Page 142 of Alphas Like Us

As in my ex-boyfriend. As in an official concierge doctor to the famousfamilies.

If they called him, then someone must beinjured.

Maximoff.

A pit is in my stomach, and with more urgency, I walk onto the makeshift putt-putt course, door thudding behindme.

Strung outdoor lights twinkle in the night, and Jane and Maximoff have their phones out like pistols. I assess each of them as Inear.

Maximoff drapes his metal putter over his left shoulder like a baseball bat. He grips his cell in his right hand, and Jane leans her weight on a pink putter, blue eyes onme.

Both lookokay.

“I’ve been trying to get ahold of you,” Maximoff says, hurt somehow hardening his face. “Christ, I’ve called you like seventeentimes.”

Shit.I absolutely hate being inaccessible to the people I care about, and he’s my number one. “I had 1% battery before I left the hospital,” I say. “My phone must’ve died.” I hook my motorcycle helmet on the arm of a six-foot red-and-black Deadpool statue. The third putt-putt hole is an overturned bucket between the statue’s legs. “Why’d you callRowin?”

His eyes dance over my features like he hasn’t seen me in years. I look at him just the same, sweeping his jawline, his chest that falls and rises in time with my chest, and his stiff neck, the fresh scar peeking out of his T-shirtcollar.

Before I reach Maximoff, he starts redialing a number. “Since you weren’t picking up, he was the only choice. I’m trying to get ahold of him. To tell him not tocome.”

“Out of loyalty, we would have waited longer,” Jane says to me. “But Thatcher started lookingpale.”

And that’s when I notice six-foot-seven brooding-as-hell Thatcher Moretti. He’s uncharacteristically sitting down on a lawn chair, and a plaid flannel shirt is wrapped around hishand.

Blood soaks thefabric.

His cheeks are a little pallid, and as soon as our gazes meet, he glowers. “I told them I could just go to the hospital.” He braces his forearms on his knees. “I don’t need to get involved in your pettydrama.”

Pettydrama.

Wow.

See, the concierge team extends to security. It saves time and resources from a famous one having to call in a temp bodyguard for the day. But Thatcher Moretti asking to go to a hospital is a motherfucking surprise. Because that means he’s choosing to break security rules just to avoid me and my “pettydrama.”

My brows rise. “Interesting.” I dig in my pocket and cup a silver chain in my fist. “Considering you didn’t care about me and my petty drama when you socked me in the face.” I turn to Jane. “Happy Birthday.” I drop a necklace in her palm, a cursive pendant spells:merde.

She’s distracted a little since her bodyguard is bleeding, but her face brightens as she says, “Ashitnecklace.”

“Love it?” Iask.

“Oui.” She presses the necklace to her chest, and then she looks over at her bodyguard. Concerned andtroubled.

This is all more complicated than Ilike.

“I thought I was defending a client,” Thatcher suddenly tellsme.

I turn and roll a yellow golf ball beneath my boot. “A client, as inMaximoff.So you thought you were protecting my boyfriend fromme?”

Does he realize how thatsounds?

Thatcher lets out a heavier breath. He’s trying not to glare at me, even when I’m definitely glaring at him. “I was wrong,” he confesses. “I crossed a fucking line just to set you off towards the end. It was out of anger, and I’ve already apologized to Maximofftonight.”

I glance at Maximoff, and he nods once to me, still dialing Rowin’s number. My ex is going to have about fifty missed calls from myboyfriend.

Thatcher tightens the knot on the flannel shirt. “You want to lay into me. Go ahead, but don’t fucking come at me for wanting to go to the hospital so your ex doesn’t have to share a rooftop with your currentboyfriend.”

I kick the golf ball at a gnome. “Youreallythink you’re doing me afavor?”