Twenty-Five – Morgan
Twenty-Five
Morgan
T here were certain frustrations I was prepared to accept—crowd noise, wary glances from the coaching staff, and oblivious players bumping into me.
Even Cal’s smug satisfaction at seeing me in the anorak coat, blue knitted beanie, and matching scarf didn’t faze me. Honestly, I’d be gloating, too, if someone had transferred an obscene amount of money to my account this morning. Paying almost two hundred dollars for a narwhal-embellished coat was a blatant rip-off.
But I drew the line at Owen Redmond loitering on the sidelines, dressed like an athletic grim reaper—black hood pulled up, shielding his sharp features from the drizzle—while interrogating Cal’s staff about the real-time PheroPass data feed.
Such a hands-on approach seemed out of character for Owen. Didn’t he prefer to deliver his censure from a distance?
I ducked around a clump of players, trying to avoid attracting his attention, but Ifailed. Those unyielding gray eyes locked onto me with paralyzing intensity—and like clockwork, they found me repeatedly, every five minutes throughout the first half.
Couldn’t Owen just send whatever message those stares were trying to convey via email?
“It’s so cold,” Alijah said, trailing after me into the athlete’s tunnel at halftime. He rubbed his arms, the green bobble on his knit hat shaking in rhythm with his shivering torso. “Was it supposed to be this cold?”
I turned, about to offer him my scarf or the gloves tucked in my pocket, when I noticed Cal two steps behind me—with Owen a half-step behind him.
Which was the greater offense? Handing over one of Cal’s “gifts” right in front of him or indirectly implying the most dominant alpha in the stadium was letting his pack’s beta freeze to death?
“There’s coffee in the medical office,” I offered instead, dodging the decision entirely.
And that’s how I found myself surrounded by a coffee klatch of men—Reyhan and Dr. McEwen included—sipping tea between topping up my pain meds and cleaning my glasses, listening to them discuss how the Narwhals could turn the game around.
Everyone except for Owen, who was too busy sneering at his drink to comment.
“Don’t mind him,” Alijah whispered, leaning close enough to brush elbows. “His system only runs on the cheapest of coffee. It’s a feature, not a bug.”
The second half unfolded much the same way. A lazily smiling Cal appeared beside me when I least expected it. Owen’s gaze sent a shiver down my spine every time it landed on me. Alijah popped by to chat about the housewarming party, now sporting a scarf and gloves borrowed from Reyhan.
And despite the wind and drizzle, I was perfectly comfortable—thanks to Cal, the considerate spendthrift, and his impeccable taste.
Between Amir’s miraculous interception and Landon’s two field goals from dicey distances, the Narwhals managed to eke out a win.
As I followed the rest of the medical staff back inside, I caught a fleeting glimpse of Alijah near the student section. He was snapping photos, doing his best to capture the raucous energy of the crowd. Any minute now, he’d wrap up and make his usual post-game rounds, taking more photos of the players and filming triumphant snippets for social media.
Except nearly an hour passed, and Alijah never appeared.
Maybe he was busy in another part of the stadium. He was always running around after a game, juggling a dozen different tasks at once. I was overthinking.
But then I overheard Amir asking Landon if they should keep waiting for Alijah or head to the press conference without him.
Something was off. I could feel it in the pit of my stomach.
After checking with Reyhan—who confirmed he hadn’t seen Alijah and that the winter accessories he’d borrowed hadn’t been returned—I began a methodical search. First, I scoured the athlete areas, then the staff offices, even ducking into the men’s bathroom. Still, no sign of Alijah.
Grabbing my umbrella, I stepped outside to scan the rain-soaked field. The sidelines were nearly empty, save for a few camera guys dismantling their equipment and ground staff picking up wet litter. The student section was empty, though the faint sound of the marching band echoed in the distance.
I pulled out my phone and called Alijah. It rang until it went to voicemail. The second call was no different.
Growing more uneasy, I retraced my steps back to the small, closet-like office assigned to the PheroPass team. Inside, Cal and Owen were huddled around a monitor, reviewing changes to the pheromone data following the interception.
I knocked on the doorframe and stuck my head inside. “Hey, have you seen Alijah?”
“Why?” Owen countered, his tone carrying an edge that could be mistaken for a challenge rather than concern.
“He didn’t show up in the locker room for photos, and he’s not answering his phone. People are starting to look for him.”
Cal sprang into action, tugging a knit hat over his rumpled hair and grabbing his coat. “Owen, you take the left side of the stadium. I’ve got the right.” He paused to give my shoulder a reassuring squeeze before striding off. “Try calling him again.”
“Don’t contact Joaquin,” Owen added, stepping closer. He plucked the umbrella from my hand with surgical precision, avoiding direct contact, though his fingers came close enough to transfer their chill to my skin. “Fifteen minutes. Then sound the mate alarm.”
He strode off, my umbrella in hand, an odd mix of dashing and menacing with his squared shoulders and long black coat.
I forced myself to wait five excruciating minutes, using the vocalization data from the disappointing first half as a distraction. When the last of my patience evaporated, I called Alijah again.
Still no answer.
Sitting around while the alphas searched for him didn’t feel right. I made another loop of the areas frequented by players and staff, scanning hallways and lonely nooks until I found myself standing at the mouth of the athlete’s entrance tunnel. Pulling on my gloves and hood, I stared at the rain-soaked field.
Just as I dialed Alijah’s number for the sixth time, a flash of green caught my eye in the student section. Squinting through the downpour, I watched the green blob dart frantically up and down, scurrying left and right. Using my phone’s camera to zoom in, I confirmed it was the soaking-wet bobble on Alijah’s hat.
I was halfway down the field when Cal answered his phone, the echo of his voice booming down a tunnel behind me. “What are you doing?”
“Alijah’s in the student section. Tell Owen.”
“You’re getting soaked!”
“Not going to melt,” I shot back before hanging up.
It took a few seconds to find an open gate into the seating area, and then I bounded up the steps two at a time.
“No, no—where is it, where is it—where?” His panicked voice spilled out, raw and unchecked, threatening to suffocate everything within ten feet. I slowed my approach, careful not to startle him.
He hunched over the first row of seats, pawing desperately at the folded chairs and scattering a bucket of soggy popcorn.
Keeping my voice calm, with a hint of warmth, I deployed my bedside manner. “Alijah?”
He whipped around, his unfocused eyes darting in my general direction. But he didn’t recognize me.
Shallow, uneven breaths failed to support his thin frame, and he crumpled to the ground, scouring the wet pavement with reddened fingertips. Where were the gloves he’d borrowed from Reyhan?
“What are you looking for?” I took a tentative step closer.
“SD card. Can’t f-find it. Need it—the interception photo. Can’t lose it.”
No wonder he was in such a state. A clear photo of the game-changing interception was crucial for someone in his position.
I crouched beside him, keeping my voice smooth and steady. “It’ll be okay. We’ll find it.”
“B-but, but what if—?” His breathing hitched, and he curled in on himself even further. “No, have to find it. Must find it.”
“Everything’s going to be all right, Alijah. The first step is to get out of the rain, okay?” I placed a steady hand on his back. He flinched at the contact.
Channeling a bit of Rory, I traced slow, circular patterns between his shoulder blades, trying to offer some sense of comfort.
“Let’s go inside.”
“No, no, I c-can’t—”
“It’s too cold out here. Let’s go warm up first. Then we can talk. Can you do that for me?”
Alijah ran a trembling hand along his wet face, sniffled, and nodded faintly. “I guess. ”
With one hand steadying his back and the other holding his freezing fist—clutched tight against his stomach—I guided Alijah down the stairs to ground level.
A somber Cal was waiting for us. He caught my eye and mouthed, “Panic attack?”
I nodded. Cal grimaced and pulled out his phone to text Owen.
Alijah managed to hold it together until we reached the nearest tunnel. Then he pulled away from me, leaning heavily against the wall.
“S-sorry, so sorry, you don’t… It’s my fault. All my fault.” His breath came in shallow, uneven spurts, his head hanging down. Condensation gathered at the ends of his thick lashes as he refused to meet my gaze. “Don’t bother, just let me… Not worth it, I’m not—”
“Alijah,” I gently interrupted, “what color is Cal’s hat?”
“C-Cal?”
“Yes, he’s right there. What color is his hat?”
Alijah blinked at me, confusion rippling across his tense features. Slowly, the black voids of his eyes began to constrict, forming pupil-adjacent shapes once more, bringing the world back into focus. He straightened slightly and rubbed a hand across his face.
A shaky glance at Cal was all he managed before recoiling into his protective shell once more. “Blue.”
“What else can you see?”
“Morgan,” he pleaded, his voice cracking with defeat, “why—”
“There’s mud on your shoes.” I leaned against the wall and pressed my shoulder to his, linking our arms together. I scanned our surroundings, sharing what stood out to me. “Someone dumped a whole thing of nachos on the ground next to the no smoking sign. And the sky is the same gray as Captain Tusker.” I gave his arm an encouraging squeeze. “Now, what can you see?”
Alijah’s eyes darted along the tunnel, skipping over Cal and the field before abruptly shifting downward to look at me. In a hoarse whisper, he confided, “You.”
“I don’t count,” I replied, trying to thread the needle between gentle teasing and encouragement. “Try again.”
“There, um, there’s…” He took an unsteady breath and forced himself to focus downfield. “The rain. It’s really coming down now… Someone just turned off the lights in the announcer’s booth, a-and… The guy packing up electrical stuff in the endzone looks miserable.”
“Yeah, he does,” Cal agreed quietly.
“Can you tell me three things you can hear?”
Alijah took a shaky breath and closed his eyes. “Uh… I think so meone’s phone is ringing. Your jacket keeps rustling. The rain—mostly rain.”
“Good, good. Now, we’re going to take a nice, deep breath together.” I glanced at Cal, giving him a subtle nod to join in, and led by example, filling my abdomen with as much fresh air as possible.
After counting to ten, I exhaled slowly. Cal followed my pace, nice and even, but Alijah’s breath sputtered out halfway through. It took three more rounds of deep breathing before the tension in his body began to ease.
“Nice job,” I said. “Can you do two more things with your body besides breathing?”
Alijah grimaced. His distaste for the exercise was plain as day. He extended one foot and gave it a reluctant shake. Then, his unsteady fingers slid down my forearm and wrapped around my gloved palm.
When I made no move to pull away, his grip tightened as if trying to meld our hands together.
“So embarrassing,” he muttered under his breath.
“But it helped?”
His head tipped back with a frustrated whimper, and he leaned more of his weight against me. “Yeah. But I still need to find the card.”
“About that.”
Owen emerged from the shadows, bone dry, still holding my umbrella. How useful—for him . And then he had the audacity to look down his nose at our dripping wet forms, one shapely black brow arched in dismay.
“I believe this is what you’re looking for.” Owen held up a small plastic case containing a blue SD card.
Alijah darted forward, taking it between his trembling fingers. His initials were neatly written on the corner of the label. “What—how?”
Owen smoothed his already flat lapel. “A student saw it fall out of your bag and turned it in at the ticket counter.”
“I texted him about the card,” Cal said, sliding into the space Alijah had just vacated, standing too close to be casual.
“And I utilized logic,” Owen added, glancing disparagingly at the puddles we’d left along the cement floor. “Rather than needlessly face the elements.”
“Hey,” Alijah countered, with a surprising—and frankly relieving—amount of fire. “I was retracing my steps. That’s logical!”
“I suppose,” Owen replied dryly, his piercing gaze shifting to me. My decision-making skills were clearly the ones in question.
But I didn’t care. I’d run into the rain for any friend or family member’s well-being—but not for Owen. He could drown in a vat of his own disapproval, for all I cared.
My phone vibrated in my coat pocket. Cal shifted closer, not so subtly peering over my shoulder at Christine’s message.
Running late. Does six-thirty work?
Cal tapped his fingers against the wall, his pinky brushing against my coat as I typed out an affirmative reply. Did he have the wrong idea about my dinner with Christine—did I want him to have the wrong idea?
I hit send and looked up, ready to excuse myself, only to find Alijah and Owen were both watching me. A glance at Cal confirmed he was, too.
“Plans?” he asked, sounding surprisingly amiable.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, so—”
“I’m so, so sorry,” Alijah blurted out, clutching the SD card to his chest. His brows furrowed as he struggled to breathe again. “You were supposed to go have fun, and instead, you got caught up in this mess, and now you’re all wet, and I’ve ruined your night.”
“It’s just dinner with a friend. She’s coming from her shift at the hospital, so it’s not like we’re entering a beauty contest.” I stepped forward, gently forcing him to meet my gaze, and offered a soft smile. “You might catch the tail end of the press conference if you hurry.”
Alijah’s expression shifted into sober dread as realization struck. He was still on the clock and missing key post-game activities.
“O-oh, I need to go. Yes. Need to go.”
He turned, only managing a few steps before doubling back, moving so fast he needed to plant a hand on the wall to steady himself.
“Thank you—so much.” He flashed a heart-achingly sweet smile at me before nodding at the other two. “All of you. I can’t— Talk later. Gotta go.”
Alijah took off like a shot, trailed by the echo of Cal’s mellow laugh.
“Think the kid’s gonna be all right,” he said, moving further into my personal space. “Do you need a ride to—”
“No,” Owen firmly cut in, answering in my stead. “You and I have a conversation to finish.”
He extended his arm, finally returning my umbrella.
“At least let me walk you out,” Cal offered.
Owen sighed, directing a harsh glare at his old friend. “In her current state?”
Color tinged the tips of Cal’s ears, creeping down his neck as he opened his mouth, only to falter and close it again, unable to find any plausible retort—another point for Owen’s logic.
Eager to change into the spare, dry clothes waiting in my medical office locker, I turned and started down the hallway. “Have a good night, guys.”
Cal moved to follow, but Owen stopped him with a single raised finger. “Stay.”
Hm. Maybe he wasn’t such a nuisance after all. But I wasn’t about to stick around and find out.
If Cal was in a giving mood, he might pull enough strings to secure the visiting team’s locker room for my private use. One oversized romantic gesture per twenty-four hours was more than enough. Especially when I had to pay for them…and money wouldn’t always be his currency of choice.