“Cafeteria. He thought you’d be hungry,” Kylian states.
My fingers tighten on the formed plastic footboard, and I nod. Of course Colter anticipated what I’d need. Of course he did.
A tiny sliver of humor works its way through my chest at the thought of the cafeteria workers being startled by his mask. I was intimidated by it once upon a time. Though that feels like a lifetime ago.
I’ve aged at least two decades since I started impersonating Teddie.
Colter’s hulking shadow appears in the doorway, and I turn to see him. Today, his skull mask only covers the upper portion of his face. His jaw and lips are free, an unshaven shadow. When he sees me, his lips compress into a thin line.
He walks slowly forward, as if he’s in a trance.
Or maybe I’m projecting.
I’m caught in his dark gaze, heart in my throat, as he gently sets down an overfilled tray on the cheap Formica table in the corner and then holds his arms open.
I barrel into him, smashing so hard into his chest that he’s propelled backward a step.
He lifts me from the ground until my feet dangle, but he still somehow manages to be gentle. When he sets me back on my feet, his hands linger on my hips, thumbs tracing lightly up and down, as if he can’t bear to let me go.
Good. I don’t want him to.
We stare at one another, caught in a vortex of disbelief that we’re actually reunited.
Colter leans forward, and his lips brush gently over my cheek before hovering near my ear.
“I was scared,” the monstrous alpha admits.
That precious vulnerability stokes sharp tears to my eyes.
“Me too,” I respond breathily.
“We still need to hear how exactly you got away,” Kylian prompts energetically, as if he’s equally fascinated and turned on by the concept of an omega becoming violent. “Did you dump over a vat of acid on them or something?”
The chuckle that erupts from my throat is clogged and ungraceful, too weighted with sadness. “Or something. It wasn’t quite that wild. I’ll tell you?—”
“No. Eat.” Colter holds up his hand to shut down my explanations, ignoring Kylian’s disappointed huff. He scoops me up and plants himself in the chair in the corner, settling me onto his lap. “Eat first.”
I glance over at Ridge to see if there’s any chance he’s close to waking, because there’s no way I’m going to miss grabbing his hand and smiling down at him. There’s a driving need in my chest to be the first person he sees.
If the situation were reversed, that’s what I’d want.
But Ridge’s eyelids aren’t moving at all.
Luka has moved over to the computer screen beside the bed.
He scans it and then checks his phone. “I think, based on the sedative his chart has and his body weight, we’ve got another thirty minutes or so until Sleeping Beauty here graces us with his grimace.”
My mouth quirks, and I give Luka a nod of thanks when his brown gaze flashes over to me.
First Colter with food.
Now Luka with the charts.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say my mates are psychic.
Calmed by the new information, I settle into a more comfortable position on Colter’s lap and look over my options. Plain chicken breast with no seasoning. A salad without dressing. This looks like the exact sort of meal about half of the unmarried omegas get in the cafeteria. My nose crinkles.
Luckily there’s also some lemon jello and some french fries. I’m hungry enough to dip some fries into the atrocity they call ketchup.
