Page 5 of Alphas Like Us

There’s a reason forconcern.

I rub my jaw, my pulse hiking a fraction. No more delay, I leave the kitchen for the hall closet. “Did you narrow down the problem or am I going to have to pack a bag with everything?” I gather my black canvas trauma bag and check supplies: gauze, sutures—shit, if he needs anIV…

“It could be a fracture, maybe possible headtrauma.”

I hurry. “Did he sounddisoriented?”

“He sounded worried anddistracted.”

I remember the last time I saw Maximoff. I can still smell the salt water and feel the heat from the torches. July, just last month. His family threw a summer party on a yacht, and I talked to Moffy for aminute.

I remember how he stared off into space. How it took me thirty seconds just to catch hisattention.

My lips upturn at the memory. “That guy is alwaysdistracted.”

“More distracted than usual,” my fathernotes.

My smile fades fast, and I stuff a blood pressure cuff in the bag. I search for my missing stethoscope, unzippingsections.

Maximoff fought with his cousin on that yacht. Both threw punches. And he’s been caught in more than a few brawls before, mostly with hecklers. “Do you think he was in a fistfight?” I ask my father, just as I find my stethoscope in a frontpocket.

“No,” he says. “He never calls me after anyfight.”

I zip up the bag, stand and grab my keys off the counter. Then I remember… “He’s atHarvard.”

A six-hour drive fromPhilly.

If he’s badly hurt…I shake my head. Six hours feels too long. Before I think of alternatives, my father speaksagain.

“I already booked the private jet,” he says. “I’ll email you the details. You should be arriving at Cambridge in a little over twohours.”

I nod. “Good.” And I can sleep on theplane.

“Before you board, I need you to stop by the house and get more supplies.” He means my childhood house in Philly, where he still lives and keeps medicine for emergencies. “Moffy’s blood type is B-positive, and if he has a serious fracture, give him lidocaine intravenously and assess. He’ll refuse anopioid.”

“I know.” His parents are recovering addicts for alcohol and sex, and he’s cautious around addictivepainkillers.

My father lists all the supplies, and I mentally file the information. When he’s finished, he says, “After you treat him, make sure to write a report and emailme.”

“Sure.”

“And if you have any questions, I won’t have cell service. You can always call your grandfather orRowin—”

“I’m not calling Rowin,” I cut him off. “We broke up last week.” I sling my bag on my shoulder and check the plane schedule on my phone. Calculating how much time I have.Notmuch.

The phone line issilent.

I head down the narrow hall towards my bedroom, phone back to my ear and say, “If that’sit—”

“You shouldn’t let work affect your relationship. If you need help balancing the two, you can talk tome.”

“Not everything is about medicine,” I say more coldly than I meant. My jaw muscle tics. “I know you liked him, but it’s over. If there’s nothing else I need for Moffy, then I’ll let yougo.”

“That should be it,” he says, his tone still warm. “Takecare.”

I hang up and slip into my small bedroom that I share with Cory. A six-foot metal bookshelf separates his side from mine, medical texts stacked on eachshelf.

The friend that Cory hates is currently passed out in my single bed, tangled in my black sheets. And he’s not alone. A mystery blonde girl sleeps beneath his tattooed arm. Her bra and red dress litter thefloorboards.