Chapter 11
ELEVEN
charlie
Charlie: Hey. It’s Charlie. Got your number from Baby. Hope that’s okay?
Willa: Charlie?
Charlie: Yeah. The one and only. Well, one of three, I guess.
Willa: Baby just… gave you my number?
Charlie: I may have had to grant a favor.
Charlie: She may have threatened violence if it's any consolation.
Willa: That does sound like Baby.
Willa: So why are you texting me?
Charlie: Wanted to say hi. And that it was really good to see you the other day.
Willa: Oh.
Charlie: Oh??
Willa: Hi?! It’s been a long time.
Charlie: I know. Too long.
Willa: Yeah.
Charlie: This is awkward, isn’t it?
Willa: Incredibly awkward.
Charlie: Good. At least it’s not just me.
Willa:
Charlie: There it is. I was hoping I could still make you smile.
Our little chat yesterday felt like the first step back toward each other, but we’re still miles from what we once had.
The ceiling fan has been making the same lazy rotation for the past two hours while I stare at it, unable to stop replaying everything in my head.
So many summers spent swimming in her sweet buttercup scent. I had no idea I never wanted to leave her side until it was too late. The familiar ache bangs around my chest as it has for years.
Thinking about your best friend’s little sister is one thing. Being in love with and dying to kiss your best friend’s little sister is definitely another. Somehow, it all got lost in the years dividing us.
I still can’t stop thinking about how she looked in the barn. Her curves, her edges, her sweet scent—all of it sexy as hell.
Beau coming home last night for the second time smelling like her didn’t help at all.
He was drenched in her scent. Not just a hint of it clinging to his clothes—no, he was absolutely saturated. Vanilla and buttercups, so uniquely her… it was wrapped around him so thick I could smell it the second he walked through the door.
And there was only one way for him to get that covered. I couldn’t stop the near-blinding surge of desire and envy that erupted in my chest.
“So, how’d your night go?” I’d asked him, trying to keep the edge out of my voice, my Alpha instincts breaking free of the subdued place they usually exist.
Instead of answering right away, he’d collapsed onto the couch, dropping his head onto the back of it, looking toward the ceiling. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. Then: “I kissed her…”
The words hung in the air between us.
“You what?” I’d managed, my heart doing something complicated in my chest.
“I kissed Willa. Or she kissed me. I don’t know who started it, but it happened, and then Jake was there, and she—” He broke off, running his hands through his hair. “Just fucking bolted.”
The three of us talked late into the night, the conversation circling pack bonds again. I couldn’t suppress the welling of desire and hope that she’d let us court her. That she’d give us a chance to prove we could be what she needed.
We’d decided we’d talk to her today. It was really the only day before Jake and Beau hit the road again for the last leg of the competition, and I’m supposed to be on a plane to Tennessee in less than six hours for a fundraising benefit with Caleb.
I don’t want to leave. Don’t want to fly halfway across the country when Willa’s right here and everything feels like it’s about to go up in smoke.
The clock on my nightstand blinks 7:30 a.m. in accusatory red numbers. I’ve been awake since five, running through scenarios in my head, trying to figure out the right words to say to convince her we’re worth the risk.
I’m just about to force myself into the shower when my bedroom door swings open hard enough to bounce off the wall.
Beau stands in the doorway, still in the clothes he wore yesterday, his face a mask of barely controlled rage.
I’m on my feet before I consciously decide to move. “What’s wrong?”
“Downstairs. Now.”
The tone of his voice—sharp, urgent, wrong—sends adrenaline spiking through my system. I follow him down the stairs, where Jake’s already waiting, looking as exhausted and disheveled as Beau. They’re both pulling on coats and boots with jerky, hurried movements.
“What’s going on?” I demand.
Beau shoves his phone at me. “We gotta go. Better hurry.”
The screen shows a text from Marshal Lane, APbrA CEO. My stomach drops before I even read it.
ML: Be in my office at 8 a.m. We have a problem.
Below is a link to a video file.
“What’s this?” I ask, but I’m already clicking it, some sick sense of dread telling me I need to see whatever this is.
The world drops out from under me.
It’s Beau and Willa. Willa in Beau’s arms, their mouths fused together. The way she’s moving against him, the way his face is buried in her neck—it’s intimate and private and never meant to be seen by anyone else.
Someone filmed them. Someone violated that moment and sent it to APbrA.
“Holy shit,” I breathe.
“That’s in thirty minutes,” Beau says, his voice tight. “I know. I just turned my phone back on.”
My mind is already racing, calculating. Willa’s in trouble. Beau’s in trouble. The contract—there’s something in their contracts about fraternization and professional conduct. I remember Beau talking about it when he got in all that trouble last year.
“We need to go. Now.” I’m moving before I finish speaking. It takes me no time to grab the first things I see and throw them on before I’m back downstairs and heading out to Beau’s truck.
The drive to APbrA headquarters is a blur of adrenaline and worst-case scenarios. Beau’s driving too fast, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. Jake’s in the back seat, jaw clenched, staring out the window. None of us speaks.
What happens if they fire her? What happens if they ban Beau from competing? What happens if this ruins everything before we even have a chance?
My Alpha is snarling, demanding I fix this, protect what’s ours. But I don’t know how to fix something I don’t fully understand yet.
We pull into the parking lot with five minutes to spare. Marshal’s truck is already there, along with a handful of other vehicles I recognize. My stomach tightens.
“We go in together,” I say as we climb out. “As a pack.”
Beau nods, some of the emotion in his eyes easing slightly. Jake falls into step beside us, and we walk through the front doors as a united front.
The receptionist barely looks up. “Conference room. They’re waiting.”
APbrA headquarters takes up half a city block, with their corporate offices taking up the main building—the tallest building in Muddy Creek.
We all get in the elevator, and I look over at Jake, who has been silent this entire time.
“Hey, we got this,” I say.
He only nods in acknowledgment. I move next to him and wrap a hand around his shoulder, giving him a little shake until he looks up at me.
“Jake, we got this.” Even though I don’t really know what “this” is, one thing is for sure—whatever she needs, we do.
“Mmhmm,” he says.
The conference room is exactly as intimidating as I expected. About twenty chairs circle the long table. Marshal Lane sits at the head of the table, his expression tense. On one side, there are two others—I get lawyer vibes—both looking like they’d rather be anywhere else.
And on his other side, sitting ramrod straight in a chair, is Willa.
She looks small and young, and freaked the fuck out. Her face is pale, her hands fidgeting with a small paper cup in front of her. Josie Lane is sitting next to her, her hand on Willa’s arm.
A sudden look of shock crosses her face when we enter, but she doesn’t acknowledge our presence any more than that—not until she gets to Beau, and a mottled flush creeps up her chest and neck. She doesn’t make any more eye contact after that.
She just keeps staring at some point on the wall like an anchor. But underneath the obvious tension is steel. Watching her try to keep her composure makes me want nothing more than to wrap her in my arms and give her a place to be soft.
Something in my chest cracks.
“Gentlemen,” Marshal says, his voice carefully neutral. “Please, sit.”
We sit, but I position myself so I can see Willa in my peripheral vision. Beau’s doing the same, and Jake’s practically vibrating with the need to go to her.
“As I was saying before you arrived,” Marshal continues, glancing at Willa, “we have a situation. Someone sent this video to the entire APbrA board late last night, along with allegations that Miss James has violated the professional conduct clause of her contract.”
A low, barely audible growl rumbles from Beau’s chest.
“In addition to you, Beau,” Lane says, shifting his focus toward where we sit.
“Who sent it?” Beau’s voice is rough, dangerous.
“That is… unknown. We’re looking into it, but that’s not the immediate concern.
” Marshal leans forward, folding his hands on the table.
“The immediate concern is that this is a clear breach of contract. Miss James signed an agreement stating she would maintain professional boundaries with all stock contractors, riders, and APbrA personnel. This video shows a clear violation of that agreement.”
“That’s bullshit,” Jake says flatly. “She didn’t do anything wrong.”
“The contract—”
“The contract is designed to protect Omegas from being harassed or coerced by Alphas in positions of power,” I interrupt, my voice hard. “Not to punish them for having a private, consensual moment that someone illegally filmed.”
Marshal’s expression softens slightly. “I agree with you, Charlie. I do. But the board is concerned about optics. About precedent. The fear is that if we allow this to slide, it opens the door for—"
“For what?” Beau leans forward, his Alpha rising to the surface. “For Omegas to be treated like people? For them to have relationships without needing permission from a bunch of old men in a boardroom?”