Page 9 of Altius (The Scent of Victory #2)

Six

Morgan

“ Q uit the gymnastics team? Have you quit the gymnastics team?”

If Jacobi weren’t holding a glass of wine, he’d probably roll onto his back and kick his legs in the air, like he used to when we were kids. I hoped the walls of his rental apartment had decent soundproofing.

“Oh, oh, should I post photos of us with other famous people and tag you, just to rub it in?”

“No.” I was sitting in the desk chair in my home office with a blanket draped over my legs and Tenny nestled in my arms, talking to Jacobi via my laptop camera. “She’s still my fellowship director at the end of the day. And Cal’s pack mother.”

“You’re right. Don’t want to give her a reason to go searching for clues.

” Jacobi refilled his glass and shifted to a more comfortable position on the couch, holding a throw pillow against his chest. “Not that you or Cal would leave any for her to find… Hey, is he really okay with you spending so much time with shrub boy?”

“Seems like it. Not that there’s anything to be worried about,” I said. Tenny shifted, burying his head in the crook of my arm. He was taking advantage of Cal’s absence to be a cuddle monster. “It’s complicated, and we all know it.”

“Does it have to be?” Jacobi asked, trying to reduce the potential heaviness of his question with a long swig of wine.

“I don’t have the bandwidth. Not with everything going on—and my heat coming up.” I paused. “And Cal’s grandfather had another cardiac event today.”

“Still can’t believe you’re dating old money. The grubby kind that reeks of exploitation.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at his description.

Jacobi drummed his fingers against the side of his glass. “What’s his half-sister’s name again? The beta.”

“Heather.”

“Yes, Heather. While it royally sucks that she isn’t good enough for ye olde moneybags because of her designation, it’s not your problem—unless she’s planning to make it your problem.”

“I don’t know. Dr. Sethi’s always been harsh but reasonable, but today… I feel like Heather must have said something to influence the tone of the meeting. Maybe she misled Dr. Sethi about what happened at the ballet?”

“Oh, I don’t like that. I don’t like it at all.”

“Me either.” I took a sip of chamomile tea. “This whole inheritance thing is a nightmare.”

He shrugged. “That’s because you’re a weirdo—a rich bitch without an ounce of materialism. If I were in Cal’s position, I’d say fuck the family, forget the nephew, I’m playing to win. The dictionary definition of merciless.”

“Even if it meant giving up on your ideal pack?”

Jacobi’s expression of exaggerated disapproval was absurdly amusing. “Like Cal hasn’t already? Sure, it’s noble to stick to your principles, but from where I’m sitting, he’s a lot lonelier and a lot less wealthy than he needs to be.”

“Fair point,” I said, then raised a finger in objection.

“However, you haven’t experienced their dynamic in person.

While Cal’s powerful, Owen’s dominance is…

in a league of its own. There’s no way he could ever be subservient enough to let someone else be the head alpha, not even for Cal’s sake. Their pack name could only be Redmond.”

“Or maybe they just hadn’t met the right omega yet,” he said with a suggestive smirk.

“Maybe your brilliant wiles will convince Cal and Owen—and shrub boy—and all the rest to join Team Van Daal. I know it prompted a lot of pearl-clutching back when your parents did it, but taking an omega’s surname is very on trend. ”

I sneered at him over the rim of my mug. “Settle down. One boyfriend is more than enough.”

“Nope, it’s not enough,” he said in a tipsy singsong, draining his glass. “More boyfriends, we need more boyfriends, we should have all the boyfriends! But no girlfriends for you. They’re all for me.”

I studied Jacobi’s face, wishing he still lived across the hall so I could fix everything with an impromptu visit and a tray of Kelsey’s extra-spicy black bean nachos.

Unable to embrace my best friend, I channeled my stymied affection into petting Tenny’s back while he slept. “What happened?”

Jacobi huddled tighter, chin digging into the pillow.

“Hugo has a new boy toy—an investment banker, barely out of college. And I’m not supposed to care because I agreed to play by his stupid rules.

Agreed willingly, recklessly, like a pompous shithead, high on his own supply, even though you tried to warn me…

Because how could I— the Jacobi Zeldin—how could I possibly lose? ”

He threw his hands up and collapsed against the cushions with a heart-rending sigh, avoiding eye contact by looking out the window.

“When Kels texted that you’d passed out, my first thought was that I needed to go pack your overnight bag for the hospital.

As if I could open my bedroom door, and my loft would still be there, exactly the way I had it—my piano and all my other shit arranged just so.

But I can’t. It’s gone. And he doesn’t love me.

” Jacobi deflated against the cushions. “I lost the game, Morgan. Lost it badly.”

“Northport’s still home, Jacobi,” I whispered.

Jacobi deserved better than Hugo. So much better.

To be adored and pampered by a stable, dedicated pack. A group of genuine individuals who could admire his artistic sensibilities and nurture his many talents.

Who would love Jacobi in all the ways I couldn’t, filling the voids my friendship failed to reach.

“You almost sound serious,” he scoffed into his glass.

“I am. This weekend sucked, and I missed your stupid face the entire time.” Frustration bled into my tone, verging on a whine.

How very mature. “Put on a show at the gallery with everything you’ve created during your residency.

We’ll find you a new renovation project.

I promise I won’t complain about whichever pile of bricks you fall in love with, no matter how overpriced it is. ”

“So that my shitty love life can be your excuse to keep avoiding Wyatt?” He shot a dark look at the camera. “Don’t think so.”

“Wyatt has nothing to do with this.” I sounded harsher than I meant to, accidentally jolting Tenny awake.

“Bullshit.” Jacobi stared at me, refusing to back down, saying things we’d agreed never to mention, pushing me, testing my control.

“He rejected you. At a moment when you were incredibly vulnerable. Unstable. Because you told him to fuck off, even though you didn’t mean it.

Couldn’t remember doing it the next day. And it wrecked you. Completely.”

The expression on Jacobi’s face was so cold and unforgiving that it almost upset me more than his words.

“I’ll never forgive myself for letting that cat piss bastard move in next door to you.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Jacobi shot forward, knocking his knee against the empty wine bottle with a nerve-wrenching clang, exasperated by my continued refusal to treat Wyatt as a serious topic.

“You’ve been obsessed with his pheromones for a decade!”

“Because he’s all I had for comparison. You know that.”

It was an excuse, but I had to maintain some semblance of a defense.

Tenny wriggled loose and dropped to the floor, padding out of the room in search of better company, leaving me feeling cold and exposed despite the blanket on my lap.

“Enough, Jacobi.”

“No, I’m done tiptoeing around this,” he spat. “I’ve watched you my entire life, fixating on one thing after another, ignoring injury, risking relapse—because you always have to succeed. Always have to be the best version of Morgan. But it’s never enough!”

His hand slashed through the air, driving his points home with excruciating emphasis.

“There’s always something else. It’s relentless, and it’s never been healthy. An extra tenth to a vault score, your perfect GPA, making it to the Olympics, your MCAT score, sports medicine—”

“I’m single-minded, so what?”

“Because you never think about the cost! You lock on to the next target, slap on a fresh pair of blinders, and off you go, dragging your half-dead body behind you.” His dark eyes bored into mine, too honest, too weary.

Worn down by my bullshit. “But this time, it’s not your job that’s killing you—it’s goddamn mate waning syndrome.

Because you refuse to accept that Wyatt is your scent match. ”

Guilt slithered down the back of my throat, sour and unsettling.

Wyatt deserved better. Always had.

Cal, too.

Their thoughtful gestures—from a simple cup of hibiscus tea to an entire winter wardrobe—were wasted on me.

“You—” I shifted in my chair, but comfort was no longer an option. “You’re not playing fair.”

“I know. But I am being honest.” He rubbed his face, trying to banish his expression of bittersweet despair. “Is it so wrong to want my best friend to be happy?”

“No.” My voice wavered, pinched too tight by my faltering control. “Because that’s all I want for you, too. That’s why I say fuck Hugo and come home.”

“Fuck Hugo?” Harsh laughter, devoid of any kindness—for either of us—crackled across the connection. “Your heat. It’s in what, three weeks? And you’re not going to include Wyatt, are you? You won’t invite any of them because you’re too busy being productive, right?”

His tight, joyless smile grated to the point of pain. My best friend shouldn’t be like this.

Jacobi picked up the wine bottle, poured the last few drops into his mouth, and then raised it above his head, offering me an inglorious salute.

“Here’s to being a pair of miserable fucks.”

***

The lit fireplace performed a mesmerizing shadow play on the library ceiling. I lay nestled on a mound of pillows, wearing my pajamas, watching the flickers frolic and beckon, as ephemeral as my fleeting memories.

When was the last time I’d been this devastated by a conversation with Jacobi? I couldn’t remember.