Sounds about right.
“Is the hoodie standard for emotionally unavailable alphas,or is he auditioning for Troll Under Bridge?”
“Nah, that’s just his post-injury aesthetic,” Rob chuckles. “When he’s not injured, it’s... basically the same. Just slightly more showered.”
I narrow my eyes.
“Go figure. So…thisis what passes for royalty around here?”
“More or less,” Rob shrugs. “He’s been captain since he was, like, a fetus. Grew up in Iron Lake, turned down the draft, and stayed to play for the Moose. He’s scored the game-winner in the Frost Fair finals three years in a row. People in this town practically worship the guy, same way they worship the Moose as a team.”
“Hm.” I watch Beau glare at his water glass. “He doesn’t exactly scream‘community favorite.’”
“That’s because he’s not a talker. Beau’s more of a... skater-and-glare type alpha.”
“Charming.”
“I mean, he’s a grump, and doesn't say an awful lot, so he's an overall pain in the ass 'cause of that. But he's a damn good hockey player. Not only does he play through injury, but from what we all know of him, he shows up early, stays late, and refuses to half-ass anything.” Rob shrugs. “He's committed. Guys follow him because he earns it, and people in town adore him.”
I chance another glance at the town's so-called favorite alpha. Beau's not moved even a fraction, and is still slouched in thebooth, still glowering at the table, and still completely unaware (or willfully ignoring) the fact that he’s being dissected from twenty feet away.
He looks like a statue: one that has been carved out of glacier ice and raw frustration.
“Can’t wait to ask him about his pain levels while he silently dares me to quit my job.”
“You’re gonna do great,” Rob grins. “Beau’s just...Beau.He takes a minute to warm up.”
“Like a microwave burrito, or a landmine?”
Rob snorts at that.
“Little from column A, little from column B.”
My mind begins to whir, piecing the fragments of information that Rob's provided so far together.
Captain of the Moose. Injured.
Which means that my first patient is going to be a walking scowl with a busted shoulder and a personality like sandpaper.
Terrific.
I take another sip of my coffee, watching Beau shift slightly, adjusting with a wince that he tries to play off. It’s subtle, but something about the way his jaw tightens and his left hand curls into a fist causes my PT instincts to kick in.
Even from this distance, I can tell he’s overcompensating. He’s trying to brace his shoulder without shifting his torso too much, and judging by the slight swelling around the edge of the sling, he’s been icing too long without elevation.
I don’t like that I notice, though I put that down to professionalism.
What Iespeciallydon’t like is the little thread of concern winding through my chest, which I can only put down to my omega status.
It's a blessing and a curse.
“Think you can handle him?” Rob asks, snapping me out of my thoughts.
“Handle him?” I snort, trying to play it cool. “Please. I plan to out-stubborn him.”
“Is that so?”
“Yep. I’ve got exhaustion, caffeine, and petty spite on my side, so.”
