Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
KAI
“What the hell were you thinking?” Noah’s voice booms through the game room. He’s nose-to-nose with Grayson, both alphas radiating enough tension to make the air feel electric.
I lean against the pool table, cue still in hand, watching the showdown unfold.
Noah’s face has gone that shade of red that only appears when he’s truly pissed.
Grayson, meanwhile, stands perfectly still, skull bandanna firmly in place, revealing nothing but those intense gray eyes that somehow manage to look both bored and dangerous at the same time.
“She needed help,” Grayson says, his voice so low I barely catch it.
“Help?” Noah sputters, jabbing a finger at Grayson’s chest. “That’s what you call taking advantage of an omega in heat?”
Grayson’s eyes narrow dangerously. “Didn’t knot her.”
“Oh, well, gold star for restraint!” Noah throws his hands up. “She’s my colleague and my patient, Ghost. My patient.”
“Didn’t see you helping her,” Grayson counters.
Noah looks so outraged that I actually wonder if they’re about to come to blows.
I shift my weight, the pool cue spinning nervously between my fingers. Part of me wants to step in, diffuse the tension with a joke like I usually do. But another part—the alpha part I try to ignore most days—is struggling with whose side I’m on.
Noah’s got a point about professional boundaries, but he’s also being a hypocrite.
I’ve seen the way he looks at Holly when he thinks no one’s watching.
And Grayson...well, Grayson actually helped her when she needed it most, though his lone wolf act sometimes crosses lines the rest of us would steer clear of.
Frankly, it’s impossible to pick a side.
A slight movement in my peripheral vision catches my attention.
Holly stands in the doorway, bundled up in a blanket long enough that only a pair of fluorescent green socks are visible on her feet, dark eyes wide as she watches Noah and Grayson square off.
She looks smaller somehow, vulnerable in a way that makes my chest tighten.
Her scent is underlaid with the stink of anxiety, but I still get hints of something floral and fresh.
Well, that settles it. Right now, I’m on my side. Or rather, Holly’s side, which is the only one that matters right now.
Neither Noah nor Grayson has noticed her yet, too caught up in their ridiculous dominance display. I set the pool cue down silently and make my way around the edge of the room.
“Hey,” I whisper when I reach Holly, careful not to startle her. “You hungry? Want to raid the kitchen?”
She blinks at me, then glances back at the men arguing across the room and still somehow oblivious to her sudden appearance. “Shouldn’t we...?”
“Trust me, arguing is what they do best, and they rarely draw blood these days.” I gently place a hand on her shoulder, guiding her away from the doorway. “Let’s get you some food while we can. Omegas can go days without eating during a heat if they’re not careful.”
Holly hesitates, then nods, allowing me to steer her down the hallway toward the kitchen. I can still hear Noah’s voice rising and falling behind us, punctuated by Grayson’s terse responses. The sound fades as we round the corner.
“They’re really going at it,” Holly says, her voice small.
“Alpha posturing.” I shrug, trying to keep my tone light. “Noah’s the responsible provider, Grayson’s the protective warrior—they both want the same thing, but have very different ways of getting it. Nothing for you to worry about. They’re just playing their roles like the drama kings they are.”
“And what’s your role?” Holly asks, those intelligent eyes suddenly focused entirely on me.
“Comic relief, obviously.” I flash her my most charming grin. “Someone’s gotta keep things from getting too dramatic around here.”
The kitchen—my favorite room in the house—welcomes us with its gleaming surfaces and state-of-the-art appliances. I gesture for Holly to take a seat at the island while I head straight for the refrigerator.
“So,” I say, swinging the massive door open and surveying the contents, “how do you feel about crepes?”
Holly adjusts the blanket around her shoulders. “Crepes?”
“Perfect heat food.” I pull ingredients out and arrange them on the counter.
“Light enough that you can eat them even when your body’s all.
..” I wave a hand vaguely, “you know, heat-weird about food but still sufficiently filling. Plus, you fill them with whatever ingredients you want—sweet, savory, both if you’re feeling adventurous. ”
“You know how to make crepes?” Holly sounds genuinely surprised.
“It’s my specialty,” I inform her, grabbing a mixing bowl from a cabinet. “That and margaritas, but alcohol and heat don’t mix well. You’re probably mentally altered enough as it is.”
I move around the kitchen with practiced ease, measuring flour and cracking eggs without really thinking about it. The familiar motions calm me, giving my hands something to do besides fidget.
“You seem very comfortable in the kitchen,” Holly observes, watching me whisk the batter.
“Spent a year at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris.” I shrug, as if it’s no big deal. “Turns out I’m pretty good in the kitchen, but not so good at spending twelve hours a day reeking of cooking fat and getting yelled at in French.”
Holly’s eyebrows shoot up. “You went to culinary school? In France?”
“Among other things.” I pour the batter into a container and set it aside to rest. “Let’s see, after high school there was the semester of being pre-law at Stanford, three months as a ski instructor in Aspen, that summer I tried to become a professional surfer in Hawaii.
..” I count off on my fingers. “Oh, and I almost joined the Peace Corps, but then I realized I’m not great with structured authority. ”
“Wow.” Holly looks genuinely intrigued rather than judgmental, which is... refreshing. “What else have you done?”
I lean against the counter, warming to my subject of my own inadequacies. “I dabbled in photography for a while—had a show in a little gallery in Seattle that actually sold a few pieces. Worked as a barista, a bartender, a dog walker, and briefly as a model for a snowboarding magazine.”
“A model?” Holly’s lips twitch into a smile.
“Don’t look so surprised,” I protest, feigning offense. “Patagonia wouldn’t be who they are without this face in that random ad campaign in Teen Vogue, I’ll have you know.”
That gets a laugh out of her, a genuine one that transforms her face and makes something in my chest flutter unexpectedly.
“I must sound pretty flighty to someone like you,” I admit, turning to the stove to heat a pan. “You probably knew you wanted to be a doctor since when you were, what, twelve?”
Holly’s smile fades slightly. “I’m not sure I ever chose to be a doctor, actually. It’s more this thing I’ve known I was going to do for as long as I’ve known that adults have to work jobs.”
I pour a thin layer of batter into the hot pan, swirling it to create a perfect circle. “Parental expectations?”
“My mother has had her heart set on me becoming a doctor since before I could talk,” Holly says, adjusting her blanket. “But I do love what I do,” she adds quickly. “Wilderness medicine is a pretty good fit.”
“Still,” I flip the crepe with a practiced flick of the wrist, “must be hard living up to those expectations all the time.”
Holly looks down at her hands. “I shouldn’t complain, especially to you. At least I still have parents to worry about disappointing.”
Ah, there it is. The awkward moment when people remember I’m an orphan and don’t know how to handle it. “Don’t worry, if ghosts can be disappointed then I’m sure my parents are managing it.”
“I’m sorry,” Holly says, clearly embarrassed. “Here I am complaining about my mother when you lost yours.”
“Hey, no. My struggles don’t invalidate yours.
” I slide the finished crepe onto a plate and pour another.
“And if my parents were still alive, they’d probably be doing any number of things to annoy me too.
Dad would be critiquing my investment portfolio, Mom would be setting me up with the daughters of her friends until I settled down.
” I wave the spatula dismissively. “Parents are parents. Being dead doesn’t automatically make them saints. ”
Holly looks down, still seeming uncomfortable. “I guess.”
“Keep talking,” I encourage her. “I’m interested. Really.”
She hesitates, then continues. “I just...I don’t think you should feel bad about being a searcher who hasn’t found their purpose yet. Life is too complicated for anyone to have a single thing they’re meant to be doing.”
I raise an eyebrow. Keen insight into the human condition is not a typical symptom of an omega heat. “Go on.”
“My mother always talks about how circumstances made it impossible for her to live her dream of becoming a doctor. But she faints when she has to have her blood drawn and gets squeamish at any mention of bodily fluids. She probably would have hated medicine if she actually got the chance to go to school for it.”
I laugh, flipping another crepe. “So why the fixation, do you think?”
“It’s a story she tells herself,” Holly says thoughtfully.
“An explanation for why she’s so hard on me.
But being a doctor is just one of a hundred things I could have done and found success in it.
Thinking about what could have been is just a good way to drive myself crazy.
The hard part is recognizing that you can only ever walk through one door that life opens for you at a time. Regret is wasted energy.”
I stare at her, spatula frozen mid-air. That’s...unexpectedly profound for someone who’s supposed to be in the throes of heat-induced hormonal chaos. There’s a depth to Holly Chang that I hadn’t anticipated, layers beneath the careful, professional exterior she presents to the world.
“What?” Holly asks, suddenly self-conscious under my gaze. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling. It must be the heat making me philosophical.”
“No, no,” I say quickly, realizing I’ve been silent too long. “I was just—“
“Are you fucking serious right now?”
Noah stands in the kitchen doorway, his expression dark. His eyes dart from me to Holly and back again, nostrils flaring as he scents the air.
“We’re making crepes,” I say, gesturing to the pan with my spatula. “Want one?”
“No, I don’t want a crepe,” Noah snaps. “Holly needs to be in the heat suite with the door locked, not wandering around the house.”
Holly shrinks a little under his stern gaze, and I feel a surge of protectiveness that surprises me with its intensity.
“She was fine with me,” I argue. “We were just talking.”
“She’s in heat, Kai,” Noah says, as if I somehow missed that fact. “Her hormones are all over the place. She can’t consent to—“
“To a conversation?” I interrupt, incredulous. “Come on, Noah. She’s not some mindless omega stereotype from those old medical textbooks you read. She’s a person who just also happens to be in heat.”
Noah’s jaw tightens. “This isn’t up for debate. Holly, please go back to the suite.”
Holly stands, clutching her blanket tighter around her shoulders. “I’m sorry for causing trouble.”
“You didn’t,” I say firmly, but she’s already moving toward the door.
Noah steps aside to let her pass, then fixes me with a hard stare. “Don’t be alone with her again. Not until her heat is over.”
“Or what?” I challenge, feeling my usually dormant alpha instincts rising to meet his. “You’ll write me up for a bedside manner violation, Dr. Klinkhart?”
Noah’s eyes narrow. “This isn’t a joke, Kai.”
“No,” I agree, turning off the stove with more force than necessary. “It’s not. But treating Holly as if she has no agency here isn’t helping anyone. You can’t hold yourself personally responsible for this situation and expect that to go well.”
Noah opens his mouth to respond, then closes it, apparently thinking better of whatever he was about to say. Without another word, he turns and follows Holly down the hallway, leaving me alone in the kitchen with a plate of cooling crepes and the lingering scent of jasmine and citrus.
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. So much for comic relief. I’m starting to feel a little more like a character in a Shakespearean tragedy.