Chapter 18 #3
I am red all over. Crimson from scalp to sternum.
My mouth opens and closes twice without producing a single syllable, and I am in the process of formulating a response that will be clever and sharp and will definitely not sound like the incoherent babbling of an Omega who just got kissed stupid when the curtain slides open.
Cal and Etienne stand on the other side.
They take in the scene with the evaluative precision of two Alphas who have arrived at exactly the wrong moment and know it.
Their eyes flicker between Raphael, who is leaning against the bed rail with infuriating nonchalance, and me, who is sitting on the mattress with swollen lips and a blush that could guide ships through fog.
Cal pouts.
"Damn," he says flatly. "He is like the smooth version of Rafe."
"Meaning we are fucked," Etienne mutters beside him, his storm-blue eyes assessing Raphael with the guarded curiosity of a man evaluating a threat that also happens to share half his DNA.
"Hearing you swear is so damn weird," Cal notes, momentarily distracted from the crisis at hand to address Etienne's increasingly colorful vocabulary.
He shakes it off, returning his amber gaze to Raphael with the directness of an Alpha drawing a line.
"So, older version of Rafe." He crosses his arms. "Can you move from our roommate? Thanks."
Raphael does not move.
He chuckles, the sound confident and unbothered, his gray eyes moving between Cal and Etienne with the measured assessment of a man who has dealt with territorial Alphas before and found the experience more amusing than threatening.
"Roommate," he repeats, tasting the word like it is a vintage he finds underwhelming. "Or Omega?"
Cal's jaw tightens.
Etienne's eyes narrow.
"If it is not the latter," Raphael continues, his tone casual but his words precise, "then I am rather comfortable right where I am. Trying to make my claim before you gentlemen suddenly realize you are rooming with an Omega who could change your entire world."
I am blushing so hard that I am genuinely concerned about my blood pressure.
My hands grip Cal's jersey, which I am still wearing, and I stare at the ceiling like it holds the secrets to maintaining sanity in the presence of three Alphas whose combined scents are filling this tiny curtained space with enough pheromones to power a small city.
Breathe, Mae. Just breathe. Do not pass out. Do not pass out from not breathing in a nurse's office because that would be embarrassing on a level from which you would never recover.
Before anyone can escalate the standoff, the office door swings open.
The nurse strides in, a petite woman with silver-streaked hair and the no-nonsense energy of someone who has spent decades patching up athletes and has zero patience for drama.
"Ah, good," she says, glancing at the three Alphas positioned around my bed with a smile that carries professional warmth. "The pack is here."
I frown.
"The pack?"
"I was telling my assistant that I would not be able to service you if your pack did not give permission," she explains, pulling on a pair of latex gloves with practiced efficiency.
"University policy for Omega students. Any non-emergency medical examination requires pack authorization or, in the absence of a pack, a designated Alpha guardian's consent.
Since your pack is present, we can proceed. "
My pack. She thinks these three Alphas are my pack.
She looked at Cal in his team gear and Etienne with his goalie pads still dangling from one arm and Raphael with his French accent and his phoenix tattoo and somehow concluded that this mismatched collection of men who met me between yesterday and seven minutes ago constitute my pack.
I open my mouth to correct her.
Raphael speaks first.
"Good." He straightens, his posture shifting from relaxed to authoritative in a heartbeat, the casual flirtation replaced by a focused seriousness that transforms him into someone entirely different.
"The three of us are here, so please do not delay in examining her.
Make sure she is not injured significantly.
If the knee shows any structural damage, inform us immediately so we can arrange transport to a hospital.
She is a professional figure skater. Treat this with the gravity it deserves. "
His voice carries the unmistakable command of an Alpha who is accustomed to having his instructions followed without question. It is not aggressive. Not domineering. Just certain. The certainty of a man who knows what needs to happen and will not tolerate inefficiency in the execution.
The nurse nods, visibly impressed by the clarity of his directive.
Cal and Etienne exchange a glance.
A complicated glance, loaded with competing emotions: surprise, territorial irritation at Raphael's seamless authority, and underneath it all, a grudging recognition that he said exactly what needed to be said.
"We will cover any additional expenses if need be," Cal adds, his voice firm. "Whatever the examination requires. X-rays, MRI, referrals. Do not let cost be a factor."
"Whatever she needs," Etienne confirms quietly, his storm-blue gaze settling on me with a softness that cuts through the testosterone fog like a blade of moonlight. "We will handle it."
I do not say anything.
I stay quiet on the examination bed, Cal's jersey bunched in my fists, my knee throbbing with a dull ache that is nothing compared to the ache blooming in my chest.
I should correct them. I should tell the nurse these are not my pack. That I do not have a pack. That I am a packless Omega who sleeps in a converted closet and owns exactly one pair of competition skates and a phone held together by faith and micro scratches.
But if I correct them, the nurse cannot examine me without the bureaucratic nightmare of finding alternative authorization.
And my knee genuinely needs to be checked.
The childhood injury that locked it up on the ice is the same injury that ended my competitive trajectory at thirteen, and if the ligament has shifted or the scar tissue has torn, I need to know now before I make it worse.
So I stay quiet.
I let them roll with it.
For practical reasons. Purely practical.
The nurse approaches the bed, asking me to extend my left leg while she gently palpates the joint. Her hands are clinical and sure, pressing along the patella, the medial ligament, the scar tissue that maps the inside of my knee like a road I have traveled too many times.
The three Alphas remain.
Not hovering. Not crowding. Just present.
Raphael stands near the head of the bed, his arms folded, his gray eyes tracking the nurse's movements with the attentiveness of someone who understands sports injuries.
Cal leans against the wall opposite, his amber gaze steady on my face, monitoring my expression for any sign of pain I might try to hide.
Etienne stands near the curtain edge, his body angled toward the door like a sentinel, his presence quiet but absolute.
They are all watching over me.
Three Alphas who have no legal obligation, no biological bond, no formal agreement that requires them to be here.
And yet here they are. Covering expenses they cannot afford for a girl they barely know.
Speaking to medical staff on my behalf with the unified authority of a pack that does not officially exist. Standing guard while a nurse examines a knee that has been causing me problems since I was a child and that no one, in all those years of communal housing and food banks and survival, ever offered to have properly checked.
No one ever offered.
Not the social workers. Not the shelter managers. Not the handful of Alphas who expressed passing interest in the pretty Omega with the sad eyes before losing interest when they realized I came with baggage too heavy for casual entertainment.
No one stood in a nurse's office and told a medical professional to take my injury seriously.
No one said whatever she needs, we will handle it.
Not until today.
My eyes sting.
I blink the sensation away before it can become visible, focusing on the nurse's hands as they rotate my knee through its range of motion. The joint protests, tight and sore, but the sharp locking sensation from the ice has faded.
I remain quiet.
But in my mind, I look at the three Alphas surrounding me, and a thought forms that is so fragile I am afraid to hold it too tightly.
Is this what it would feel like to be in a pack that cares for your safety?