Chapter 4
chapter
four
Jesse
Hey Bee.
We have a situation.
We have a situation?
Seriously?
That’s how I started the conversation?
One Bridget hasn’t engaged in yet. She read the message but didn’t answer. Granted, it’s Monday afternoon and she’s probably at work. But, still.
We’ve been “engaged” for fourteen months. So I should probably be used to the fact that the woman turns me into a total idiot .
Actually, compared to Bee, most people are idiots. She’s smart . Funny and sharp and intuitive. And so goddamn pretty while she makes it clear exactly how moronic you are.
Or maybe that’s just me.
Either way, she deserves a hell of a lot more than the half-baked explanation I’m about to bumble through.
I’m not even supposed to warn her about any of this. The guys want to tell Adrian first and let him handle it. That’s the whole point of having a pack alpha, for them—someone to clean up their messes the way I’ve been trying to for the last half-decade.
I can’t do that to Bridget, though.
She should get a fair warning.
The truth is, I barely understand how we got here. So explaining it to someone who usually spins circles around me won’t be easy.
All of this started out simply enough: I found my pack. We found this team. None of us wanted to be a pack alpha, so we let it ride and assumed we’d either find one along the way or bond an omega and let them decide.
Then the fame came. Notoriety. Paparazzi. More money than we had any idea what to do with—and I was used to having a lot .
Things that seemed like quirks started to become issues —Colt disappearing into his head and carrying around the occasional bottle of whiskey. Dante sleeping with a different woman every night. Me trying my damnedest to run our philanthropies and not having the first clue what the hell I was doing…
We had problems, sure. Who doesn’t?
None of it seemed that serious. At first.
Now, I see that my particular brand of optimism probably didn’t help. I never questioned any of it because I figured things had a way of working themselves out. I didn’t expect the press to catch wind of all the partying, womanizing, and money mismanagement.
I definitely didn’t think we would have to come up with a PR stunt to keep our positions.
A fiancée.
The whole put-a-giant-ring-on-it thing was Dante’s idea. He’s always leaned more toward the grandiose. Courting was one thing—and easily brushed off—he claimed. But an engagement ring ?
I was the one who couldn’t stomach pretending we cared about someone oblivious. Ironically, at the time, striking up a deal with a witting woman felt like the kinder option. One really big lie to paper over a whole heap of sins.
Find a willing omega who could benefit from our generosity, give her a ring and whatever else she wanted. Then we could go on with our lives and not worry about neglecting a true fiancée or attempting to court a real one without a pack leader.
I have to say, for a while, it fixed everything.
Dante’s womanizing ways went underground, giving the appearance of a changed man dedicated to our new relationship.
Colt agreed not to miss any more practices or games and took to drinking at home.
I gave Bridget our philanthropies and their funds, knowing she would whip them into shape within a week.
It only took her three days, actually.
I like to think that’s why I suggested her. Talking her up to the guys, I made sure to mention how brilliant and cool she was. Because it’s true—Bee has somehow always been one of the least-pretentious, best girls I know.
She came from a prominent family like mine, but didn’t inherit any of the silver-spoon bullshit I did. Instead, she used her privilege to learn more. Grow more. Give more.
I couldn’t think of anyone better for sorting out this mess.
Plus, I knew her sister was trying to pawn her off on any pack who would court her. I’m not too proud to admit I didn’t love that idea. I figured—why should Bridget be shoved at a group of alphas who didn’t really want her when we clearly needed her?
I don’t know what I expected. I just know I was doomed to a strange sort of disappointment when she walked into her living room that day, sized us up, and proceeded to lay out a list of demands.
She wanted a house. An allowance. And rules.
Dante couldn’t date publicly anymore. None of us could, but he was the problem there. She didn’t want to attend events with us, but agreed to go by herself. She also made it clear we weren’t welcome in her new home—and most especially not near her nest.
Can’t blame her there.
We’re basically a pack of degenerates. And nowhere near good enough for someone as incredible as Bridget Woods.
Something we proved definitively when Colt crashed his vintage Corvette into a median two months ago and nearly maimed himself for life.
The accident turned our world upside down again . All of Bridget’s careful work and progress… down the toilet. Once the press caught wind of the fact that our packmate was on his way to a bar, we were once more labeled a group of wild partiers with no respect for our lives or anyone else’s.
When the Kings’ new manager showed up at the hospital, I anticipated some version of “clean out your lockers by Monday.” But Adrian Messina walked in wearing one of his signature European suits and instantly took over.
It probably would have been intimidating and a little emasculating if I weren’t so desperately relieved.
Since that night, things have sort of fallen into place. He’s clearly the leader we’ve vaguely discussed for years. And he wants a pack of his own to settle down with now that he finally has his career goals sorted.
There’s only one problem…
Our “fiancée.”
And the fact that I think I’m going to miss her.