18. Tamales & Concussions #2
“I want to lay down for a minute,” I say. The ache in my head is vicious, but it’s nothing to the shredding currently underway in my chest. “Please. I don’t want to ruin the night.”
“I can serve the food.” The quiet offer makes me press my cheek into Jonas’s shirt. “You worked hard on it.”
“Thanks,” Carter says roughly. “If you can, Lauren, that’d be great.”
I bite down the words I really want to say as Jonas carries me out, a few worried calls fading away as he carts me down the hall.
“Nest. Please.”
“Got it.” He shoulders the door open. As soon as my back meets the blankets, I twist away from him and crawl underneath, tugging and pulling until I’m barely visible. Until there’s a barrier between me and whatever they’re doing out there.
Liam didn’t follow us in. Carter and Jonas stand at the base of my blanket fortress. Jonas glances back at the door.
“Go,” Carter says shortly. “I’ll stay with her.”
Jonas takes a breath, and I wish I could unsee the longing in his face. “I can stay.”
“You should go,” I croak. They both look at me, and I swallow down more tears. “I’m fine.”
I don’t want him here. Not right now.
Not in this space, which feels like the only space that’s still mine. The only space where she doesn’t belong. I won’t let him bring her in here as a ghost when he’s with me, but he wants to be with her.
It’s always going to be like this. One of us will always be on the other side of the door.
Carter pushes the door closed before he kicks off his shoes and approaches me. “I’m coming in.”
He declares it with the air of a knight about to tackle an enchanted forest. His muffled words come a few seconds later. “Jesus, Ro. How many blankets have you got here?”
More tears fall as I press my cheek into the pillow. “Not enough.”
“Are there even any left?” he mutters, trying to find a way through. “National blanket shortage? Are the sheep safe?”
I can’t crack a smile. His hands find me a few seconds later, and he sighs in relief as he curls his body around mine, my back to his chest. “Let me see your head.”
“My head is hard enough to cope.” I wince when he probes it, pulling away. “I feel like an idiot, though.”
“Any dizziness?” He props himself up to peer down at my face. “Follow my finger.”
I silently follow his finger, following it up with one of my own. “I said I’m fine, Carter.”
“Your head, maybe.” He smooths my hair back. “But you’re not fine.”
I shake my head, and we lapse into silence.
“Offer’s still there,” he whispers eventually. “You say the word, Ro. It’ll be hard, but we’ll make it work.”
My head feels so heavy. “This is our pack. And I’m tired of moving on.”
It wouldn’t be the first time, or the tenth. Of packing a bag and heading out somewhere new. Most times, I was glad to go.
I wouldn’t be glad this time. “And Lauren might still be your scent match.”
He touches my cheek. My arm. My hand, winding our fingers together. “I’m not getting a single hint that she’s a match. Neither is Lauren.”
Groaning at the pain in my head, I turn until we’re facing each other, Carter’s nose brushing mine. “If Lauren isn’t your scent match, what does it mean for the pack?”
Packs always have the same scent match. Always. My head hurts more with every thought.
If she’s his scent match, I lose him too.
If she’s not, then there’s something wrong with our pack structure.
“Don’t think about that now,” he murmurs. “Things are complicated enough. It’s unusual, but I doubt we’re the only pack with several matches. I’ll try and look into it.”
A new horror enters my mind.
A third omega. Some shadowy, unknown scent-match we haven’t even met yet, waiting to swoop in and take Carter too.
“I can’t do two.” Even the thought makes my muscles tremble involuntarily. “I think it would kill me.”
“Noted.” He breathes in again. “I’m booking you a medical appointment at the NOC tomorrow.”
“What?” I tense. “Why?”
“Your scent.” He leans in, running his nose over my cheek. “It’s… I don’t know. Sharp? Are you in any pain?”
“I just smashed my forehead into playoffs. Obviously I’m in pain.” I hate NOC medicals. Invasive, nasty things. Nobody needs to know that much about my cycle. “Feel free to push that check-up until next season.”
It’s irritating as hell that he has to do that for me. Some kind of alpha caretaking thing. “Do I get to book my own check-ups if we’re officially mated? Is this some weird responsibility thing from the NOC?”
He yawns. “I’ll check. You hungry?”
I shake my head. This feels… normal. He’s closer to me than he’s been in days. “I think I should rest for a while. Will you stay?”
“Try and stop me.”
We talk until the noise from outside dies down. “I think everyone’s heading home.”
I don’t mention the bedroom ban, and neither does he. Surely head injuries count as an exception.
Liam can't seriously expect me to sleep alone after this.
Carter grunts as he shifts, pulling a pillow underneath his head. I covertly check out the tape covering his shoulder. There seems to be an awful lot of it. Several bruises litter his skin, courtesy of Saturday’s game. “I left my painkillers in my room.”
“I have some here.” I run my hand through his hair, reveling in the familiarity as his eyes close. Liam has always been impeccably organized when it comes to nest stocking. “I should take some too.”
“Not those,” he mumbles under my touch. “Special prescription.”
“What kind of prescription?”
“One that’ll get me through eighty games. C’mere.” He tucks me under his arm, pulling me into him. “You good? Comfortable?”
“Mmm.” This is my favorite sleeping position.
“Good.” He kisses my forehead. “Expect a few wake-up calls during the night. Mina can check you tomorrow.”
Ugh. “Feels like overkill.”
“And I’m not taking any chances with you.”