I am blushing so hard that I am genuinely concerned about my blood pressure. My hands grip Cal's jersey, which I am still wearing, and I stare at the ceiling like it holds the secrets to maintaining sanity in the presence of three Alphas whosecombined scents are filling this tiny curtained space with enough pheromones to power a small city.
Breathe, Mae. Just breathe. Do not pass out. Do not pass out from not breathing in a nurse's office because that would be embarrassing on a level from which you would never recover.
Before anyone can escalate the standoff, the office door swings open.
The nurse strides in, a petite woman with silver-streaked hair and the no-nonsense energy of someone who has spent decades patching up athletes and has zero patience for drama.
"Ah, good," she says, glancing at the three Alphas positioned around my bed with a smile that carries professional warmth. "The pack is here."
I frown.
"The pack?"
"I was telling my assistant that I would not be able to service you if your pack did not give permission," she explains, pulling on a pair of latex gloves with practiced efficiency. "University policy for Omega students. Any non-emergency medical examination requires pack authorization or, in the absence of a pack, a designated Alpha guardian's consent. Since your pack is present, we can proceed."
My pack. She thinks these three Alphas are my pack. She looked at Cal in his team gear and Etienne with his goalie pads still dangling from one arm and Raphaël with his French accent and his phoenix tattoo and somehow concluded that this mismatched collection of men who met me between yesterday and seven minutes ago constitute my pack.
I open my mouth to correct her.
Raphaël speaks first.
"Good." He straightens, his posture shifting from relaxed to authoritative in a heartbeat, the casual flirtation replaced by a focused seriousness that transforms him into someone entirelydifferent. "The three of us are here, so please do not delay in examining her. Make sure she is not injured significantly. If the knee shows any structural damage, inform us immediately so we can arrange transport to a hospital. She is a professional figure skater. Treat this with the gravity it deserves."
His voice carries the unmistakable command of an Alpha who is accustomed to having his instructions followed without question. It is not aggressive. Not domineering. Just certain. The certainty of a man who knows what needs to happen and will not tolerate inefficiency in the execution.
The nurse nods, visibly impressed by the clarity of his directive.
Cal and Etienne exchange a glance.
A complicated glance, loaded with competing emotions: surprise, territorial irritation at Raphaël's seamless authority, and underneath it all, a grudging recognition that he said exactly what needed to be said.
"We will cover any additional expenses if need be," Cal adds, his voice firm. "Whatever the examination requires. X-rays, MRI, referrals. Do not let cost be a factor."
"Whatever she needs," Etienne confirms quietly, his storm-blue gaze settling on me with a softness that cuts through the testosterone fog like a blade of moonlight. "We will handle it."
I do not say anything.
I stay quiet on the examination bed, Cal's jersey bunched in my fists, my knee throbbing with a dull ache that is nothing compared to the ache blooming in my chest.
I should correct them. I should tell the nurse these are not my pack. That I do not have a pack. That I am a packless Omega who sleeps in a converted closet and owns exactly one pair of competition skates and a phone held together by faith and micro scratches.
But if I correct them, the nurse cannot examine me without the bureaucratic nightmare of finding alternative authorization. And my knee genuinely needs to be checked. The childhood injury that locked it up on the ice is the same injury that ended my competitive trajectory at thirteen, and if the ligament has shifted or the scar tissue has torn, I need to know now before I make it worse.
So I stay quiet.
I let them roll with it.
For practical reasons. Purely practical.
The nurse approaches the bed, asking me to extend my left leg while she gently palpates the joint. Her hands are clinical and sure, pressing along the patella, the medial ligament, the scar tissue that maps the inside of my knee like a road I have traveled too many times.
The three Alphas remain.
Not hovering. Not crowding. Just present. Raphaël stands near the head of the bed, his arms folded, his gray eyes tracking the nurse's movements with the attentiveness of someone who understands sports injuries. Cal leans against the wall opposite, his amber gaze steady on my face, monitoring my expression for any sign of pain I might try to hide. Etienne stands near the curtain edge, his body angled toward the door like a sentinel, his presence quiet but absolute.
They are all watching over me.
Three Alphas who have no legal obligation, no biological bond, no formal agreement that requires them to be here. And yet here they are. Covering expenses they cannot afford for a girl they barely know. Speaking to medical staff on my behalf with the unified authority of a pack that does not officially exist. Standing guard while a nurse examines a knee that has been causing me problems since I was a child and that no one, in allthose years of communal housing and food banks and survival, ever offered to have properly checked.
