Chapter 10 #2
"So there is a senior and a junior division? Like separate leagues?"
He nods, shifting in his seat to face me more fully.
"The senior division is for established teams with fully bonded packs. They have been playing together for years, have Omegas, have complete pack structures. The junior division is for newer teams, developing packs, programs that are still building their roster. That is where we fall."
"And the playoffs?"
"If a junior team performs well enough during the five-week season, they can advance to the junior playoffs.
And if they are truly exceptional, they might even qualify for the crossover bracket against senior teams." He shrugs.
"But that rarely happens. Senior teams have years of bonding and chemistry behind them.
Hard to compete with that when your own pack can barely sit through breakfast without someone getting punched. "
Fair point.
"But you are here on scholarship," I say. "So even if the team does not advance, you still get to attend Valenridge, right?"
"Yes. The scholarship covers tuition and housing regardless of athletic performance. Even if we lose every game, we are still students here."
I nod, relieved for reasons I do not want to examine too closely.
"Are you grateful for it?" I ask. "The scholarship?"
He thinks about it.
Not a quick, reflexive answer. A long, genuine pause where I can practically see the gears turning behind those storm-blue eyes. His jaw tightens slightly, then relaxes. His fingers tap against the steering wheel in a slow, thoughtful rhythm.
"Not really," he says finally.
I frown.
"Why not?"
He exhales through his nose, leaning back in his seat.
"Because we are just... pity projects, essentially."
"Pity projects?"
"We do not have an Omega," he says, and the way he says it carries the weight of a confession. "Our pack does not have an Omega. No bond. No balance. That is considered basically loser central for any Alpha pack trying to be taken seriously in this world."
He gestures vaguely toward the campus outside the windshield.
"We got scholarships here, and sure, that is great on paper.
But really, it just buys us time. Delays the inevitable.
Because without an Omega, without a complete pack structure, we are always going to be looked at as incomplete.
As less than. As Alphas who are not good enough to attract or keep a bond. "
Less than. Incomplete. Not good enough.
Funny. I know exactly what that feels like.
"My brother is the perfect example," Etienne continues, his voice quieter now. "Bastien. He had a pack. He had teammates. He had everything on paper that should have set him up for success. But without an Omega, without that stabilizing influence, it all fell apart."
I set down my coffee cup, giving him my full attention.
"Well, is it not his choice to decide to find one?" I ask carefully. "An Omega, I mean. Is someone stopping him?"
Etienne laughs, but there is no humor in it.
"My brother cannot even find a pack that can tolerate him at this point, let alone an Omega willing to bond with him.
Whether it is rebellion, self-sabotage, or just his personality being genuinely insufferable, who knows.
But no Omega in their right mind would look at Bastien Laurent and think, yes, that is the Alpha I want to build a life with. "
Accurate. Based on my brief encounter with the man, I would rather bond with a cactus.
I hesitate, fiddling with the wrapper of my now-finished bagel.
"I am confused," I admit. "Sorry if this makes me sound stupid, but I do not fully understand how the pack situation connects to everything. The scholarships, the hockey, Bastien..."
Etienne reaches over without looking, his hand finding the top of my head and giving it a gentle pat. The gesture is becoming familiar. Grounding.
"No question you ask is stupid," he says firmly, those storm-blue eyes meeting mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch. "Never think that way. Not around me. Not around anyone. Your curiosity is one of the best things about you, and I will not let you apologize for it."
I smile, feeling warmth bloom in my chest that has nothing to do with the coffee.
"Okay," I say softly. "Then explain it to me."
He settles into his seat, choosing his words with care.
"My older brother was originally pack members with Rafe and Cal. They grew up together, played hockey together, were supposed to go through the whole system together. Bastien, Rafe, and Cal. The original three."
Bastien was in a pack with Rafe and Cal?
That explains so much and yet raises a thousand new questions.
"But things started going south," Etienne continues.
"I do not know the full details. It is not my story to tell, and honestly, none of them have ever given me the complete picture.
But it got to the point where they were just incompatible.
The fighting, the tension, the inability to function as a unit. It was toxic."
He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck.
"And when it came time to enter high school, they needed a complete pack to continue any form of competitive sports. Three members minimum. Without Bastien, Rafe and Cal were just two Alphas with no structure."
I gawk at him as the pieces start falling into place.
"So... that is when you came in?"
He smirks slightly, but his eyes carry a sadness that makes my heart ache.
"The replacement, essentially."
The word lands heavy in the small space between us.
Replacement. He thinks of himself as a replacement. Not a new member. Not an addition. A substitute for the brother who failed.
"It made sense at the time," he continues, his tone carefully neutral.
"I was the same age as Rafe and Cal. I wanted to pursue hockey among other activities since I did not really know what I liked or wanted to be yet.
And it meant I could stay connected to Rafe and Cal, which my parents encouraged because pack stability is everything in our world. "
He thinks for a moment, his gaze drifting toward the window. The morning light catches the angles of his face, illuminating the constellation of freckles across his cheeks.
"I also like to write stories," he admits quietly, almost shyly. "Romance mostly, if I am being honest. And some darker stuff. Fiction that lets me explore emotions I do not always know how to express out loud."
My heart does a stupid little flip.
Romance. He writes romance. This beautiful, tattooed, hockey-playing Alpha writes romance stories in his spare time.
The universe is testing me. That is the only explanation.
"To strengthen my craft, there are classes and courses I had to take," he continues.
"Creative writing, literature analysis, storytelling workshops.
But again, access to all of that is based on pack status.
Without a recognized pack, you cannot enroll in elective programs at most academies. You are limited to the basics."
He shrugs, but the casualness is forced.
"So joining Rafe and Cal's pack seemed beneficial. I get to do the hockey madness that makes me all manly and Alpha-like." He says this with a dry sarcasm that makes me snort. "But I also get to write in the shadows and explore where that can lead me. Best of both worlds, theoretically."
I nod slowly, hearing the unspoken layers beneath every word.
"But?"
He smiles then, and his eyes soften as they peer into mine. That look. That gentle, searching, soul-deep look that makes me feel like he can see straight through every wall I have ever built.
"But I am always being compared to him," he says.
"Especially by Rafe. I do not think he has really let go of the whole situation with Bastien.
And because Rafe is deemed the leader, the captain, it falls on him as to why the pack fell apart.
Why Bastien became what he is. It is like spiraling publicly while trying to act like everything is fine, when it is not.
When nothing has been fine for a very long time. "
I am quiet for a moment, letting his words settle around me.
Rafe is carrying the weight of Bastien's failure. Etienne is living in the shadow of a brother he replaced. Cal is hiding a past full of poverty and struggle. And all three of them are pretending to be fine when none of them are.
We are all just damaged people pretending we have it together, are we not?
"That is kind of like my predicament now," I say quietly.
"Six weeks is so little time to find a pack and learn about them.
Grow a relationship or actually have fun getting to know people.
But I do not have a choice in the matter, which is the most frightening part.
My mother has already made the decisions. All I can do is stall."
Etienne reaches over and lightly taps my nose with his index finger.
I pout, scrunching my face at the unexpected contact.
He shakes his head, those storm-blue eyes warm and steady.
"You have a choice," he says firmly. "This is your life, Mae.
I know the government makes it hard for us.
I know the regulations and the deadlines and the pressure from families who think they know what is best. But at the end of the day, do you not want to be happy with the ones you choose?
Not the ones your mother chose for you?"
I think about it.
Really think about it, turning the question over in my mind like a stone I am examining for cracks.
Happy. When was the last time I was actually happy? Not just surviving. Not just getting through the day. Genuinely, deeply, soul-level happy?
I do not remember.
That is both terrifying and incredibly sad.
I nod slowly.
"Yeah," I whisper. "I want to be happy."
He smiles, and this time it reaches his eyes fully. Lights them up in a way that makes my pulse stutter.
"Well," he says, tilting his head with that playful expression returning to his features. "I mean, if you do not want to wait until Valentine's Day for that first date... why do we not go on one once you settle in?"
I gawk at him.
Full-on, mouth-hanging-open, brain-short-circuiting gawk.
Heat floods my cheeks so fast I am surprised I do not combust on the spot.
Etienne seems to realize what he just said at the exact same moment, his own face flushing a shade of pink that travels from his cheeks to the tips of his ears.
"Oh fuck," he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.
"I think I am pulling a Rafe there. Being too forward.
" He clears his throat, trying to regain some semblance of composure.
"But since you are on a timeline, do you not want to at least experience a few dates so you know what you like or do not like?
Figure out what you want in a potential partner before the deadline hits? "
He glances at me, still flushed.
"Unless you have already been on some. Dates, I mean. In which case, ignore me. I am overstepping."
The blush on my face intensifies to a degree that should be medically concerning.
"No," I admit, my voice coming out smaller than I intended. "I have not been on any dates. Per se. Like, actual dates where someone picks you up and takes you somewhere and you have conversations and it is romantic? No. Zero. None."
I fiddle with the bagel wrapper, crumpling it into a tiny ball between my fingers.
"Sure, I have...uh..." I trail off, feeling the heat spread from my face down my neck and probably to my chest. "I mean, I have...you know..."
Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god. Why am I talking about this? Why is my mouth still forming words? Someone please stop me.
"Fucked," I finish abruptly, the word dropping out of my mouth like a brick. "I have... done that. A few times. With people. Consensual people. In beds. And once in a car, actually, so this location is bringing up memories I did not need right now."
I groan, slapping both hands over my face.
"Gah, this is so embarrassing. Why am I telling you this? We have known each other for like thirty hours. I do not even tell my therapist this stuff."
There is a moment of silence.
I peek through my fingers to find Etienne looking slightly pink himself, those storm-blue eyes aimed determinedly at the steering wheel like it holds the answers to life's greatest mysteries.
"Well," he says, his voice a touch too casual, a touch too careful. "At least you are ahead there."
I drop my hands from my face, my embarrassment momentarily replaced by confusion.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"No, what do you mean, ahead?" I turn in my seat to face him fully, studying his profile. The set of his jaw. The way he is very deliberately not looking at me. The faint flush still coloring his cheeks and spreading down his neck. "Ahead compared to what?"
He does not answer.
Just stares out the windshield like the parking lot is the most fascinating landscape he has ever encountered. Like the row of student cars and the recycling bins and the crooked parking job in spot fourteen are worthy of his undivided, intense contemplation.
My brain kicks into overdrive.
Ahead. He said at least you are ahead there. Ahead implies a comparison. Ahead of whom? Ahead of what? Why would my having sexual experience make me ahead of...
Wait.
No.
No way.
There is absolutely no way.
I think about what Bastien said yesterday outside the dorm, the taunt he hurled at Etienne during their confrontation.
Probably still a virgin, are you not?
At the time, I filed it away as a cheap insult. An older brother trying to humiliate his younger sibling. Nothing more.
But what if it was not an insult?
What if it was the truth?
I stare at Etienne's profile. At the way his fingers have gone still on the steering wheel.
At the way his breathing has shifted into something shallower and more controlled.
At the way his scent has changed, that evergreen and old books base note now threaded with something warmer. More vulnerable.
"Etienne?" My voice is quiet. Careful. Not mocking. Not judging. Just genuinely, honestly curious.
He still does not look at me.
"Are you a virgin?"