Thirty-Eight – Morgan
Thirty-Eight
Morgan
T he camera flash sent a searing lance of pain through my skull. Hopefully, my smile didn’t come across as a grimace.
“Just one more photo,” an event organizer asked. “Do you mind?”
Oh, I minded. So did my stiff neck.
If only I’d remembered why I’d stopped attending the Belcrest Ballet’s fall gala before the event started. The anniversary of my accident had thrust me into the spotlight again, making me more recognizable than I’d expected. It didn’t help that they’d just watched Piper perform—and our faces were similar enough to overlap at first glance.
At least the lobby lighting offered a reprieve. A rich, moody purple bathed the space in perpetual twilight, soft enough to keep my gathering headache at bay. Thanks to Joaquin’s expert handiwork, the gold decorations and centerpieces gleamed just enough to catch the eye.
The second reduction was proving to be even more brutal than the first. I’d taken a double dose of pain pills two hours ago, before the showcase performance, and I was already desperate for more.
Do it for Piper, I reminded myself, with a polite smile firmly in place as I posed for another photo with a donor.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted two alphas heading my way—one towering in a familiar blue suit, dwarfing the other in height but not muscle mass. A sense of foreboding came over me.
No, surely they wouldn’t willingly wade into a selfie swarm. Not Northport’s legendary tight end of yore and the former face of men’s alpha gymnastics. Both of them were as recognizable as I was, if not more so. They wouldn’t—would they?
Gasps and camera flashes erupted as they came closer. I tried not to let my disappointment show on my face. There went my chance at a quick escape.
A look passed between them, and Cal paused, apparently choosing to sacrifice himself to the eager crowd.
Wyatt, meanwhile, plowed a path to my side with a few strategic swipes of his shoulders.
“Wondered what was taking so long. You okay?” he asked, leaning in just enough to be heard, careful to keep his chest from touching my arm.
My nod didn’t satisfy him. Wyatt stepped closer, his hand hovering just above the small of my back, radiating quiet waves of concern.
“Something’s up. You can’t fool me.”
“Not trying to,” I whispered. “Just want to go sit down.”
“Okay.” His fingers grazed my hip as he turned, trying to spot an exit route. “Why don’t we—”
“Can we take a photo with you?” Two young girls interrupted, looking at us with pleading, puppy-dog eyes.
They couldn’t have been more than five or six years old when I competed at the Olympics, yet their expressions were earnest—as if the athlete I used to be still meant something to them.
“Sure.” It was impossible for Wyatt to reject fan requests. Photos, autographs…and phone numbers from pretty women. I was used to watching him cave. But why did he have to drag me into it tonight?
And, of course, their request gave him the perfect excuse to press the muscled mass of his torso against my side.
We stood there for nine excruciating photos as fans cycled through, side by side, in our black formal wear. He wore a boxy suit while I was in the one-shouldered dress I’d worn to Audra’s mating ceremony a few years ago, which concealed the tattoo on my collarbone.
I couldn’t help but wonder if Wyatt had a matching tattoo of the Olympic rings hidden somewhere on his body. Bicep, maybe? No, I’d have seen that by now. Besides, Wyatt didn’t like to attract unnecessary attention. Even his upper back might be too exposed for his tastes. Maybe the ribcage…
What the hell was wrong with me? I shouldn’t be posing for photos with Wyatt, much less sharing the same airspace. And I should not be daydreaming about his bare, possibly tattooed skin.
I took a deliberate step away from him between photos, ignoring his questioning glance. Any answer I might offer was bound to disappoint, especially if I reminded him that these photos would end up online and potentially land us both in trouble with the university.
No, Dr. Sethi, there’s nothing personal between us. We’re only next-door neighbors who attend fundraisers together in color-coordinated outfits.
“Thanks so much, thank you.” A smiling Cal slid between us and the rest of the crowd, wielding all that delicious bulk like a human shield.
I didn’t hesitate to escape.
However, my freedom was short-lived. I was soon surrounded by a different crowd—my siblings and the rest of Pack Redmond.
“Should have charged per photo,” Rory teased, wearing his hair half-up and dressed in an ensemble of trendy separates he’d pilfered from Jacobi’s closet for a New Year’s Eve party and never returned.
“Brilliant idea.” Piper smirked into her champagne, having changed into a plunging gold dress after her showcase solo. “I’ll pitch it to the fundraising team for next year.”
Worried glances from Alijah and Kelsey hit me from both sides. Not good. I tightened the screws on my smile. “Has anyone found our table?”
“Forty-one.” Owen nodded to the opposite end of the lobby-slash-banquet hall, as far away from the dance floor and bar as possible. The event-planning fates had been kind.
I led the way, choosing the seat closest to the wall. Rory darted to snag the chair to my left. A vision in seafoam tulle, Kelsey settled beside him, forming a protective bookend for our baby brother.
“You can’t see anything from here. Want me to get us a better table?” Piper asked, placing her clutch on the chair next to Kelsey.
“No,” I said, taking a long drink of water. “This is perfect.”
Cal and Wyatt both reached for the chair to my right, sparking a silent showdown. Wyatt’s expansive chest somehow swelled even more, straining the front of his dress shirt. Cal, adjusting the round frames of his glasses, maintained an air of deceptive congeniality, his complacent smile betraying his utter disregard for Wyatt’s shorter stature and lacking dominance.
Uninterested in their alpha posturing, I took another sip of water and turned to ask Rory about his mid-terms. But he was engrossed in conversation, picking Kelsey’s brain about what to get Jenna for her birthday.
“That seat is for Alijah.” Owen’s proclamation deflated the alphas in an instant.
Alijah shimmied between Cal and Wyatt, happily plopping down beside me. Owen claimed the chair beside Alijah, leaving Wyatt and Cal scrambling over the leftovers .
Wyatt snagged the chair next to Piper, leaving Cal stuck between the brothers.
I met Cal’s pleading frown with a cynical grin and mouthed, “Serves you right.”
Scrunching up his face, he grabbed a dinner roll, slathering it with copious amounts of butter before biting into it with a grudge. Carb-loading, no doubt, for the intimate revenge promised in his heated hazel gaze.
“Well, I’m off to schmooze for a bit.” Piper leaned down to fix a piece of my hair. “And if you’re feeling generous, lots fourteen and fifty-five would make fantastic Christmas presents for your favorite sibling.”
Rory knocked her hand away, wrapping himself around my arm with endearing possessiveness.
“She’s wrong.” He batted his thick eyelashes at me. “I want a new 3D printer.”
Piper gave his half-ponytail a vicious flick. “As if she could possibly love you more than me.”
“Isn’t Kelsey the favorite?” Alijah asked, his attempt at a stage whisper failing miserably. The result was a bubbly effusion of laughter from most of the table.
Only Owen held back, his gaze fixed on the glass in my hand—the empty glass. When did that happen?
Kelsey reached around the back of Rory’s chair to rub my shoulder, asking in a quiet voice, “Status check?”
I gave her what I hoped was a reassuring nod and a smile—neither of which could technically be considered a lie.
***
It took every ounce of my concentration to follow Alijah’s lead across the dance floor. The whirling spotlights, bursts of loud conversation, and heavy bass thudding through the air all conspired against me, aggravating my headache.
I was also flustered by the surprising amount of rhythm in Alijah’s slim body. He moved with fluid confidence, fingers brushing the exposed skin of my back as he guided me across the floor, stroking slow, curious patterns along my spine.
“Thank you for this,” he whispered against my cheek. “I’ve been waiting for two years. We’d only been dating for a few weeks the first time around. Then, the Narwhals had a home game last year…and now here I am.” His smile was achingly sweet. “With you.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“Yes, it is. You didn’t have to do this—especially since I’ve…” His voice trailed off, at odds with how deftly he steered me away from an alpha woman dipping her flustered partner. “I know I’ve been distant. It’s not that I don’t love that we’re neighbors, but when I found out the others are—that there’s…”
Raising our joined hands, Alijah guided me through a slow spin, his voice featherlight against my cheek. “I have bad habits, Morgan.”
He drew me against him, eyes locked as he steered us deeper into the heart of the dance floor.
“I don’t communicate well when I feel stressed or hurt. Grew up thinking I didn’t deserve happiness, and even now with Joaquin, when I am happy…” Each whispered word lit my nerve endings on fire. “I want more—even though I know I shouldn’t. Because if I want something, it almost never happens. But I can’t help it, Morgan. I still want …”
I couldn’t bring myself to ask Alijah to finish the sentence. A verbal acknowledgment would only hurt us both.
“It was never my intention to upset you,” I said, trying to avoid stepping on the landmine of his growing affection. “And while I understand why you needed some distance—I can’t say I enjoyed the experience.”
“You…” His fingers tightened around mine. “Can be intimidating.”
“Yes, so I’ve been told.”
“It took all my guts to approach you. To get you to notice me. But I can’t compete with…”
“What, my commitment to my career?” I leaned in, my breasts brushing the lapels of his suit jacket. Frustration bled into my voice. “The fact I happen to have money?”
His subtle nod cut deep. “And Wyatt.”
“Nothing is going on with me and Wyatt.”
“Yes, there is .” Alijah’s face dipped lower, bringing his mouth dangerously close to mine. “And Cal, too. Compared to them, I’m…”
“You think I’ve never hurt either of them? That I’m always as polite as I seem at work?”
The song swelled toward its crescendo. Our pace quickened. The room began to sway.
Honesty spiraled unchecked off my tongue. “You don’t really know me, Alijah.”
His brow furrowed, turning his expression into something wounded. “ But I want to.”
“And I want what’s best for you—which should take me out of the running.”
The song ended, and we stalled out in tense silence. Our hands remained clasped together, breaths uneven as we avoided each other’s gaze, trying to prevent a proper disagreement from starting before the next piece of music kicked in.
A soft gasp escaped his full lips, draining the tension out of him. His head turned toward the bar. The image of Joaquin was reflected in Alijah’s dark eyes, as beautiful as a starlit night.
“He wants to check in.”
“So go,” I encouraged softly.
But Alijah refused. His grip tightened, a hiccup of panic cutting through—as if afraid that I’d disappear the moment he released me, that he’d lose his chance to voice the tender feelings I didn’t deserve.
“We can talk later, Alijah,” I said, trying to be the sensible one—which was nearly impossible when it felt like my wits were leaking out of my ears. “Somewhere quieter, more private. But we’ll finish this. Okay?”
Alijah gave my hand a final, almost painful squeeze. A perfect match for his pinched expression. “You promised.”
He headed toward the bar while I retreated from the dance floor.
A man approached me—a little older, probably a beta, his face flushed with one too many drinks. His hand reached toward my hips, trying to push his luck with the closest unmated woman in the room.
“Where you going, pretty girl?”
“Sorry.” A large, familiar hand settled on the nape of my neck. “She’s with me.”
The man all but evaporated under the weight of Cal’s genteel dominance. I drifted toward him instinctively but stopped short of letting our bodies touch. I wished we were alone so I could bury my face in his chest and decompress.
“Danced out?” he asked, covertly trailing his thumb along the asymmetrical neckline of my dress.
I tipped my head back and gave him a faux pout. “Is it that obvious?”
“Just a little,” he teased, trying to keep the amusement in his expression to a minimum. “Come on.”
His warm, grounding hand turned me toward the side room where the items for the silent auction were on display. When he let go, I immediately missed his touch.
But any further interaction ran the risk of drawing attention. At least one pack was already looking in our direction. A sour-faced woman glared at me over the rim of her wine glass.
Cal gave my hip a covert poke. “Come on. Let’s go see how Piper wants to spend your money.”
***
The lobby’s second floor was blissfully quiet, and the empty bathroom was a perfect sanctuary. I sat in a stall with my eyes closed, leaning against the textured wallpaper and disassociating until Kelsey’s second warning text arrived.
Status check.
Status check.
Hauling my head back onto my weary spine, I took a moment to gather myself before responding.
Be right there.
The plan was simple: grab water, take more pills, and rejoin the group. Easy. Or so I thought.
As I stepped into the hallway, a tall, expensively dressed woman with dark hair blocked my path—the same woman who’d been watching me earlier. Only now, up close, did I realize she bore an uncanny resemblance to Anya Sethi.
Because she was Heather Carling.
Who knew you could inherit a withering glare?
“Are you here with Cal Carling?” she demanded.
My simmering temper finally had a legitimate excuse to cook with gas. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
“Answer the question.”
“No.” I crossed my arms. “Don’t think I will.”
“Oh, so you’re one of those —in it for the money.”
A laugh burst out of me, full-throated and unapologetic, before I could stop it. The irony was just too rich. Cal’s sister thought I was a gold-digger—meanwhile, Alijah was so rattled by my assets that our relationship might never recover.
For the first time in my life, I was tempted to flaunt my clout. Vault legend. Olympic champion. Entrepreneur. Multi-millionaire. Whose name was listed near the top of the donor tree a mere twelve feet down the hall. And, the cherry on top, one of her mother’s handpicked disciples.
Owen materialized at my side, extending a glass of water infused with mint leaves and citrus slices. What was it with the men of Pack Redmond and their insistence on fancy water?
“Heather.” His voice was crisp and clear. Perfect for delivering edicts. “I see you’ve met Morgan.”
Heather stepped back, her gaze dropping to the floor in subconscious deference. “Didn’t realize she was one of yours.”
“Of course not. We’re only sitting at the same table.” Given how hard she flinched, his disapproval must have landed like an iron beam. “While the prospect of stealing her from the university is quite tempting, your mother would probably object.”
Owen’s gaze shifted subtly, catching how I tried to hide my delight with a sip of water. One side of his mouth tightened into a wry curl.
“I believe she’s rather protective of her medical fellows.”
Heather’s brows furrowed as she scrutinized me with renewed intensity.
“ You —you’re a doctor?” While her gaze was curious, her tone was doubtful.
“Yes. I’m currently a sports medicine fellow reporting to Dr. Sethi. She’s the one who suggested I work with Owen—and Cal—on my research project.”
“Well. How…nice to meet you.” Heather took a measured step backward, a business-like mask sliding into place. A poor imitation of her mother’s unforgiving poise. “Pardon me.”
I observed her retreat with mild interest, though she may as well have never existed in the first place as far as Owen was concerned. He didn’t even wait until she was out of earshot before he turned to face me.
After yesterday morning’s elevator encounter, I preferred experiencing Owen’s dominance when he directed it at someone else. It allowed me to savor the oddly soothing pressure lingering in the air—like a weighted blanket made from sheer superiority.
“Status check. What does that mean?” he asked.
“It’s a discreet way for Kelsey to ask how I’m feeling.”
“Your accident had sequelae?”
“In spades,” I drawled, taking another sip of water. “Not a fan of Heather?”
“No.” Owen flicked a microscopic piece of confetti from his sleeve. “ My aunt has a philosophy—entitlement deters optimization. Heather could have been a major player at any other shipping or logistics company, given her pedigree. She has no one to blame for her current situation but herself.”
He crossed to the edge of the balcony, resting his elbows on the railing, and regarded the crowd below with distant disapproval. I sat on the closest bench—more out of necessity than comfort. My ebbing adrenaline had left me weak.
“Heather mistook her grandfather’s tolerance for willingness,” he continued. “Foolishly believing that if she proved herself, he’d take her seriously. Designation equity is an abominable notion for someone of his ilk.” He looked at his smartwatch, a gaze that deliberately shifted to me—and lingered. “How much has Cal told you about his grandfather’s stipulations?”
“Enough, but I suspect he left a few details out. Care to fill me in?”
“The last draft of the will was particularly draconian.” Owen pressed the tips of his elegant fingers together. “Every year Cal remains unmated, he loses a percentage of his potential inheritance. He loses more if his mate is anything other than a female omega with a finishing school diploma and a fertility guarantee. If he joins a pack, Cal must be the head alpha, and all members must take the surname Carling—or he loses everything.”
I exhaled, trying to tamp down on my resurgent irritation. “Well, that explains a few things. I’d wondered why he was so worried about Spencer.”
“Yes. The threat of Cal vying for succession rights is the most effective method to deter Roddy. He’s a bankruptcy waiting to happen.”
A chill rippled up my arms, and it wasn’t from the ice water. “He’s that bad?”
“Worse.” Owen adjusted his glasses. “Enough for us to try adhering to the pack requirements, but my dominance…proved to be non-negotiable.”
“You—too dominant?” I teased, earning a deep frown. Grinning, I held up my thumb and forefinger, separated by about a quarter inch. “Just a teensy bit.”
“There’s some truth in that when it comes to you.” He studied my face. “Most people can’t maintain a conversation with Tabitha for more than a few minutes. Yet you captivated her for almost an hour the other night.” He paused, jaw tensing momentarily, then added, “And I find you to be a pleasant conversational partner, as well.”
Owen’s compliment might be polished to the point of being impersonal, but it was still a compliment.
“Talking to smart people is always enjoyable,” I said with a shrug, “regardless of their designation.”
“Do you find our work collaborations similarly enjoyable?” he asked, his expression unreadable. “Redwing can offer you far more stability and room for advancement than any academic institution or hospital.”
Disbelief rattled the chains of my control. The water in my glass trembled. I was not qualified to work at Redwing BioTech.
“Is that an offer?”
“An idea. One which I suspect you aren’t fond of.” His long, deceptively charming fingers toyed with his silver cufflinks. They had the same cold metallic sheen as his eyes. “Or am I mistaken, Dr. Van Daal?”
My phone buzzed with a new text from Kelsey.
Final warning.
As if I needed to be told twice.