26. Kallis
Kallis
“Isure showed him, didn’t I?” Artie asks as he spreads his legs.
“I still don’t understand what you’re talking about,” I say as I put more pressure on his wound. With a small pile of gauze beside me and no one to interrupt us, I’ve finally calmed down enough to talk properly, though Artie’s relaxedness about the entire situation has definitely helped.
He remains in the chair at the end of a row as I kneel between his thighs, forcing myself not to think of all the possibilities that could come from this position.
The danger has passed, and the wound is fully treated, but I can’t leave him alone. I keep treating him because I can’t bear to let him go, but I don’t have it in me to admit that.
Tending to his leg is far less attractive than cutting away every inch of his base layer and jockstrap to see what lies beneath.
I wouldn’t say out loud how deeply grateful I am that the blade of the player who slammed into Artie sliced above his knee and missed his femoral artery—by a mere inch.
Keeping my head down, I use my shoulders to hide from Artie how my hands shake at the thought that he could have been seriously injured.
Looking back, if Orso received that same head wound now that I know him, I can’t tell how I would have reacted.
It was utterly embarrassing how fiercely my omega side took over. Thankfully, I didn’t voice my thoughts or show anyone what I was actually thinking.
I had bluntly told the players when I first met them that I hoped I would never see their faces, but it’s become harder to treat them now that I know so much more about them.
I worry they may be hurt to the degree that I can’t help them.
But my worry morphs into sharp efficiency, further fueling their belief that I am filled with seething rage at the audacity of them to allow themselves to get hurt.
I need to apologize to everyone later for my behavior, and tell them how grateful I am that they’ve endured me.
“I wanted payback for Mathan getting cozy with you when I had to go out on the ice,” Artie says as I wipe the blood from his skin with a disinfectant wipe.
“That makes no sense,” I say. “I treat every player equally. You are no more special to me when a game is playing than Tanner is.”
I chose Tanner because he’s the most obnoxious alpha on the team, and it seems to have the effect I intended.
“Oof,” Artie says, rocking back, acting wounded as he clutches his heart. “You know how to cut me deep.”
“Please don’t make jokes like that when I am literally treating this laceration.”
He still grins as I pull swabs from my bag, unwrapping one so that I can disinfect inside the wound.
The cut isn’t severe enough to cause future problems. It’s barely enough to warrant stitches. It appears his capillaries are as enthusiastic as the rest of him, which is why there was more blood than expected.
I was caught up in the magic of the game before Mathan was called off, and he became my whole focus. But what if I’d let my feelings for Mathan distract me fully and I hadn’t made it to Artie on time? What if I let my fear get the best of me and I collapsed instead of treating them?
I’m becoming too weak around them, and I can’t afford to let this happen. I said that from the start, yet I repeatedly make concessions to the three alphas who have driven me to this point.
“Hm, it seems just right here,” I mutter as I poke the flesh around the wound.
“What? What do you mean?” He leans forward, and I have to push at his stomach to keep him in the chair, which he also appears to enjoy. Though it’s mainly to hide the way my cheeks heat, because I didn’t mean to say that out loud.
“It’s simply that Orso is difficult to treat because his muscles are far too hard, and it took time to find the source of Mathan’s wound through his soft arm. But you have an adequate muscle mass, which makes your injury easier to address.”
“Oh my God, that’s the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me,” he chirps. “If I’m just right there, I wonder where else I’m right for you?” He unsubtly rolls his hips.
I choose to ignore him, mainly because need bursts through me at the thought. Unfortunately, it has the opposite effect. I’m so focused on praying I won’t slick that I don’t notice I’ve rammed the swab straight into the center of his wound until he lets out a piercing yell.
It’s so loud it bounces off the ceiling, and all eyes in the vicinity instantly land on us.
I groan out loud at my mistake, because it would become yet another story for the team to tell about how ferocious I am. I’ve even heard the Bears threaten other teams with the possibility of me treating them, which is not the legacy I need to advance in my field.
The players on both sides of the bench all have looks of pity for Artie.
“You could have just replied normally,” he grumbles.
“But then I wouldn’t get to hear you moan,” I say without thinking, continuing to swab the wound.
Artie doesn’t respond with a quick retort as I expect him to, or even complain when I soak more alcohol onto the wound. He huffed and puffed about me spreading his legs, but he’s gone still as his cheeks redden as he watches me treat him.
“You know, I try so hard to flirt with you, and you always get one up on me.”
“I have no idea what you mean,” I reply coldly.
“That’s the problem,” he sighs. From how his face goes redder, I’m concerned he has a fever, so I reach up to press my hand against his forehead.
“You won’t need stitches,” I say, mainly to fill the space as the whistle goes for the second period break, and cheers explode from the rink, though I can’t tell who’s winning the game. “But I’m recommending to the coach that you don’t play for a week.”
His muscles tense, and I’m worried he’s trying to hold back the pain I caused as he starts shaking and his scent thickens as I remove my hand.
Similar to Aspen, I don’t like it when he’s quiet.
“I’m sorry, did it hurt that much?” I ask, my brow furrowing. “Mathan didn’t seem injured when I examined him, so you don’t have to worry about getting back on the ice. He’ll take care of the net for you.”
“How can you talk about Mathan when you’re touching me like that?” Artie bursts out, surprising me. “You can’t say no to this, can you?” His hand runs from his knee up his thigh with a single finger as he spreads his legs. However, the idiot winces as his skin tugs on his knee.
“How do you think anyone’s going to stroke your cock with a laceration that deep?” I ask with a scowl, and he looks put out.
“You sound so sexy when you’re talking about my cock. Maybe you can join us for our late-night practice, and you can give me a more thorough examination.”
“Mr. Cadell.” A growl rumbles from me. “No matter how grateful I am that you gifted me those oat bars, might I remind you that we are in public?”
“So you did like them?” he asks, perking up instantly, and I glance up to find him beaming. He bounces back so quickly that it’s disconcerting.
I open a packet of medical tape, tearing off a strip to cover his wound.
“Stretch your leg out,” I order, moving in to inspect the wound for what feels like the hundredth time.
“You’ll need to be careful walking until it’s scabbed over properly.
” I also read in his files that he broke his ankle when he was younger, but I would examine that later, once I knew for sure his wound was covered.
Something tells me Artie’s not listening. Especially when the chair creaks, his shadow casts over me, the heat of his breath brushes the back of my neck, and his fingers lightly skim my shoulder.
“Why don’t you just lean a little closer, and then you can inspect my—Woah!” Artie yells as he’s suddenly yanked backward, and a low growl rips from behind him.
My eyes are wide as I lift my head to Mathan’s angry gaze, and my body hums. I never expected to hear a growl from someone so grounded. He’s grabbed Artie by the scruff of his neck and is pulling him away from me.
The arousal I’m poorly masking flares again at the sight of his fierceness. Artie struggles under his grip, but Mathan doesn’t let go.
“Hey! Come on, Bee still needs to rub me up!”
“You, be quiet,” Mathan bites back, his accent showing through. “Are you okay?” he asks me.
“I’m well enough to continue treating him, if that’s what you mean.
” Though we both know it’s not. I assume, after all of Artie’s talk of being familiar with omegas, that touching was part of it.
He was definitely about to try something, and Mathan would be more aware than I am of how far Artie was willing to go.
“I’m sorry,” Mathan says, side-eyeing his mate as he drops Artie back into his seat.
“You could have opened up his wound further with that move,” I say as I return to my original position, tearing another strip of tape to fix his bandage.
“That’s not what I was apologizing for,” Mathan replies, and I like the force that beats in his voice. I’ve always associated him with gentleness, and a sign of his dominance shakes up my already rattled omega side.
Artie’s pout returns as he senses the energy building between us.
The pleasure I feel around each one of them is so wildly different. Artie’s is buoyant and seductive, Mathan is comforting and feels like home, and Orso… well, he’s something…
“Do you even care that we’re losing the game?” Orso snaps as he steps in behind us. I jump, not realizing he’s there.
“Who are you asking?” I reply. I tip my head back as far as it can go, looking straight up to find him standing over me with his legs split. My head knocks against his thigh, and he sucks in a breath. It’s close enough for me to enact the things I’d been trying not to imagine as I treated Artie.
“Those two,” he says curtly. “I’m not interested in whether you wanted to see us slaughtered or not.”
I twist on my feet so I can face him, rising to meet him. As I sweep up his body, his scent grows stronger, and I’m face-to-face with him. Inches apart, my chest nearly bumps his, with a flutter of heat. He’s still in his kit and panting from the game, and his growl vibrates through me.
My knees go weak at his harsh clover, laced with worry and anger, and neither of us misses how my gaze travels to his lips.
I can’t remember a time when I was comfortable pushing myself into someone else’s space, but Orso can make me so frustrated that I forget it bothers me.
“Why do you assume I want other people to slaughter you when I could easily do it myself?” I ask, loving the way he clicks his tongue against his teeth as he forces a smile.
“You better be careful, Dr. Tully. I might just take you up on it.”
I don’t even realize I’m smirking until his expression changes, his grin growing.
“Did Artie invite you to join us in The Woods at night?” he asks, his voice low.
I am suddenly aware that I’m still standing between Artie’s legs, and Mathan’s warmth brushes my right side. The only way away from Orso is backward, and Artie’s face is at just the right height to reenact the last time we were pressed together like this.
We’re in a very public situation, and I wouldn’t be surprised if cameras are pointed at us, considering Artie’s injury.
“I’ve already advised him not to skate for a week,” I say.
“Good, then you can take a week to decide if you want to try being friends. That’s better than letting Artie run his mouth.”
“I’m totally happy down here!” Artie calls from behind me, and I don’t imagine the sweep of a finger across the back of my thigh. He could grab me, or I could lean forward to kiss Orso and present my ass to Artie.
This is exactly the kind of thing I was talking about when I said they are dangerous.
“I have enough friends, thank you,” I reply. Though I’m struggling with how my friends are all now three hours away, and I’m not confident enough to participate in any social activities in the town that could help me meet new people.
“I don’t think you have friends like us, though,” Mathan says, nodding to Artie’s bar in my jacket pocket that I never want to give up.
“We’ve been going about this in a really shitty way, so why don’t we get to know each other first?” Orso asks. That seems suspiciously reasonable for Orso, so I assume Mathan has coached him into it.
“Even if you leave when the season is over, we’re still not going anywhere. We can take as long as you want with this,” Mathan says, drawing my attention. Lust lies heavy in his voice, and I desperately want all three of them to hold me like this in a place where we have more time and no audience.
“And you’re in agreement?” I ask Orso.
“You already saw how Mathan and Artie have royally fucked up the game so far.”
“And you’re blaming me for that? They aren’t the only players on the ice.”
“I’m blaming us for not doing this properly. Especially me for fucking biting you. If you want to give my mates hope, do it, but not in a way that’s going to screw with our game.”
I’m about to tell him that I don’t want to put the team in jeopardy either, but I’m cut off.
“Dr. Tully!” one of the medics calls from the side of the rink. “We need you!”
I push at Orso’s chest, and he leaps back, as if anyone is going to mistake the way we were standing for anything else.
Freeing myself from Artie’s clutches, I scoop my bag from the floor, very aware that my face is level with Mathan and Orso’s cocks. Yet another thing to daydream about. But I have extra strength suppressants, and there’s no way I will slick. Though I’ve said that one before.
“We can talk about this after you’ve won the game. Excuse me,” I say to Orso, pressing my shoulder against his as I push past him, and shudder as he growls.
“You can’t just keep escaping from us!” Artie’s shout travels after me. But there’s a clear difference between where I’m wanted and where I’m actually needed, and my priority is always my work, no matter how good it feels when they touch me.