12. Kallis
Kallis
“What?” he asks. “How do you know?”
He’s looking at me like he can’t believe it, and I can’t either. I just know that he’s from Scotland, but what are the chances?
“Have you been to Socair?” I ask, my finger unconsciously denting his skin. I need to hear his answer, and I lean in even closer.
I pride myself on my work, but I’m doing the worst job of my career.
I’ve been growing frustrated since I came to Aurum because everyone is so open and friendly.
They have no problem with touching: hugs, pats on the back, supportive squeezes, even boops on the nose.
Some players in particular are incredibly kind, but I don’t know when they are going to touch me, which leads to stupid mistakes.
It’s not that I didn’t have that problem back at the hospital; it was just that I had a variety of patients, and I didn’t have to see them again the very next day if I made a mistake.
My anxiety has been even more extreme than it was during some of my most complicated surgeries simply because I have been eating meals with my patients.
But my hand lies on Mathan’s chest, his wide fingers brushing over mine, and a sigh sweeps through me as he holds it. Because I finally feel like I can breathe.
“Aye, Socair is my hometown—or village,” he says. “I mean, my family comes from there, but I was born and raised in Edinburgh, the capital. I consider it part of my heritage.”
A rush of warmth floods through me, and I focus on the softness of his large body. I’ve left him exposed to the icy temperature of the rink, though it doesn’t seem to affect him.
Even that small touch of familiarity is enough to settle me.
“I got into hockey growing up in Scotland and came over here when I turned eighteen. My accent’s kind of faded considering I’ve been here for ten years, but they say home is where your heart is.”
Just hearing the lilt and thickness of his accent as I feel the thuds of his heart under my fingertips unlocks a gentleness inside me that I’ve missed.
I prefer to stand over my patients, mainly because I have to inspect their heads, but also so I can jump away if I need to. I’ve met more than my fair share of grabby alphas, and these hockey players aren’t that different.
I should have been more aware of where I was, but as I stroke the yellow shield tattoo and the scent of wildflowers swirls around me, I let my guard down.
His eyes widen as I sit beside him, still holding onto the tattoo like it’s my lifeline.
“You’re smiling,” he says under his breath. His scent flares as he squeezes my hand, and I nearly whimper because I can taste his need in the air.
“Yes, it appears so.” It’s the first time since I arrived here that I’ve felt anything like home.
There are a number of reasons I’ve been so out of sorts since I arrived beyond the new work environment and my patients. I’m in a strange town, the nest in my new home is unsettling, and I’m learning medicine that’s completely outside my field.
I’m grateful to the other members of the team for teaching me sports massage and to the nutritionists for their lessons, but I never expected to learn them, so I have no foundational skills in those areas.
That’s on top of taking a management course to learn how to run the medical team itself, while also making time to lay the foundations for my CTE research.
I’ve been out of my comfort zone in every area since I began this job. But touching Mathan, caressing the tattoo that represents one of the happiest times in my life, makes me relax.
Because I’ve finally found a slice of home.
I think Mathan is going to ask more, but he just watches me as I lean in to inspect his damaged arm.
I don’t want to let go of the shield or for him to move his hand away.
I can examine him well enough with my free arm, so we sit there in that strange position, intensely aware of each other, but with light smiles on our faces.
His heartbeats remain strong under my fingertips, and memories flow through me of the cold mountains of north Scotland, where I stayed with a friend of my mother’s.
I studied medicine in Socair by taking on a high-level role that would never have been possible for me in the US.
That was before I launched myself into my studies and onto the path I’m walking today.
“I went there for a summer, back before I went to college. It was six months, but it still felt too short.” I look up at him, meeting his strong gaze, his presence humming through me.
I shouldn’t have kept talking, and I need to remember that even the tiniest crack in my guard could ruin my chances of becoming the director of Philadelphia General in the future, but I can’t help it.
“With the heather on the hills and the waterfalls in the valleys, I could walk for miles and still feel at home. Everyone in the village had a smile, and they were happy to talk, even if we couldn’t understand each other.
I felt like if I’d arrived in the 1600s, the village would still be the same, and I could have stayed there forever and been happy. ” I sigh softly. “It was…”
“Beautiful,” he finishes, and I nod shyly.
I ease back, planning to gently remove my hand from his chest. No matter how much I want to keep touching him, his injury takes priority. But he quickly tightens his grip, pinning it to his chest.
“Don’t. You can keep stroking it for as long as you want.”
“Your arm is so purple you’re going to have that bruise for weeks. This isn’t the time for me to be reminiscing.”
“Then talk while you patch me up. Tell me more stories about my gran’s hometown. I miss it as much as you seem to.”
I can’t stop my smile from widening, and a tension that’s suffocated me releases even more, despite Mathan letting go.
I take his bicep in both hands, trying to test the give, but my fingers don’t even meet halfway. I focus on his pressure points, searching for where he has been most damaged.
“You’re too soft,” I say. “I can’t talk and examine you at the same time.”
“Yeah, but I’m the perfect thickness for a pillow if you ever need a place to land.”
“Are you flirting with me, Mr. Seely?” I ask.
“I’m just saying if you ever want to rest your head, my lap is pretty comfy.”
It isn’t just his lap I want to sit on, and his voice shakes me. I can easily sink into his kind brown eyes and soft features that feel endlessly welcoming. So I dip my head back to the throbbing mark on his arm, trying to calm my racing heart.
Another comfortable silence swells between us as I work my way down to his wrist to investigate the extent of damage, and I can’t help but move nearer again as warmth spreads through me.
“I was eighteen when I went there,” I continue.
“I was there for study and training before I went to college, but I met the village doctor, stayed in a tiny room in the Black Bull BnB, and spent the summer treating people. It was the best time of my life,” I say, biting my lip as fondness swells inside me.
“My favorite part was the coffee mornings in the old church where everyone caught up on the biggest news, even though everyone already knew everyone’s business. ”
“They do like their gossip,” Mathan snorted, and it gave me the confidence to go on.
I keep telling him the story as I inspect his arm, testing its mobility, and finding the spots where he requires the most treatment. The bruising is severe, and I need to get an ice pack on it.
We expect these injuries during games, so we have a small container with packs behind the benches. It’s strange how badly I don’t want to leave him, even though it’s only five steps to it, if that.
I need two, and I move faster than Orso on the attack as I snatch them from the container and rush back to Mathan.
His smile is opening something in me, and just one look at him fills me with so much comfort that I wish time would stop just so I could indulge in it.
I speak softly as I fix ice packs to his biceps and triceps, binding them with a bandage.
I keep my voice low because I don’t want to share my story with anyone else but the alpha in front of me.
And his two mates, who are out on the ice, but too far away for me to connect to them as well.
Emotions are shared in a pack bond, so I’m certain they can experience this, and I wonder if Mathan feels the same shift inside himself that I do.
I jump as Mathan speaks again. “I’m a million miles away from home. You don’t know what it means to hear you talk like that.”
My hands pause on his wrist, and I don’t think it’s a wise choice to open up to him any further when his presence is relaxing me this much.
“I believe I do,” I say as my tongue darts over my lips. “You might be feeling the same thing as me, Mr. Seely.” That is as close as I can dare come to showing him how rattled I am because I’m sharing myself with someone new for the first time in years.
I don’t know how long I talk for. Mathan fills in parts of the story, asking questions about the little bakery on the corner of the main street and the farmer who rode the slowest tractor in the world.
He laughed over my encounter with the old woman with ten geese that followed her everywhere, and the café that had the only computer in the whole village.
Mathan’s arm is fully tied up in a sling, and I should have put his shirt back on him, but I’m too wrapped up in my emotions.
“It’s a shame my arm is screwed. Because I really want to hold you right now.”
My normal reaction to anyone hitting on me is to freeze, and then snap back as I search for a way to say no without sounding angry, which just makes everything worse.
But the tenderness that floats between the pair of us has my hand settle back over the tattoo, and I meet his gaze again.
Maybe it’s okay to let go. Just a tiny bit. Maybe I can trust him not to take advantage of me. His mate might have bitten me without warning, but does it mean they’re all like that?