Chapter 72
WREN
This is the most brutal game yet.
One part of me is screaming that I’m not bonded with Connor or Atlas, that I can’t feel them to know they’re okay. The other part of me clings to Theo and is more relieved than ever at his sense of calm.
He’s doing everything he can to reassure me, with soft strokes over my hair, rubbing his big, warm palm up and down my spine, massaging the back of my neck.
Basically, he’s taking every single second that I’ve winced at the big hits going in, the monstrous tackles, and he’s doing his utmost to soothe my frayed nerves.
This Alpha knows what I need.
Right now, I need to be able to race out there and call the match off.
Connor limped away from a nasty collision a few moments ago. Atlas had to be attended by one of the PTs for blood pouring from a cut on his cheekbone. I’m barely holding on at the sight of them being injured.
“I tempted fate.” I groan for the fiftieth time since kickoff.
The game is tight, the scores are locked at twenty-one points apiece, with three converted tries to both teams, and I can’t help but feel like I’m the whole reason the Wolves aren’t strolling to a win.
“You aren’t responsible for their team having the game of their season, while we’re fumbling simple combinations.” Theo sighs and squeezes my hip.
“I’m definitely not helping,” I mutter. My stupid superstitious nerves about ruining the game, all because I wore this silly shirt, are racing around my mind.
“No way, baby. It’s a good thing.” Theo demonstrates the patience of a saint when he reminds me… again.
I chew on my bottom lip. Still very much unconvinced.
More tense minutes tick by. The clock keeps running down. The game descends into a stalemate of scrums and handovers between both teams all happening close to halfway. It’s like tug-of-war between thirty giant men, without either team seeming to gain a shred of ascendancy.
“Oh my god. Come on.” My heel bounces. “We need this win. I’ll never forgive myself…”
Theo chuckles, and the sound catches me by surprise. I feel his sparkle of glee down our bond, and I whip around to face him.
“What is this?” I wave my hand in a circle, taking in his at-ease demeanor. The man looks nothing like I would anticipate a team owner should when the scoreboard doesn’t tell a story of a winning margin.
“I’ve got faith in Scotland.” His tongue touches his incisor with a lazy grin taking over his features.
“What has gotten into you?” My voice pitches higher. “You can’t be so certain? Why are you not freaking out? I can’t be the only one freaking out. Isn’t it your duty as team owner to be pacing until you wear holes in the carpet?”
My Alpha simply winks at me, and points at the field, encouraging me to turn my attention back to the all-too-stressful scenario on the halfway line.
Theo Brennan is shit-stirring and I don’t think I’m ready for this man to be this intensely attractive while doing so. My thighs squeeze together, and I’m aware that he can feel just how turned on I am by this cool, calm, nonchalant attitude he’s oozing right now.
The more the clock ticks closer to full time, the more my pulse climbs. We’re into the seventy-fifth minute. There’s less than five minutes left until the referee signals game over.
I’m tempted to hide my eyes. Guilt claws at me for breaking my own rule.
I’ve never worn a jersey to watch one of my brother’s games because of our silly little superstition, and now here I am wallowing in a pile of shame for breaking that tradition.
And as I contemplate stripping out of the damn thing and starting a bonfire in the hall with the shirt off my back to try and salvage the situation before it’s all too late, a penalty goes against the Wolves.
“NO.” I tip my head back with a pained cry.
The opposition whoop and cheer and give each other high-fives to pump themselves up.
There’s a heavy mix of dejection from the fans packed into the stadium, and cheers from the other side.
I catch sight of my brother, he’s barking orders at his team, many of whom are exhausted with hands on their heads or crouched on their haunches sucking in desperate breaths.
This deep into the game? A penalty will be enough. If they score a try, it’s going to be too hard to come back from that kind of deficit, even with a miracle final play.
Their fly-half lines up a massive spiral punt, kicking down toward the Wolves’ try line and setting them up for the perfect opportunity to steal the win.
Their forward pack are huge, grunty and beefy, and the exact kind of battering ram force coming off a lineout that can penetrate a line of defense with relative ease.
The Wolves are going to have to face the impossible just to keep the scores even and hope to come away with a draw.
They form a lineout, jumpers in place, and the ball sails high into the air to be contested between the two lock forwards hoisted into the night sky by their teammates to reach for the ball. The Wolves fail to steal it back. It’s still the opposition’s ball.
This is their game to win. The crowd surge into a desperately loud rallying roar. Bodies are everywhere only inches from the try line. A look at the clock confirms the worst, the final minute ticks past and there are only seconds left in the game.
I can’t look.
Just as I bury my face in my hands, I feel Theo’s energy spike with excitement. A jolt hits me down the bond.
“Fucking go for it,” he exhales, launching to his feet.
“Oh my god!” I shout, grabbing hold of his sleeve.
On the field below, the unfathomable takes place. Connor has the ball tucked under his arm. His long strides are flying. He’s nothing but a blur as he streaks down the sideline.
“How… How did he get the ball?” I’m jumping up and down. I don’t know and don’t really fucking care, but he’s in clear space, sprinting the full length of the field with a runaway try. “He’s going to score? He’s going to score!” I start shrieking, probably deafening Theo, but I don’t care.
Connor hits the try line at the other end of the field without a single other player within touching distance, he’s so far away from anyone else. And he dives to score directly behind the posts.
The stadium is a riot.
I’m squealing far too loud.
Wolves win.
Connor, my Alpha, the man I love, scores the winning try like he was born to do…and then does the one thing he absolutely shouldn’t do, considering our circumstances.
He bounces to his feet, and from all the way at the other end of the pitch, looks directly at our VIP box. He points in the direction of us both. And even though we’re hidden behind glass, and there’s almost zero chance of anyone seeing us clearly, it makes my heart leap into my throat.
I love it.
It terrifies me.
I want to maul him in the middle of that pitch to show him just how much of a superstar he is.
“He can’t… he can’t do that,” I murmur, biting my thumbnail, knowing just how transparent my emotions are right now.
Theo will know every single horny, wanton emotion racing through me at the sight of Connor Renfro’s heroics being replayed on that big screen. And his emotions thrum with an intensity to match my own.
“I think he can, and I believe he just did, sweetheart.”