Chapter 36
ACE
What the hell is she doing here?
Turning off the water spray, I let the hose drop to the ground at my boots and stuff my hands in my pockets.
Linda’s phone explodes for the fiftieth time this morning.
“Ace, honey… this is Wren Murphy. She’s a new volunteer here. Can you take her around with you, show her how we do things? I’ll track you down later when that reporter decides to turn up.”
With that, she answers the phone and scurries away. Leaving us alone.
This can’t be happening.
Coming here is my escape, my private way of avoiding the pressures of rugby and training and being in the spotlight of the professional game.
And now she’s here… and she’s wearing… my eyes flicker down to take in the Wolves training hoodie.
I’m rooted to the spot, heart beating faster, not knowing how to escape this.
What the fuck am I supposed to do now that she’s standing right in front of me, gazing up at me with those sparkling blue eyes.
All while her scent reaches into the center of my chest and fucking tears my heart to shreds.
It was physically painful to sit next to her on the bus that day.
This is going to be just as much of a struggle to endure.
“I had no idea you would be here.” Wren breaks the silence; her soft words hold a hint of apology.
The worst part of that statement is that I’m already overthinking it. Does that mean she wants to get the fuck away from me? Does that mean she’s surprised, in a pleasant way? Does that mean she’s disappointed it’s me and not someone else?
My teeth clamp together so tight I swear I hear a pop somewhere in my jaw.
I can’t let everything I’ve worked for be derailed by this five-foot-nothing scrap of an Omega.
Especially not a girl who doesn’t recognize anything about me, other than the fact I’ve been her brother’s friend for years.
To Wren’s eyes, I’m just a jock who runs around a field chasing after a muddy ball and gets paid money for it.
No point trying to change her mind.
I fucking hate the way my inner Alpha has other ideas on that front. A part of me buried deep down is in agony to know how sweet she’d taste, how soft and pliant she’d feel, how her breathy moans would sound as she loses her goddamn mind all over my knot.
That part needs to shut the hell up. I cannot be attracted to Wren Murphy. I specifically cannot be even more attracted to her because it’s her scent, and his scent all intermingling in a way that makes my pulse thud triple-time in the side of my throat.
“Should I just follow you?” she asks hesitantly.
With a dip of my chin, I get her to track behind me as I carry on scrubbing out the remainder of the water and feed bowls. Even with the hose pouring water and the chill of winter in the air out in the open, it doesn’t do shit to disguise the way her scent swirls around me.
Being in her presence acts like a switch inside my brain. It’s the stupidest goddamn evolutionary thing, making me feel like I just want to scoop her against me while inhaling her like a madman. You know, real normal fucking behavior for your best friend’s little sister.
Finch would never speak to me again if I so much as looked at this girl twice.
He’s been my only family I’ve been able to rely on. To even consider making a move that might fuck that up? It leaves me wanting to dry heave at the thought of losing not just his friendship, but his respect.
Wren quietly tags along behind me as I finish with the hose, then gestures that we’re gonna head out into the field. “Might as well meet the Waggers team.”
She flashes a small, nervous smile at me, drowning me in that essence of peach nectar. “Lead the way.”
I hold open the door that separates the outdoor exercise area; it’s on automatic hinges to swing closed behind us with a heavy clang. And as soon as that gate noise resounds, a whole lot of ears whip our way. The usual suspects of the most curious and social dogs of the bunch come hurtling over.
It’s nothing but chaos. Wet noses, wagging tails, and excited whining as they all greet her with intense sniffing scrutiny.
“Oh my god. You’re all cuties.” She laughs and crouches down, giving out scratches behind ears and unlimited pats. One by one, she reads their name tags on their collars and says hello to them. It’s fucking adorable.
Milo, a kelpie cross, comes nuzzling up to my thigh, bumping my hand with his wet nose.
He’s one of the quieter ones here at the shelter, and some days won’t come out from his kennel at all.
But his ears and pale brown eyes are laser-focused on the girl currently being swamped by a mass of wriggling, excitable dogs.
The little traitor picks his moment and goes right up to her, plonking his ass down in front of where she sits on her haunches, and lifts his right paw.
I taught him that goddamn trick. That was our thing.
Hearing Wren croon, “Aren’t you a good boy” does something to my body that has absolutely no fucking right to occur. The tips of my ears feel like they’re on fire.
After she’s finished lavishing Milo with attention, he decides he’s had enough socializing time and trots back off to his kennel. The others have ended up in a giant WrestleMania pile of fur and playful growls over a rope toy.
Show-offs.
“Hey, so here’s a funny turn of events.” Wren stands up and dusts off the splatters of mud and dog hair from the front of her leggings. “Surprise… we’re going to be roommates.”
My heart lurches.
Of course, I knew this was where the conversation would inevitably end up. Considering I had Connor motherfucking Renfro sitting on my bed half the night, unable to stop yapping about how incredible his night with her was, I already know far too much.
And the fact that Theo Brennan is her scent match? Well, another scent match. The one that she recognizes, at least. Because she clearly has no fucking clue I exist as a bond on that sort of level.
I do my best to swallow down a lump of rocks wedged in the back of my throat.
She puffs out her cheeks and looks at the ground. “But I’m guessing Connor talked with you and explained the situation. That we can’t tell Finch about anything, and I’m so sorry to drag you into this. I’m painfully aware of just how much of a giant headache I’m being for everyone.”
As she says it, I see her shoulders slump.
Connor was flying high when he burst in the door at whatever goddamn hour of the morning it was. Talking a mile a minute about building a nest, and this plan of theirs to all move in with Brennan.
Yet, Wren seems uneasy.
“I offered to leave Willow Falls,” she mutters, directing her focus at the grass she’s busy toeing with the front of her sneaker.
Fuck. That immediately sends my gut twisting. As much as it pains me that I’m connected to this girl in a way that is entirely messed up and impossible, the Alpha in me roars with refusal to allow her to even consider leaving.
I’m just opening my mouth to form words, to attempt saying something, when the giant game of zoomies starts up. Pepper, a shaggy golden retriever, bounds straight for Wren without any hope of stopping himself from a collision course.
As they race past in a blur of paws and fur, he barrels into her knees, swiping her feet out from under her.
It takes all of a blink, and Wren is in my arms. Looking down, I realize I’ve grabbed hold of her on reflex. Those blue eyes widen as she stares up at me, plump mouth parted on a gasp, and my hands grip her elbows.
This is every scent match fantasy, and nightmare rolled into one. Wren’s tiny hands clutch the front of my hoodie to steady herself, and I can’t seem to disentangle myself from this position we’ve found ourselves in.
I scented her on Connor that day. When he was late for training.
I couldn’t figure out how the fuck it was possible at first, but now his scent is all over her.
She’s wearing his fucking hoodie. A fact I both love and loathe, because if I had to think of an ideal situation—if I dared to allow myself to dream of a life with a pack for the tiniest moment—Connor and Wren fit together in a way I can’t comprehend.
Can’t help but dream about, if I’m honest.
Their scents are so goddamn compatible, so intoxicating, and her scent was all over him last night when he came home from the bar.
It made me want to taste her straight off him. To see if he tastes just as good as she does. To see if my suspicions that they’d be even sweeter when inextricably linked are correct.
Yeah. This shit is officially fucking with my head.
I absolutely cannot be standing here as if a bomb has just gone off, blinking through the haze as if I’ve forgotten how to breathe.