Seventeen – Owen
Seventeen
Owen
O ur inaugural Sunday pack dinner was a moderate success. We sat around our new dining room table, with the mated pair sharing a wooden bench, while Wyatt and I enjoyed the comfortable dining chairs. Alijah prepared a pot roast and vegetables, which we savored with a decent wine. The city skyline reflected the sunset through the ceiling-height arched windows, flanked by our inherited custom drapes.
Too bad about the conversation. A circuitous hour of verbal dead-ends and backtracking, at the end of which we had yet to select a date for Alijah’s desired housewarming event.
“You really don’t need to include me in your plans,” Wyatt said, ever the ostrich in search of a sandpit. “Just pick whatever date works for you guys. I mean, it’s your friends coming over.”
Joaquin refilled Alijah’s glass before topping up his own. “And co-workers.”
“Oh, good call.” Alijah picked up his Belcrest Ballet branded pen and added more names to the guest list. It took up most of the page in a notebook already overladen with party logistics.
Aunt Tabitha was first on the list, as was only right.
“Your lighting crew and the artistic director. My trio of media magicians. Who am I forgetting?”
“Cal,” I said. The one outsider whose presence I welcomed.
“Yes—Cal. And Morgan,” Alijah said with a bit too much enthusiasm. “Can’t forget about Morgan. ”
His tone was familiar, fond even.
I dissected a piece of roast into even shreds. “Do you mean Morgan Van Daal?”
“Of course. She’s his favorite colleague, a total work perk,” Joaquin said with an uncouth snicker, reaching to caress Alijah’s cheek.
“Be nice.” Alijah dodged Joaquin’s hand, never looking away from his list as he added a spray of stars next to Morgan’s name.
Wyatt dropped his fork, eyes frosted over in shock. “You—you all know Morgan?”
“Yeah, I’ve seen her at the training center a few times,” Joaquin said. “And her younger sister dances for Belcrest.”
“Oh, we should invite Piper, too!” Alijah added her name next to Morgan’s, then underlined both with a flourish before turning to me, brimming with curiosity. “When did you meet Morgan? She said you’d never met.”
“Cal introduced us at dinner Friday night.”
Three pairs of eyes locked onto me while I savored my last bite of glazed carrots—one surprised, one stunned, one scheming. What a peculiar reaction.
“She knows Cal, too?” Wyatt asked, the questioning lilt to my friend’s name all but strangling him.
“Yes.” I failed to see why this singular woman was so important. “He claims she’s been an excellent addition to the PheroPass project. Second only to his own contributions as far as university personnel are concerned.”
“Yes, she’s quite impressive, that Dr. Van Daal.” Joaquin smirked into his glass, devilish gaze cheating toward his mate.
An ill-omen if ever there was one.
***
Joaquin’s dark form plopped down on the couch in my office, which I’d established in one of the extra rooms in the omega suite. Or rather, the former omega suite. It was my territory now, much to Joaquin’s chagrin. Given my position as head alpha, he still felt the other, more traditional space was better for me.
But the suite offered a luxury I’d never been able to afford before—and one I’d scrimped for years to have—a dedicated home workspace with absolute privacy and protection for sensitive projects. The soundproofing alone convinced me to put in an offer on the loft.
Little did Joaquin know I was planning to turn the nest, with its independent temperature control and added security measures, into a server room.
I’d selected the larger of the two bonus spaces for my office, separated from the foyer by a glass wall. My desk faced the window, and like the rest of the room’s furniture—couch, storage credenza, end tables—I salvaged it from the Redwing campus. The minimalist white MDF furniture was functional and unobtrusive, well-suited for my purposes.
The window looked over the bronze-clad passageway. A clock tower on the opposite building obscured most of the city view, making it an interesting vantage point without being an outright distraction.
“The rules about knocking still apply,” I said without looking away from my computer monitor, where I was replying to an email from my assistant.
“I know.” Joaquin swung his sock-clad feet up to rest on the blocky arm of the institutional gray sofa. “Thanks for humoring Alijah about the housewarming.”
I glanced at his feet, not bothering to hide my disapproval, then continued typing. “Establishing a pack is a notable achievement.”
“Especially when you’ve never had one.”
The statement applied to more than just Alijah.
Wyatt and I had grown up without a pack or a functioning mother. Our biological fathers weren’t in the picture, either. It wasn’t until I met Joaquin that I understood the enormity of what we’d missed out on.
After I sent the message, I turned to face Joaquin, elbows planted on the arms of my chair, fingertips pressed together.
“State your business.”
“Always so straight to the point.” Joaquin inched his head along the arm of the couch, searching for a comfortable spot that didn’t exist. “Can you humor me for a bit?”
“If I must.”
“Do you remember Miss Montreal?”
“Get out.”
“No, no, listen, I’m not just spouting bullshit.” He sat up, offering a placating hand. “It’s what we—okay, more like I used to call the girl Wyatt was hung up on in college. That whole dinner thing in Canada, during the world championships, that didn’t happen.”
I laced my fingers together and thought back to the timeframe in question. “That does sound somewhat familiar.”
“Do you know who else was in Montreal for that competition? ”
“No.”
“Ugh, this was supposed to be fun.” He scratched his beard, then adjusted his line of questioning. “What do you know about Morgan?”
“Nothing.” I gave him a flat stare. “Because I don’t need to.”
Joaquin sighed and nodded toward my computer. “Look her up, asshole.”
The internet search resulted in more hits than I anticipated. I opted for a news article from a reputable source.
Morgan Van Daal stared back, wearing patriotic sportswear. Self-assured despite her youth, she had perfect posture and a touch of now extinguished na?veté in the corner of her eyes. Her hair was much longer, a rich brunette that I assumed was its natural color.
The bullet points were nothing short of alarming. Traumatic brain injury. Cervical spine fracture. Medically induced coma. Uncertain odds of recovery.
And I’d had no idea. No wonder they admired her.
Joaquin read the headlines over my shoulder, the black pepper in his scent taking on an acrid undertone.
“The omega men used the vault equipment a few hours earlier. No one lowered the height setting afterward. There was plenty of blame to go around, but it boiled down to one employee’s indifference. Saw omega on the event list and didn’t give a fuck about which gender.”
I perused a few more links. Recovery updates, legal proceedings, think pieces about protecting omega athletes, and counterpoints about abolishing omegas in the sport altogether.
“Nothing about a comeback.”
“Never tried, as far I can tell.” Joaquin slumped in his seat. “She went to Wakeland State, you know, but Northport still hired her. Must be one hell of a doctor.”
Her formidable list of gymnastics accolades demanded proper attention. Two-time Olympic gold medalist for team and vault, with a bronze medal on floor exercise. Five world championship medals on the vault—two gold, two silver, one bronze. Numerous vault titles and podium finishes at the international, national, collegiate, and junior levels. Moderate success on the floor exercise and a handful of all-around titles early in her career.
“What a beast, eh?” Joaquin let out a low whistle of appreciation. “Used to think Wyatt was impressive, but he’s got nothing on Morgan.”
He slouched even lower, long legs dominating the space between us, tattooed fingers stroking his chin.
“And I’m pretty sure she’s Miss Montreal. ”
I considered his assertion for a moment. “The timing is feasible. We flew out for his twenty-first birthday. He introduced the topic of—”
“Used her as an excuse, you mean.” Joaquin would forever resent that our pack took so long to formalize. While I was the guiltier party by far, Wyatt was an easier target for his scorn. “But yeah, they liked each other and agreed to meet after the event. Except she landed in the hospital. Wyatt went back to Arizona. And then—what do you think your brother did?”
I rested my head against the chair back. The answer was obvious. And regrettable.
“Nothing. Paralyzed with indecision.”
“What is it with the two of you?” Joaquin kicked the base of my chair. “Just pick up the goddamn phone. Send a fucking text. It’s not that hard.”
“Not everyone has your social skills.”
“But if you give enough shits, even you can press the call button.” He shifted on the couch until he was lying on his side—reclined but not relaxed—bent arm a poor substitute for a throw pillow.
“Comfortable?”
“You get what you pay for,” he grumbled.
I closed tabs one by one, feeling oddly pressured by her focused amber gaze. Her intelligence was obvious, even in a single photograph.
When I reached the last tab, I hesitated, studying her face, wondering how much she’d suffered—and if the accident had limited her career in any way. It would be a pity if, on top of her lost gymnastics career, her intellectual promise had been curtailed as well.
“Speaking of paying for things,” Joaquin said, “I know, I know. Alijah— and I —blew the budget on the couch. But don’t pretend that your stone-cold ass didn’t sink right in, didn’t just fucking melt into all that glorious, cushy padding.”
“It’s an excellent investment.” A true statement, given how challenging it could be to find pieces that met our combined needs and modest budget. “So is the dining room furniture, the floor lamps, the coffee table, the microwave, and those seventy-two rolls of paper towel barricading the washing machine.”
“I sense an objection. Spit it out.”
“No, you and Alijah have made a sterling effort.”
“Ah, now you’re being sarcastic.”
“I would never.” I removed my glasses and placed them on the desktop with a sharp click. “But—”
“Typical. ”
“You must admit, it’s all a bit…incohesive.”
“Well, yeah. What did you expect?” Joaquin offered a self-deprecating grin. “He never had anything growing up. I’m only good when it comes to Neanderthal shit like grilling and wiring a new lighting fixture, and you, my prickly tightwad—”
“Stop.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. There were not enough literal hours in the day for Joaquin’s nonsense.
“Look, I know we just moved. The place is still overrun with boxes, and everything’s mismatched as fuck. Wyatt’s sleeping on a mattress on the floor. But it’s not a total shitshow.” He hacked out a hoarse laugh. “We’re exactly the type of well-intentioned yet domestically challenged blank canvas my sisters swear they’d love to pack up with. And now that we’ve got this fancy-ass omega suite—”
I lifted a finger, halting his drivel. “No.”
“Oh, come on. I’m not saying we should jump straight to courting paperwork, but you can’t ignore that we’ve been presented with a unique opportunity. One that might finally get Wyatt to join the pack.”
“I thought you’d abandoned that notion.”
“That was before Morgan entered the picture.”
My half-sneer turned foreboding. “No, absolutely not. Out of the question.”
“Look, dicking me and Alijah around is one thing, but you’ve always gone the extra mile for Wyatt. Not that anything could make up for your mom’s shit.”
Joaquin sat up and planted his forearms on his knees, careful to keep his hands relaxed and limbs loose as he leaned forward, demanding my attention without presenting a challenge.
“I know you’d never risk your brother’s happiness. And he’s clearly still hung up on her.” A mischievous grin couldn’t mask the seriousness of his intentions. “Alijah’s really into her, and I won’t pretend she doesn’t interest me, too. You must see the appeal.”
“Does Alijah know you want to approach her, from a mating perspective, on behalf of the pack?”
“Of course not.” Joaquin let out an amused huff and ran a hand through his hair. “I know better than to try sneaking shit past your alpha.” The playful glint in his eyes turned steely. “I don’t want to have come this far, to have a legal pack, to have a pack home, only to fuck it up at the end. Morgan’s the whole fucking package. We’re not good enough for her, but she might be the key to making it all work out. That’s why I need you on board with this.”
Logic allowed me to see Joaquin’s perspective. Morgan was an attractive, accomplished woman—my ideal in many ways—but untenable considering the professional complications. No matter how tempting it might be to indulge our instincts, I had to make sensible decisions for the sake of our pack.
Restraining my innate need to bend him to my alpha’s will, I stated my objections in a reasonable manner.
“Even if I ignore the ethical quandaries of my professional relationship with her, I can’t do the same for Alijah and Wyatt. If they were found to be pursuing an omega co-worker without the proper paperwork, all of them could lose their jobs. Morgan for certain. I cannot condone such an unnecessary risk.”
“Fine, whatever, but…” He raised a triumphant finger, wagging it in my face. “You do agree that she’s pretty fucking outstanding, right?”
This particular devil never hesitated to advocate for his own interests.
I nodded.
Our dinner conversation was more than enough justification to strengthen our professional relationship. Her vibration therapy concept was beyond even my considerable realm of developmental possibility.
But as for a personal connection…
If Wyatt and Alijah had expressed interest in a different woman, I would have considered the prospect—but they were interested in a mutual work colleague, and Wyatt wasn’t even an official pack member.
My brother was too much of a rogue element to base decisions on anyhow, as liable to stay forever without joining the pack as he was to move out tomorrow.
However, there was one thing I knew for certain. If I didn’t forbid Joaquin from pursuing his self-anointed complete package, he would be relentless—because he always wanted the best for Alijah. For better or worse.
An instinct I championed when it came to new bedroom furniture or upgrading Alijah’s camera as a birthday present, but I had to draw the line at Morgan Van Daal, regardless of any brilliance or beauty she may possess.
Unleashing my dominance only long enough to take a deep breath, prompting a wince from Joaquin before his eyes dropped to the floor, I delivered my verdict.
“She’s off-limits. That’s final.”
Joaquin nodded in agreement, with just enough conviction to satisfy my alpha, and then slunk off to pester his mate.
“How vexing,” I muttered, putting my glasses back on and returning to my inbox .
Cal’s email from Friday night—marked important with a reminder to READ ME! every six hours—sat at the top of my unread messages. Deciding it was better to judge its contents for myself rather than rely on Cal’s hyperbolic ramblings, I opened the attachment and flipped to the overview.
“Let’s see what all the fuss is about.”
I resurfaced two hours later.
Leaning back in my chair, I pressed my steepled fingers to my lips and stared out the window, watching the antenna lights crowning the Northport skyline flash on and off.
I reached three conclusions.
First, I underestimated Morgan Van Daal.
Her thoughts echoed my own with uncanny precision. It was a heady realization, evoking the same sense of potential I’d felt upon meeting Cal years ago—a connection that changed the course of my life. Such synchrony was rare and valuable, and I couldn’t afford to ignore it.
The presentation was impressive, to say the least, and included everything in my original scope of work. She was far better at constructing persuasive arguments than I was. And perhaps better suited to designation biosciences than sports medicine.
However, I couldn’t ignore Cal’s influence on the rough draft. His perspective was invaluable. If the three of us worked together, the executives might buy into PheroPass’s potential.
Ergo, decision number two—I would no longer accept that PheroPass was doomed to failure.
After reviewing my lengthy list of feedback, corrections, and questions, I sent it to both Cal and Morgan, along with a message stating that I expected a prompt response to my inquiries and that my assistant would be in touch to schedule a conference call.
All of which emphasized the importance of my third and final conclusion: Cal was interested in Morgan—he hadn’t even tried to hide it during dinner at Arlotti’s—and Joaquin couldn’t find out. If my two oldest friends joined forces to pursue the same woman, I had little doubt they’d succeed.
Doing so before the end of her fellowship might prove calamitous for all involved, not just for their careers but also my own. Morgan was essential to PheroPass—which made her indispensable as far as my plans were concerned—and, by extension, essential to me.
Tapping my knuckles against my desk, I hardened my resolve. Yes. We would work together as colleagues. Nothing more.