Chapter 54
Chapter fifty-four
LIAM
Nashville is rubbing off on me because the scent of chicken and waffles hitting me in the face as I walk into the Little Red Hen is like heaven on earth.
The only thing that smells better is Ash when she’s wrapped up in Beckett’s hoodie.
The breakfast rush is over, the lunch crowd not yet arrived, which should give us enough privacy. Estelle spots me immediately, nods her head toward the corner booth, and gestures to the coffee cups she’s setting on a tray.
Marilyn, the Scorpions' PR guru, and Chantel, Beckett’s agent, must have just gotten here too. They’re still pulling off their coats. It’s almost April, so Nashville isn’t nasty hot yet.
I weave between empty tables. This place has got that “neighborhood institution” vibe. Sparkling clean, a little rundown, but not quite vintage or retro yet. Estelle gets to the table just about the same time as me.
Marilyn glances up with her warm yet professional smile. “Liam. Good to see you.” She shifts her designer purse to make room, wedging it between her and Chantel.
“Jesus, Liam. You look like hell. You may have to come to terms with the fact that you have now reached the age where you can’t pull all-nighters.”
“Yeah, nice to see you too, Chantel.” I grin, sliding into the booth. Estelle doles out coffee and slides in next to me. “Estelle,” I nod toward her as a way of introduction, “friend of the pack.”
We all take a moment to make our coffees just right. I hit mine with two packs of sugar and take a sip. I’ve never been a mocha-choco-latte-frappe kind of guy, and this is dark and bitter and the perfect cup.
“Thanks for meeting on short notice,” I say, wrapping my hands around the mug. “I appreciate the discretion.”
“Of course, though I’m curious about the urgency. These are busy days.” Marilyn’s eyes flick to Estelle, then back to me. And I’ll admit, having the waitress join us is probably a bit odd.
I take a deliberate breath. No point dancing around it. “The omega you arranged for Beckett to date,” I begin, watching their expressions carefully, “it turns out she’s scent matched to my other packmate.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Coffee sloshes as Marilyn’s hand jerks.
“Pierce?” Chantel’s eyes widen. “That’s… unexpected.”
“Unexpected is one word for it,” I agree dryly.
Marilyn recovers quickly, setting down her mug with deliberate care. “Well. That’s… I mean, a scent match is rare. We’ve been going with the ‘Hansen has a girlfriend’ angle. We could pivot—”
“That’s not why we’re here,” I cut her off, perhaps more sharply than intended. I soften my tone. “There’s more you need to know before we discuss any PR angles.”
I reach into my jacket and extract the folded police report, placing it on the table between us. Estelle efficiently rearranges cups to make room.
“A few days ago, Ash was involved in a violent confrontation with her father,” I say, keeping my voice neutral. “It ended with him taking his own life in front of her.”
Marilyn gasps and puts her hand to her chest. Chantel’s expression doesn’t change. She’ll hear it all out before reacting.
“The official report,” I tap the paper with one finger, “states that he had been exhibiting increasingly erratic behavior. That he threatened his daughter with a firearm before turning it on himself. That’s the sanitized version.”
“Jesus,” Chantel murmurs.
“As Ash’s friend and coworker, I can tell you the reality is significantly worse.” Estelle looks at me, silently asking permission to continue. I nod once. We debated for a long time yesterday about how much information we should share to get the results we want.
“Ash has been living in an abusive environment her entire life,” Estelle continues, her fingers curling around her mug until her knuckles whiten.
“After her brother died years ago, her father isolated her completely. Dropped her from school. Cut her off from friends. When she presented as an omega, he…” She pauses, jaw working. “He started selling her heats.”
“Selling her…?” Marilyn echoes faintly. If she was an omega, she’d be tipping into “oh the poor sweet child.” Seeing as she’s an alpha, the anger behind her eyes is completely relatable.
“Trafficking,” I clarify. I don’t want to give them gory details, but I need this to land hard. “He was trafficking his own daughter. Had been for years. Recently, he’d arranged to sell her upcoming heat to settle gambling debts.”
Chantel’s professional facade cracks, her eyes skimming the police report. “She’s what? Nineteen? Twenty?”
I nod. Her age is irrelevant to this conversation.
“We were working on an exit strategy.”
“Estelle was helping Ash pack her things to get away from her father. He came home unexpectedly. Things escalated. It was messy.”
Marilyn looks physically ill. “And she witnessed…”
“Everything,” I confirm. “She’s traumatized, understandably. She’s safe now, but fragile.”
“Why are you telling us this?” Chantel asks, though her expression suggests she already knows.
“Because we’re headed into the playoffs,” I say. “And with that comes increased media attention. Beckett can’t hide a relationship forever.”
“The ‘Hot Omegas On Ice’ piece, delightful by the way, brings attention Ash can’t handle,” Estelle adds.
“They’ll find the police report,” Chantel counters. “And from there…”
“I’m going to be blunt here. Her father was a dirt bag. And a criminal. The precinct isn’t even going to put it in the police blotter. But if you go looking hard for it, you will find it. We just don’t want to give the podcast bros easy bait.”
“She’s not equipped for that kind of scrutiny,” Estelle says firmly. “Not now. Maybe not ever.”
Marilyn pinches the bridge of her nose. When she looks up, her eyes are clear and focused. “What do you need from us?”
“Professional help,” I say simply. “The two of you together must know someone in every newsroom in the country. All we are asking for is to not talk about Ash. We’re making a run for the Cup.
There’s other omega drama.” I turn specifically to Chantel.
“Let Beckett be not a star for a little bit. His sponsorships are solid. Let him coast for the summer and take care of his omega.”
“Liam…”
“He’s not a rookie anymore. He doesn’t have to hustle. At least for a few months.”
She blows out a breath and sits back in the booth. I knew she’d be the hardest sell. She’s a shark, and I’m incredibly grateful for that. But this is about Ash’s mental health.
“C’mon Chantel. Give him a summer vacation and in the pre-season, we’ll have him rescue kittens out of trees or some shit.”
“That was a good stunt,” she concedes.
I let the two women take in the gravity of the situation. They’re both ballers and at the top of their games; they never pull punches or hesitate to go for a win. I just need them to see that this is not a game to play.
I glance at Marilyn. The steel in her eyes practically smacks me upside the head. “Her father?”
“Yeah.” What else is there to say about the worst part of it all?
“Does she need anything?” Marilyn asks. The steel is still there, but like most alphas, she’s got a gooey core at the center.
“Shit, I don’t know.”
“Therapy,” Estelle nudges me, dark humor tainting her voice.
“A nest.”
“A new bag. That thing she’s carrying has a hole in the bottom.”
“Her coat isn’t warm enough.”
“Nothing wrong with thrifting, but she needs clothes that fit.”
A thought drops into my head. “Can we get her on the team’s insurance?”
“Of course,” Marilyn says, like that’s a dumb question.
“Liam, she doesn’t even have ID,” Estelle pipes. “We were paying her under the table. Not even a driver’s license.”
“Hold up.” Marilyn stops us with a gesture and sits up straight. “Would she be open to a name change?”
I look at Estelle, and she shrugs. “What are you getting at?”
“If she doesn’t have a government ID, changing her name is a piece of cake. Cuts her right off from this.” Marilyn taps her nail on the police report. “We just need a birth certificate.”
“That’s genius, actually. I’ll have to talk to her about it.”
“I’ll get legal working on it right away. Attorney/client privilege is in play,” she says, letting me know that the secrecy would be tighter than an NDA.
Marilyn scoots over on the bench seat, which forces Chantel to slide out.
“Let me get back to the office and start working on all of this. Our plan is top of the line, mental health coverage too.”
Chantel points a finger at me. “You owe me two kittens and a lost puppy.”
“What if I raised you puppy yoga?” I say, and Chantel cocks her head. I paint a picture for her. “Becket. A room full of puppies. Downward facing dog in yoga pants.”
“Christ.” She throws up her hands. “I don’t need hockey butt and puppies in my head all day. I’m leaving.”
“What’s hockey butt?” Estelle whispers to me.
“I’ll tell you later.”
The two women walk out of the diner with their heads together. I’m really counting on their soft, gooey centers to make this work for us.
I slouch in the booth. This little taste of success pops the balloon of all the stress, and I can finally let the exhaustion wash over me.
Estelle knocks my shoulder with hers, then takes a sip of her coffee. “She’s going to be okay, you know.”
“Eventually,” I agree, not entirely convinced.
“She’s stronger than she looks.” She pats the back of my hand, reminding me sharply of Enzo for some reason. “And she’s got good alphas looking out for her. You’ll be good for her, Liam.” A small smile plays at her lips. “So, stop looking so goddamn miserable.”
I snort softly. “I’ll work on that.”
Estelle slides out of the booth so I can get up. I groan as she starts bussing the table.
“I’m serious, you’re a good alpha.”
“Yeah, sure,” I deflect. “Beckett’s going to have an insane travel schedule for the next few weeks. You want to come hang out? I’ll grill steaks.” I want to make it completely clear to everyone that this pack doesn’t coop up their omega and we’d never stand between Ash and her friends.
“Sure. And we’re going to have to get a google calendar together around girls’ nights. I don’t think Bella is going to be able to go a week without a gossip sesh with her new BFF.”
“Deal.” I give Estelle a side hug and turn for the door.
“Oh, and Liam?” Her voice lifts, sweet as sugar. “If you ever hurt Ash, I will kill you.”
My face goes cold. We both know that is not an empty threat. I smile as best I can and give her a salute as I push open the door.