Page 26 of Best Friends

“Well, I shouldn’t say that. He’s just overly worried.

Usually Malcolm is super chill, but he’s different now.

He’s paranoid about me and the baby. Yesterday he spent two hours researching the safest car seats and then called me three times during lunch to make sure I wasn’t lifting anything heavy.

And for the record, he considers a jug of milk heavy. ”

“At least you know he cares,” Cheyenne points out. “I mean, is it really that bad that he’ll probably insist on carrying in all the groceries from now on?”

I groan. “He won’t even let me push the cart. Says it puts too much strain on my ‘delicate joints.’ Like I’m a Victorian table leg.”

She grins. “Sounds about right for an overprotective alpha.”

Before I can respond, the radio crackles to life. “Unit 47, we have a 10-64 in progress at Riverside Electronics, corner of Main and Third. Suspect is a white male, approximately five-eight, wearing a red hoodie and jeans. Last seen heading east on Third Street.”

I grab the radio. “Unit 47 responding.”

Cheyenne hits the sirens and accelerates, and I feel my stomach lurch—though whether from excitement or my ongoing nausea, I can’t tell.

“Yet another electronic store robbery,” I say. “Seems to be an epidemic lately.”

“Probably looking for phones and tablets he can fence quickly,” she says, weaving through traffic.

We arrive at Riverside Electronics to find the owner, a middle-aged man named Pete Chen, standing outside looking furious.

“He used a hammer and emptied two whole display cases of phones and tablets,” Pete tells us, gesturing at his shop. “Probably three thousand dollars’ worth of merchandise. I saw him run that way.” He points east down Third Street.

“We’ll find him,” Cheyenne assures him. “Can you give us a more detailed description?”

While she takes Pete’s statement, I scan the street, looking for any sign of our suspect. The morning foot traffic is picking up, business people heading to work, tourists starting their day. Then I spot him—red hoodie, walking just a little too fast to be casual.

“There,” I tell Cheyenne, pointing. “I think I see him. Two blocks down, trying to blend in with the coffee shop crowd.”

She follows my gaze and nods. “Good eye. Let’s go.”

We follow on foot, keeping our distance until we’re close enough to be sure it’s our guy.

The red hoodie and his furtive behavior make it clear he’s our perp.

The suspect is maybe early twenties, with the jittery movements of someone running on adrenaline.

He keeps checking over his shoulder, a dead giveaway he’s not just a person out for a casual stroll.

“Sir,” Cheyenne calls out when we’re about twenty feet away. “Whispering Pines PD. We’d like to speak with you.”

The kid glances over his shoulder, startled. He’s wearing a bulky backpack that’s probably stuffed full of the phones and tablets he stole. His mouth hardens and I see the exact moment he decides to run. He flips us off and then bolts down the street as fast as he can run.

“Shit,” I mutter, taking off after him.

He’s young and fast, but the backpack is heavy and probably slowing him down some. We chase him through the morning crowd, dodging pedestrians and street vendors. My radio bounces against my hip with each step, and I can feel my heart pounding.

“Police. Stop,” Cheyenne shouts from behind me.

The suspect veers left into an alley between two buildings, probably hoping to lose us in the maze of service roads behind the shops. Bad choice. I know these alleys like the back of my hand.

“I think he’s heading for the parking garage on Elm,” I yell to Cheyenne over my shoulder. “If we cut through Lyrical Book’s back alley, we can head him off.”

She nods, trusting my knowledge of the area. We duck through the narrow passage I indicated and emerge just in time to see our suspect skid around the corner. When he spots us in front of him, his eyes go wild. Instead of turning back, he speeds up, coming straight at us.

“Fuck,” I mutter, bracing myself for a fight. I wouldn’t think twice about brawling with a suspect usually. But being pregnant does give an extra layer of stress. For all I know the kid has knife or a gun. Regardless, I have to try and stop him.

“Careful, Carrick.” Cheyenne shouts a warning.

“Move,” the kid screams, barreling toward us. He looks back and forth between Cheyenne and me, clearly calculating his odds. He slows ever so slightly, and for one second, I think maybe he’s going to surrender. But then he clenches his teeth and launches himself straight for me.

Bracing for impact, I grab him with both arms and wrench him to the side to throw him off balance. He kicks wildly, slamming his heel into my shin. I grunt, but hold on tight and he stumbles.

“Settle down,” I growl. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“That’s what you think,” he screeches, elbowing me hard in the stomach.

Cussing, I instinctively let go of him, fearing for the safety of my baby.

But I’m not about to let the asshole escape entirely.

He thinks because I released him he’s home free, but he’s wrong.

When he tries to run, I grab hold of his backpack and yank.

He flies off his feet and lands on his back with a loud grunt.

The wind is knocked out of him and he’s dazed as he stares up at me.

“You okay, Carrick?” Cheyenne asks me as she catches up to us, breathing hard. She kneels down and slips the cuffs on the kid, eyeing me with concern. “He hit your stomach. You good?”

“I’m good,” I rasp, not giving into the urge to rub my stomach. I bend over, hands resting on my thighs, trying to catch my breath.

“Let me go. I didn’t do nothing,” the kid yells, struggling in Cheyenne’s grip.

“Shut up,” she growls, still eyeing me with worry. She pulls the perp to his feet, and drags him back in the direction of our patrol car.

I follow more slowly, and since she has her back to me, I give into the need to rub my stomach.

I’m pretty sure everything is okay. I’m really early in the pregnancy and there’s tons of padding around the fetus.

The baby is only about the size of a kidney bean, so it’s undoubtably just fine.

Still, I can’t deny an instinctive fear for the safety of my child.

Thank God I’m not partnered with Malcolm, he might have ripped the kid’s head off if he’d seen him elbow me in the stomach.

The rest of the day is way less eventful. We deal with a few minor fender benders, and traffic stops with expired tags. Once our shift is over, we head over to Frankie’s. Malcolm is there ahead of us and when I walk in, he pushes a chilled glass of orange juice toward me.

I sit down, frowning at the juice. “Maybe we should meet somewhere else after work while I’m pregnant. It sucks that I can’t drink but everyone else can.”

Malcolm lifts one brow. “And by everyone else, you mean me?”

I laugh guiltily. “Yes.”

He lifts his glass. “I’ll have you know I’m drinking iced tea.”

“Really?” I raise my eyebrows. “Just plain iced tea?”

“Yep.” He looks very self-satisfied. “I wouldn’t feel right drinking in front of you. If we’re going to be a couple, we’ll suffer together.”

I smirk. “Not exactly a glowing commentary on coupledom, but I get what you’re going for.”

He elbows me. “Hey, I’m being romantic. Don’t rain on my parade.” He sips his tea, and I don’t miss the mild wince he makes just before he swallows.

I smile affectionately at him. “You know, you can have a beer. I don’t really care. I just had a rough day and I was feeling sorry for myself.” I pick up my orange juice. “But this is better for the baby, so I’ll stick with juice.”

“No, I don’t need a beer. This tea is delicious.” He takes another sip, giving me a thumbs up.

“If that’s true, why do you look like you’re drinking hemlock?” I ask.

“Nah.”

Cheyenne joins us. “Did you tell Malcolm about the punk who elbowed you in the stomach?”

Malcolm starts coughing on his iced tea and I give Cheyenne a warning look. But it’s too late. Once Malcolm has swallowed and his coughing fit has quieted, he swivels on his stool to face me.

“Someone punched you in the stomach?” he growls, looking around as if he’s going to rip someone’s head off.

“No.” I grab his shoulder and squeeze. “Calm down. It was just a kid I collared. He elbowed me. It didn’t even hurt,” I lie.

His gaze drops to my stomach and he immediately puts his big hand on my flat stomach. “Are you and the baby okay?”

“Yes. We’re both fine.” I put my hand over his. “It was no big deal.”

“No big deal?” Malcolm blinks at me. “Did you get checked out at the ER?”

I sigh. “No, of course not. The kid barely touched me. The baby is fine, Malc. Come on, relax.”

He grits his teeth, and I know he’s struggling to restrain his desire to control me. He probably wants to tell me to ask for desk duty, but he knows I’ll throw a shit-fit if I get stuck on a desk this early in my pregnancy. I already had to fight Captain Jones’ natural desire to bench me.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks.

“Yes.” I slide off my stool. “Now, I need to pee for the hundredth time today.”

“I’ll come with you,” Cheyenne says, also getting off her stool.

As we head toward the hallway where the restrooms are, Cheyenne mumbles guiltily, “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking or I’d have kept my mouth shut.”

I sigh. “It’s okay. I told you he was overly protective. He can’t help himself.”

She glances over. “Maybe you should have gone to the ER to get looked at, though.”

I groan. “God, don’t you start too, Cheyenne. I’m fine. I’m not a china doll.”

“I know. I know.” She laughs sheepishly.

I stop at the men’s bathroom. “I promise if there’s any spotting or anything like that I’ll go straight to the ER.”

She nods. “Okay.”

I go into the men’s bathroom to use the facilities.

When I return to my seat, Malcolm is talking to a very pretty female omega that I’ve seen before.

I recognize her as one of Malcolm’s past conquests.

She has long dark hair and big tits, and from the way she’s eyeing Malcolm like a juicy steak, I guess she’s back for seconds.

The way she’s leaning on him instantly pisses me off, but I try not to give into my jealousy.

Malcolm glances over at me when I sit down and smiles. “You’re back.” He puts his hand possessively on my thigh, but I move my leg away.

Malcolm frowns. “Everything okay?”

“Yep. Everything is peachy-keeno.” I give the girl a surly look.

Her expression is challenging as she smirks at me and places her red-tipped hand on Malcolm’s shoulder.

To his credit, he stiffens. But he doesn’t ask her to remove her hand, which I find annoying.

I know it might be awkward for him to ask her not to touch him, but it’s way more awkward to have to watch her hitting on him.

I’ve spent years watching Malcolm flirt with female omegas.

In the past, I found it more amusing than annoying.

But now that he’s my alpha, I have zero tolerance for it.

However, I feel like it’s his job as my alpha to set boundaries with other omegas.

That isn’t my place, that’s his responsibility.

But if he doesn’t do it, what are my options? To sit quietly by while he flirts?

Unsure of what to do, I sip my orange juice, fuming.

“Hey, Trish, I want you to meet my omega.” Malcolm suddenly turns toward me. “Carrick, this is Trish. Trish, Carrick.”

Her eyes flicker as our gazes meet. “Hello.” Her tone isn’t the least bit warm.

“He’s about two months pregnant with my pup.” Malcolm puffs out his chest, placing his hand possessively on my thigh again. “We’re living together now too, which has been awesome.”

“How… how n… nice,” Trish stammers, removing her hand from Malcolm’s arm.

“Isn’t it?” Malcolm smiles. “We grew up together. Carrick’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Trish’s cheeks pink. “Sorry, I… I didn’t know you two were together.”

Liar.

“Well, we are,” I say gruffly, pulling down my collar and showing her the bite on my neck. “But I’m pretty sure you know that.”

Trish’s face twitches.

Malcolm sighs. “I’m so glad to be done with the single life.”

Trish’s mouth thins. “Uh, right. I think I see my friend across the bar. You two have a nice evening.” She strides away, hips swishing and head held high.