CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Reese
I wake to morning light filtering through unfamiliar curtains and the solid warmth of Bo's chest beneath my cheek. For the first time in days, my head doesn't pound. My shoulders don't ache with tension. The constant knot in my stomach has loosened.
Bo's still asleep, one arm wrapped possessively around me even in unconsciousness.
His heartbeat is steady under my palm, his breathing deep and even.
In sleep, he looks younger. The enforcer persona stripped away to reveal just a twenty-one-year-old guy who took charge when his team was falling apart.
Who took care of me when I was falling apart.
The memories of last night flood back. Not just the sex—though that was incredible—but everything else. The way he ordered me to eat. Made me cry out everything I'd been holding. Refused to let me sacrifice myself for the team's sake.
*"You are our future."*
I trace the lines of his chest, mapping the territory I claimed last night. Because that's what happened, whether he realizes it or not. He might have been giving the orders, but I claimed him just as surely as if I'd left a mark.
My hand drifts lower, following the trail of golden hair down his abs. He's already half-hard, his body responding even in sleep. The sight makes my core clench violently. After weeks of being reactive, of letting things happen to me, I want to be the one in control.
I shift down the bed carefully, not wanting to wake him yet. The sheet slides away as I move, leaving him exposed in the morning light. He's beautiful like this. All that controlled strength relaxed and vulnerable.
I take him in my mouth without preamble, and his whole body jerks awake.
"Fuck—Reese—" he groans.
I hum around him, and his hips buck involuntarily. His hand finds my hair, holding on as I work him with lips and tongue and just the edge of teeth.
"Jesus Christ," he gasps, raking his free hand over his face. "Where did you—"
I pull off long enough to say, "I had a life before Sable Ridge, Strickland," then swallow him down again.
His laugh turns into a groan as I hollow my cheeks, using every trick I learned from fumbling encounters before my world became eight Alpha rowers. Back when sex was simple exploration instead of this complicated tangle of biology and pack dynamics.
"Reese, I'm going to—"
I double down, taking him deeper, and he comes with a growl that probably scares the birds from the trees. I work him through it, swallowing everything, until he's oversensitive and pushing at my shoulders.
"Get up here," he growls, hauling me up his body.
I straddle his waist, grinning down at him. "Good morning to you, too."
"You're different this morning." His hands span my waist, thumbs stroking over my ribs.
"I slept. I ate actual food. I cried out approximately three weeks of stress." I lean down to kiss him, breath be damned. "I feel human again."
"You feel perfect," he corrects, then flips us in one smooth motion.
Before I can protest that it's my turn to be in charge, he's kissing down my throat, across my collarbone, taking his sweet time like we have all day. Which I suppose we do until afternoon practice.
"Bo—"
"Shh. My turn."
He works me over with the same deliberate patience as last night, but this time I'm not exhausted and overwhelmed. This time I can participate, arching into his touch, pulling his hair when he does something particularly good with his tongue.
"I need you," I gasp when he's reduced me to writhing desperation. "Now."
"Demanding little thing this morning."
"You liked me submissive last night. This is what you get today."
He grins, wolfish and satisfied. "I'll take you any way I can get you."
When he slides into me, we both groan. I'm sore from last night, tender in the best way, but my body welcomes him like coming home. We move together with none of last night's careful control. This is raw and real, sweat and friction and his teeth on my shoulder when I clench around him.
"That's it," he growls against my skin. "Take what you need."
I do, meeting him thrust for thrust, chasing the building pressure. When I come, it's with his name on my lips and his knot swelling inside me, locking us together again.
We lie tangled afterward, waiting for biology to release us. His fingers card through my hair, and I practically purr at the sensation.
"We should probably talk about this," I say eventually.
"About which part? The fact that we've knotted twice in twelve hours? The emotional breakthrough? The part where you tried to quit the team and I wouldn't let you?"
"All of it."
He's quiet for a moment. "What's there to talk about? You're ours. We're yours. Everything else is just details."
"The administration might disagree."
"Let them." His arms tighten around me. "We'll figure it out. The whole team will."
"Even Gray?"
"Especially Gray. He just needs time to pull his head out of his ass."
I laugh despite everything. "That's our captain you're talking about."
"That's our pack Alpha," he corrects. "Who's scared and lashing out because he doesn't know how to handle feeling out of control."
His knot finally softens enough to separate. We shower together, which leads to him pressing me against the tile wall and making me come on his cock again, but eventually we make it back to the kitchen.
He cooks again while I sit at the counter, watching him move with easy confidence in nothing but a pair of joggers. This is Bo in his element—taking care of people, making sure everyone's fed and safe.
"How did you know?" I ask as he slides a plate of french toast in front of me.
"Know what?"
"That I needed this. Needed to get away, to break down, to let someone else take control for once."
He shrugs, but his ears turn slightly pink. "Same way you know when to push us harder on the water or when to ease up. You just pay attention."
"The others don't see it that way."
"The others are idiots." He sits beside me with his own plate. "But they're our idiots, and we're going to fix this."
"How?"
"By showing up. By not letting Torres or the administration or anyone else tear us apart. By being what we're meant to be instead of what we're supposed to be."
I take a bite of french toast, considering. "You really think it's that simple?"
"No. But I think it's that important." He reaches over, syrup-sticky fingers lacing with mine. "We're pack, Reese. Have been since that first practice when you commanded us like you were born to it. We just need to stop fighting it."
"The administration—"
"Will have to deal with it. There's nothing in the rules that says an Omega can't cox. Nothing that says we can't be friends with our cox. The mixed-designation thing is to prevent conflicts in an athletic setting, not a law."
"They could still make our lives hell."
"They already are." He squeezes my hand. "Question is whether we let them win or we fight for what we want."
I think about the team. Gray's desperate need for control masking his fear. Jackson's newfound confidence. Eli's quiet strength. Zane's genuine warmth. Beckett's hidden depths. Tyler's practical protection. Cameron's silent support.
"They might not want to fight," I say. "They might decide it's easier to let me go."
"Then they're not the men I think they are." Bo stands, pulling me up with him. "But there's only one way to find out."
We clean up in comfortable silence, then pack our few things. The cabin already feels like a memory, a pocket of peace outside the chaos waiting for us.
"Thank you," I tell him as he loads the truck. "For this. For last night. For not letting me run."
"Always," he says simply before leaning over and kissing me hard on the lips. "That's what pack does."
The drive back to campus feels shorter than yesterday's escape. With every mile, I can feel the weight settling back on my shoulders, but it's different now. Lighter, maybe. Or maybe I'm just stronger after being reminded I don't have to carry it alone.
"Afternoon practice is at four," I say as we near campus. "That gives us a few hours to—"
"To let everyone know we're back and we're not giving up," Bo finishes. "I'll text the group. Team meeting at three."
"Gray won't like that."
"Gray's not the only one who gets to make decisions." He glances at me. "Neither are you, by the way. We're all in this together."
He's right. I've been trying to manage everything myself, just like Gray's been trying to control everything himself. Maybe that's part of the problem. We've been acting like individual pieces instead of a unit.
"Okay," I agree simply.
Bo pulls into the team house parking lot. Several cars are already there, including Gray's Range Rover and Cameron’s bike.
"Ready?" Bo asks.
I think about the mess waiting inside. The fractured relationships, the administrative pressure, the regatta tomorrow that we're completely unprepared for.
"No," I admit. "But that's never stopped me before."
He comes around to open my door, offering a hand down from the truck. "That's my girl."
The possessive note in his voice should bother me. Should trigger all my independent instincts. Instead, it makes me feel grounded. Claimed, but not owned. Protected, but not diminished.
I wrap my arms around his waist and look up at him. His own arms wrap around my back and he gives me a warm smile. “Let’s go put this back together,” I say. “Somehow.”
We walk into the team house side by side, ready for whatever comes next.
The living room goes silent when we enter.
Gray's at the table with his laptop, probably obsessing over lineups.
Jackson and Eli are on the couch, sitting closer than they would have a week ago.
Zane's in the kitchen, baking something sweet from the smell of it.
"Look who decided to show up," Gray says, his tone arctic.
"We need to talk," I tell him. Tell all of them. "About the team. About tomorrow. About everything."
"Talking hasn't gotten us very far," Gray points out.
"Because we've been talking around the problem instead of addressing it," Bo says. "That stops now."