"Maybe she'll appreciate the gesture," I suggest, trying to inject optimism into my voice. "You told her that we live together. This is what packs do."
"Or maybe she'll think we're stalking her," Xavier replies, his medical training making him consider every possible negative outcome.
Logan lets out a dark chuckle. "We are stalking her."
"It's thoughtful," I protest.
"Flowers are thoughtful when you're dating someone. We're not dating her," Logan points out with brutal honesty.
"We're notnotdating her," I counter.
Xavier winces. "That's not how grammar works."
"Grammar is overrated," I shrug, earning disapproving looks from both my packmates.
"Says the man who dropped out of college after the first month," Xavier grumbles.
"I didn't drop out. I chose a more practical education path," I defend, my sandalwood scent sharpening with irritation.
"You got kicked out for poor attendance," Logan adds helpfully.
Before I can formulate a comeback, Xavier's phone rings. Sharp and professional in the afternoon air. He glances at the screen and his entire posture changes, shoulders straightening into his emergency mode stance.
"I have to take this." He answers with his clinical voice. "Dr. Blackwell.”
I can't hear the other side of the conversation, but Xavier's scent shifts from mint and cologne to something sharper, more focused. Medical emergency. The kind that requires immediate attention and no room for personal complications.
"How many casualties?" Xavier asks, already walking toward his BMW. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes."
He hangs up and turns back to us, his expression apologetic but determined. "Multi-car accident on Highway 6. They need all available medical personnel."
"Go," Logan says immediately, his protective instincts kicking in. "We've got this."
"Are you sure? I can call someone else to cover..."
"Doc, go save lives. We'll handle one omega."
Xavier nods and climbs into his BMW, white roses forgotten on the hood of his car. The engine purrs to life, and he's gone, leaving Logan and me to handle Savannah pickup duty.
"Two alphas, one omega," Logan mutters. "This should be interesting."
"It'll be fine. How hard can it be?"
Logan's radio crackles to life before I can say anything else. Emergency dispatch, the kind of urgent tone that means someone's house is on fire or someone is having the worst day of their life and needs a firefighter to make it better.
"Engine 12, respond to structure fire on Elm Street. Multiple units requested."
Logan's storm-gray eyes focus on something beyond the bus station, beyond flowers and romantic complications and whatever awkwardness is about to unfold.
"I have to go," he says, already moving toward his SUV with the fluid efficiency that makes him such an effective first responder.
"What about Savannah?"
"You handle it. You're here, you've got flowers, you can drive. Figure it out."
"But what if..."
"Griff." Logan pauses with his hand on the driver's door, his expression serious. "Don't fuck this up."
