Chapter 78
CONNOR
“So what’s the deal?” Murphy sprays water in his mouth and over his mouthguard.
“The deal is my lungs are gonna burst.” I flop onto my back, chest rising and falling as I gasp for air.
“That Scottish blood can’t handle a few extra reps? Didn’t think you’d be weaker than a warm British ale.”
“Ouch. Straight to the nuts.” I squirt water at him.
“See? This is what I’m talking about.” He huffs and runs a hand through his sweaty hair. “I just called you English piss water, and you barely bat an eye? Been body snatched or something, Renfro?”
My guilt wraps a tight band around my ribs, squeezing uncomfortably tight.
“Nah… just saving my one-liners and charm for a prettier face than yours.”
Do not make a joke about Murphy’s sister.
“Like Palamo?” he grumbles.
That immediately puts me even more on edge.
While it’s one thing to continually pretend like I’m not bonded and in love with Murphy’s baby sister, it’s another to show up as teammates at training with Ace.
We’ve managed to keep our heads down and fly under the radar so far…
but I can’t help freaking out a little that someone might notice something has changed between us.
I couldn’t care less if our team knew about things evolving from a friendship to more.
No one would care. But the fact that it might start raising questions about why we’re living with Theo Brennan, and the close calls Wren has had with the media already, all just makes it better to keep our situation hushed.
So the last thing I need to worry about as we finish training is Wren Murphy’s older brother asking questions about what’s going on between me and Ace.
“Aw… so you do think he’s pretty? Always knew you had a special bond in that midfield combination,” I tease. “The coaching staff have got you two practically married anyway… ready to make it official?”
Finch gives me a withering look and snorts in derision. But he’s still suspicious. I see too much of Wren in his eyes as he narrows them my way.
The last thing I need right now is to pop a boner thinking about how much I love it when she glares at me and gets all stern.
Sue me, I get turned on by her little bossy Omega routine.
What’s an Alpha to do when his scent match is five feet tall with a ten-foot attitude?
I can’t help finding her disapproving huffs and eye rolls sexy.
Murphy extends a hand covered in grass and streaks of dirt, helping to haul me to my feet.
“Just saying, you haven’t been wanting to hang out.
You’re Connor Renfro, and yet you’ve done a 180 to become a hermit living with the team owner.
” His brows knit together. “I’m worried that you’re under pressure with your contract, scouts coming to matches, always getting tapped for the media pit.
It’s not fair to load all that pressure on your shoulders outside of training and games.
So this is me, letting you know I’m right here if you need someone to talk to, man. ”
My head swims. Finch Murphy is the best of us. Here I am, purposely hiding shit from him, and he’s worried about my mental health.
I cough into my fist, then tilt my head back to squirt a whole lot of water into my mouth.
The real mature way to avoid answering his question.
Even if I could say something… Ace and me? We’re not “official,” so I can’t very well go blurting anything out. But it fucking sucks, because I wanna be able to yell about our pack, and him, everywhere.
I swallow the water and try to find words to respond in a way that puts Murphy’s mind at ease, but doesn’t dig my hole of lies and deceit any deeper.
“Hey, did you hear about this? You won’t fucking believe what just came out from Houston,” Gus hollers at us from the sideline. He and a few other players are huddled together looking at someone’s phone.
“Lucky they’re out of the running for playoffs.” Someone whistles.
“Imagine that shit going down? It’s like a curse or something.” Heath shakes his head.
My eyes catch Ace’s for a brief second as we walk closer to see what has happened.
“Look… there are plenty of packs where pro players are involved.” Gus shrugs. “But this? It’s wild.”
My gut churns hearing mention of a pack.
Heath reads off the screen. “… rarely are athletes granted permission to play on the same team, or contract to the same rugby club for this very reason. The fallout from pack Christopher will send shockwaves through rugby locker rooms from coast to coast.”
“What’s all this?” I croak.
“Houston just had their team blown apart. Five of the starting lineup plus the assistant coach are out, and they don’t have a clue when they’ll return.
Rumors are flying that their two Omegas won’t allow them to play at all now that they’ve all bonded.
It causes too much stress… or so they say.
Who knows. Sounds like a pile of crap to me. ”
“Probably just gossip site clickbait,” Murphy grunts. “These asshole reporters don’t know shit about Omegas. They blow it out of proportion to get their headline.”
“I dunno, man…” Gus scrolls farther down the article.
“Here it says it poses too much of a risk to pro sports to consider packs involving multiple players being formally sanctioned by the league. What if their Omega goes into heat? Then suddenly you lose your key starting positions at the same time, and can kiss winning the cup goodbye, is what.”
The guys carry on talking, but I turn and head in the direction of the showers. I don’t dare look for Ace, I just put my head down and keep walking.
Fuck.
Everything that was just described?
That’s exactly what almost happened. One unexpected five-day heat, and it cost Ace his starting spot on the team. Hell, it very nearly cost him a chance in front of national scouts.
I reach the locker room, already tugging my shirt over my head, and toss it beside my kit bag. While I sit down heavily and go to unlace my boots, I check my phone. The name I’m always hoping to see there isn’t what greets me.
Instead, it’s a contact name and number that makes my stomach do a flop.
I skip listening to the voicemail and call them back immediately.
All while my heart is in my throat.
Is this it? A moment I’ll never take for granted, because you never know how a professional rugby season might go.
Coaching staff might change. Game plans might pivot.
New players come through the ranks, and a single season can be the making of a brand-new superstar to fill the boots of a position that was once thought to belong to a different name.
The reality is, you never know when your last game with the jersey on your back might be, and I’ve seen enough players come and go over the length of my career that I’ll never assume anything.
But… this feels like it might be it?
Holy shit.
I think this might be it.
I need to find Wren.
I desperately need to find my girl, to hold her, to greedily inhale a lungful of her scent.
Maybe that’ll stop my knee from bouncing and help to steady my hands. I’m not one to lose my nerve, far from it, but right now I feel like I’m a sailboat without a rudder being buffeted by the unmerciful tides.
Wren is my safe shore. She’s my first port of call and last refuge.
Trying her number on the hands-free kit again for the fifth time, when it rings out without an answer, I’m white-knuckling the steering wheel.
It leaves me more desperate than I could ever imagine, searching for her, having to figure out a way to find her. While I don’t want to immediately jump to conclusions or freak the fuck out over the whereabouts of my Omega, I simply can’t help it.
A surge of heady anticipation, being filled with excitement, a pure sense of joy at being able to collect her in my arms and blurt it all out, it all pulses in my veins.
I want to find her. Need to hold her. While I can feel Wren faintly down our bond—enough to let me know she’s okay—it doesn’t lessen my worry when I don’t get any response like I usually would.
I mean, I’m as needy and clingy as they come, but at least Wren humors me now. At one stage she would have revelled in leaving me strung out and dangling, played by the whims of whether she’d look my way. But we’ve long moved past that.
This isn’t like her, and it makes my molars clench.
Receiving a call from my agent is one thing.
Taking a call about my availability for the upcoming World Cup training squad, to discuss dates for the Scotland training camp, which will lead to potential selection in the squad, and the future plans of the new coach that include me…
my head is spinning with all that will be happening.
I’ll have to travel… which in the past has never been a problem I’ve had to think about, because I’ve never had to consider anyone else in my plans.
Now? Now I have a pack.
Would they all come? I want to ask Wren to officially meet my parents, the rest of my family, the Renfro clan, who will be boisterous and overwhelming, but who will love her and the rest of my pack like they were their own blood.
I try her number again. She’s still not answering her phone. When I sneak a look at our group chat, I see that Theo and Ace are responding in rapid messages coming through.
They’re equally as worried.
Theo tracks her location on both her phone and car, sending me the pin. One thing is clear, she’s not at the Acorn like she had planned. So I put my foot on the gas and make my way to where her location says she’ll be.
And I hope like hell everything is okay with our girl.