business.
But what if her pack son got too close to said medical fellow…
Jacobi set a new world record for betrayal, replying to Rory’s text before we’d even left the parking lot.
“Dr. Cal Carling, famous pheromone hunk.” My brother squirmed in delight. “Tell me everything .”
Maybe Cal was right, as per usual. I might have been better off as an only child.