Page 65 of Altius (The Scent of Victory #2)

Forty-One

Morgan

“ Y ou two did a damn fine job,” Dr. McEwen said, leaning back in his ergonomic desk chair so that his sling-clad fractured wrist could rest against his chest. “Too bad it had to end in an absolute shitshow.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Reyhan said with a fake smile, grinding his heel into the industrial carpet. He was still angry about what happened in San Diego. And rightfully so.

Dr. McEwen let out a dismissive grunt. “There’s no need to sugarcoat things. Snakes rot from the head. And the stench around here…”

His gaze turned toward the snow-covered expanse of campus outside. Students trudged along in twos and threes, huddling together for warmth.

“It’s almost enough to make a man want to put in for early retirement. Almost. But I think I’m going to finally throw my hat in with our omega and petition to move somewhere warmer. Had enough of this godforsaken winter nonsense.”

Pulling out my phone, I said, “I saw an opening for a head physician at a school in South Carolina last night. Want me to send it to you?”

“Think I saw one in Tennessee,” Reyhan added. “Or was it Texas?”

A sheen of fondness softened Dr. McEwen’s stalwart gaze, then he cleared his throat and gave a dismissive wave of his good hand. “I don’t need you two young pups to worry about me. Not when…”

“We know we’re out of the running for the sports physician job,” I said, emailing him the link to the South Carolina posting.

The sneer on Reyhan’s face was a thing of incredulous beauty. “My panel interview didn’t even last twenty minutes. Morgan’s wasn’t much longer. We always knew they’d probably pick an alpha.”

“They always do.” Dr. McEwen sighed. “No wonder the university’s in such a mess. Your designation doesn’t mean jack when the shit hits the fan. Character does. And you two…”

He fixed us both with an intense stare.

“You’re damn fine doctors. I’d have hired you both in a heartbeat.”

“That would have been nice,” Reyhan said, giving me a fond smile. “We make a great team.”

It was the truth.

Reyhan was steady and methodical without being stodgy, and we had an excellent professional rapport, relying on one another for second opinions and to muscle through challenging moments, like pheromone bombs and Tyler’s tantrums.

It was a comfortable push and pull of professional equals.

After saying our final farewells to Dr. McEwen and the rest of the football team’s medical staff, Reyhan and I made our way toward the lobby.

“What’s your dream job?” I asked.

“Somewhere sane,” he grumbled, holding the door for me. “With strong ethics and accountability. I don’t care if it’s a major hospital or a rural clinic.”

Glancing around, making sure no one could hear his next words, Reyhan whispered, “No more alpha bullshit.”

A slight laugh escaped. “I couldn’t agree more.”

One of the physical therapists, a pretty redhead who was great at her job, hurried up to Reyhan, asking him to exchange contact information. He looked a bit stunned.

Giving him an encouraging look, I said, “See you at the next basketball game.”

“Yeah, uh—bye, Morgan.”

I slipped through the exit turnstile and headed for the front entrance.

Just as I passed the visitor seating area, a familiar raspy voice called, “Hey, Dr. Van Daal.”

Suppressing a smile, I turned.

Joaquin was reclined on a sofa, hands clasped behind his head, long legs clad in jeans, black boots crossed at the ankle, and smirking up a storm.

Moving closer, I asked in a volume that wouldn’t carry across the expansive lobby, “I thought we were supposed to stop meeting like this.”

“Today’s your last day here, and you still owe us a lunch date.” His smirk only grew wider. “And I have it on very good authority that you’ve got ninety minutes before you need to be anywhere. So, we’re taking you out to celebrate.”

“Are we now?” I asked, arching a brow.

“Yup.” Joaquin slid off the couch and stepped into my personal space, leaning down to meet my gaze. “So, what do you say, doc—udon for three, or are you going to break my heart again?”

Looking straight into the velvety depths of his brown eyes, I put on my gentlest, most doe-like expression and whispered, “This conversation could have been a text.”

He stifled a laugh. “But where’s the fun in that?”

“We need to work on your definition of fun.”

“Right back at you, doc.” Joaquin glanced at his phone, showing a new text from Alijah. “Udon restaurant in fifteen?”

“Works for me,” I said, already heading for the exit.

Agreeing to start dating Cal had required a monumental shift in my thinking.

The thought of adding a second partner to the mix had felt too daunting until Wyatt took me into his arms on New Year’s Day and kissed his way back into my heart.

Being with Alijah had felt inevitable, somehow, ever since the day of his panic attack at the football stadium, when I couldn’t rest until I knew he was safe.

But Joaquin…

I had to be careful. Getting too close to him risked falling victim to one of his well-greased traps—most of which I was beginning to suspect included a one-way ticket to waking up mated to him and Alijah some random Thursday morning without having the faintest idea how I got there.

***

I sat in the near-empty parking lot of the Rhine Fieldhouse, finger hovering over Wyatt’s name on my contact list, ignoring that my hand was shaking.

After the conversation I’d just had with Chantal, I suddenly understood why Owen liked to dodge his calls.

Forcing myself to hit dial, I put the call on speaker and leaned against the steering wheel, unseeing eyes fixed on the women’s gymnastics building.

He picked up after two rings. “Hey, baby. You done for the day?”

Even my considerable control wasn’t enough for this conversation, my voice trembling from the get-go. “Wyatt, I—I…”

“What’s wrong?” The force of his alpha’s protective nature surged through the phone. “Tell me where you are. I’ll be there in—”

“Wait, wait. There’s nothing wrong with me, but… I just got off the phone with Chantal.” I fought to keep my voice somewhat even as I broke the news. “She wants us to avoid each other until after my appointment next Friday.”

“What do you mean? Like, no sex or kissing—”

“We’re not—we’re not supposed to be in the same room. At all.”

A wounded pause, a shuddering breath, and then he said in a low, hoarse voice, “That’s four days from now.”

“No,” I exhaled with a wince. “It’s next Friday.”

“But that’s…”

Given his away meet and my spending the weekend at Cal’s, it meant we’d be separated for a full fourteen days.

“Two weeks,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. If this is what it takes to get you a proper diagnosis, we have to do it.”

“But I don’t want you to suffer. I can have Cal or Kelsey bring over some of my clothes—”

“Where are you?” he asked, the sound of a door slamming echoing in the background.

“Fieldhouse parking lot.”

“Stay right there.”

I huddled closer to the steering wheel, listening as the pace of his footsteps increased, almost running by the time he rushed through the side door of the gymnastics building.

When his gaze locked onto my car, he broke into an all-out sprint, his desperate breaths pouring into my ear, turning the ache of our impending separation into a stab of pain.

Wyatt skidded to a halt in front of my hood, not daring to get any closer.

Breathing hard, sweat dotting his brow, the bitter wind plastering his shorts against his trembling quads, I wanted nothing more than to pull him into the car and crank up the heat.

“I just—” he started, but his words got caught on a grizzled breath. “Just needed to see your face.”

“We can video chat and text. Nothing changes, Wyatt, it’s just… It’s just a few days. Not a big deal. We can pretend each other’s out of town.”

He nodded, studying my features with something akin to reverence. The same way he looked at me in bed each night before taking me in his arms.

Our reunion was nothing short of a miracle, and we both knew it.

And to be forced apart again so soon, knowing Wyatt was just across the hall, grappling with the symptoms of his waning syndrome, knowing my touch could provide instant relief…

Unspent tears pounded against the inside of my head.

The fading light highlighted the perfect symmetry of his face—my gloriously stunning scent match.

“We waited ten years, right?” I said, choking on the forced lightness in my voice. “We can do two weeks.”

“Yeah, we can. We will.”

Wyatt took a step closer, fingers resting on the black hood of my car. The blue of his eyes was so intense it took my breath away.

“Because I love you.”

We stared at one another, enraptured, infatuated—and in despair.

My heart thundered in response, beating solely for him at that moment, overflowing with the emotion I’d devoted a decade to denying, but I couldn’t speak. Could scarcely dare to breathe.

My control had never teetered on so fine an edge.

“Can you drive?” he asked.

My response barely had enough air to qualify as a sound. “No.”

“I’m going to call Cal to come get you. Okay?”

A shudder sufficed for a nod.

Wyatt disconnected, leaving me bereft, staring at him through my windshield, cursing the dim light and my poor night vision, which obscured his solid form a little more with every passing second, even though he was a mere six feet in front of me.

I couldn’t risk turning on the engine and having the ventilation inadvertently pick up his pheromones. Chantal had been adamant that we avoid each other at all costs in order to get accurate readings.

He was nothing but a vague shadow by the time Cal’s pickup pulled into the lot, headlights momentarily revealing Wyatt’s stricken features and bloodshot eyes.

“Love you,” he mouthed. Then he turned and hurried toward his car across the lot, head hanging low between his broad shoulders.

Cal parked beside me and waited until Wyatt had driven away before opening my door and pulling me into his arms.

“You okay?”

“No,” I admitted, burying my face in his chest. “Just tell me this gets better.”

Cal kissed the top of my head, his purr soft but steady. “You two will make it through this. I promise.”