Chapter Twenty-Five
Emery
The air is thick with it.
Slick, sweat, musk—alpha.
Everywhere.
I blink up at the ceiling, still panting. I don’t think I’ve moved in ten minutes. Or maybe it’s been five. Or twenty. Hard to tell when you’ve been knotted.
Beau is still locked inside me. His massive body is now practically draped over mine, breath fanning against my shoulder, and even though his weight should be overwhelming… it isn’t. It’s grounding. Steady.
Connor is curled on the padded floor mat beside the bench, arm thrown over his eyes like he’s just run a marathon. He probably feels like he has. I know I do.
Meanwhile, my PT table has been ruined. Again.
“Okay,” I croak, my voice like sandpaper. “I need to stop fucking on this bench.”
Neither of them speaks.
“I’m serious,” I groan, trying to shift.
Beau growls low in his chest.
Shit. Still locked.
“I need to disinfect everything. There’s going to be scent all over this room.”
Connor snorts into the crook of his elbow. “You think a little disinfectant’s gonna scrub this away?”
“I could try. I did last time.” I sigh, staring up at the ceiling again. “Maybe I need to call in a hazmat team. Or burn the place down.”
Beau finally stirs behind me, his mouth brushing the curve of my shoulder.
“No burning things.”
“Oh, look who’s awake,” I mutter, but it comes out softer than I mean it to.
Maybe because his hand is now stroking my hip, or because I can feel the slow fade of rut finally starting to let go of him.
“You good?” I ask, quieter now.
He nods against me, but then pulls back.
“I didn’t mean for it to…”
“I know.”
His body goes still, and I sigh.
“I mean it,” I say, pushing up on my elbows as much as I can. “I knew exactly what I was doing. You didn’t force me into anything.”
“But I—”
“You didn’t.” I glance toward Connor, who’s watching us now. “Either of you.”
Connor raises a brow. “You sound disappointed.”
“I’m anything but.” I smile, then roll my eyes. “I’m just saying… I liked it.”
Beau groans behind me, and I feel it vibrate through my whole body. Meanwhile, Connor grins like he’s won something.
“You really are a little omega freak, aren’t you?” he laughs.
“I mean, I’m lying here in the middle of my work room, butt-naked with two knotted alphas, one of whom is still inside me,” I mutter. “I think that ship has definitely sailed.”
Beau shifts again, exhaling slowly. His knot is going down now, his body finally unwinding. Still tense, but less so.
And I feel it too: the slow slide into what-the-fuck-did-we-just-do.
I close my eyes for a second, then open them again.
“So, uh… is this a thing now? The three of us?”
Beau stiffens behind me.
Connor doesn’t.
“I’m game,” he says easily, propping himself up on one elbow. “Long as he doesn’t try to kill me every time he smells me on you.”
Beau mutters something under his breath.
“Was that a yes?” I say.
“I think it was more of a growl,” Connor shrugs. “But I’ll take it.”
I blow out a breath. “Well. That’s settled then.”
“No,” Beau finally says, voice gravelled but clearer now. “It’s not settled.”
He shifts fully back, knot slipping free with a wet stretch that makes me gasp, and then he turns me in his arms, pulling me close to his chest. I go willingly, curling into him even though we’re both a mess.
“I just…” he starts, jaw tight. “I didn’t want it to happen like this. Not without us discussing it properly.”
“I know. But… I liked it,” I say again, firmer now. “It felt… powerful. Like I’d driven you crazy.”
Beau meets my gaze, then smirks.
“You did.”
Connor chuckles from the floor. “You really did.”
“Good,” I grin. “After all,, what’s the point of being the only omega in a building full of alphas if I can’t drive at least a couple of them completely insane?”
“Emery,” Beau warns, low and lethal.
Connor sits up, dragging his shirt off the floor. “You keep talking like that, you’re going to start something we can’t finish.”
“Oh no,” I deadpan. “How terrible.”
Beau lets out a short breath that might be a laugh, or a warning, and I kiss his chest lightly.
“Relax. I’m not starting anything. Yet.” Then I wrinkle my nose. “But seriously… this room smells like sex and testosterone and poor decision-making. I’m going to need at least three diffusers and a new industrial mop, otherwise, I’m getting fired.”
Connor’s laugh is real this time, as is Beau’s groan; but I still can’t quite believe that I’m actually lying here with two alphas, officially claimed, knotted, stretched and sore in the best way—and for the first time in a long time, I feel more than just needed.
I feel wanted.
*
I’m finishing my notes when I feel it before I see it: that subtle shift in the air that comes with an alpha presence settling into a space without trying to dominate it.
Coach Phillips appears in the doorway of the PT room, one broad shoulder resting against the frame, coffee cup warm in his hands.
He watches me for a moment, eyes thoughtful rather than sharp, almost as though he’s checking his footing before entering someone else’s territory despite the obvious imbalance.
“Emery,” he says. “You got a minute?”
I set my tablet down carefully, aligning it with the edge of the desk the way I always do when my nerves want somewhere to go. I offer him a small, steady smile.
“Yeah,” I say. “Of course.”
He nods once and gestures down the hall toward his office. The walk there feels longer than it should. Not because I’m afraid, but because I know this conversation matters.
I’ve had versions of it before. Different teams, different places, and different men in positions of authority; but never like this. Never with so many layers already in play.
Coach’s office smells like strong coffee, old wood, and ice melt tracked in from the rink. He closes the door behind us and motions for me to sit across from him, waiting until I do before lowering himself into his chair, elbows resting on his knees.
“I’m going to be very clear,” he says, meeting my eyes without flinching. “Because I respect you, and because this affects people I’m responsible for.”
I nod. “Okay.”
“You’ve bonded with Wolfe,” he says. Then, after a beat, “and you were intimate with Connor Madsen.”
I let my breath out slowly, grounding myself before answering.
“Yes,” I say. “Both of those things are true.”
He studies my face.
“Was it consensual?” he asks.
My eyes widen slightly, surprised.
“Yes.”
“Did you want it?”
“Yes.”
The questions are simple, but the way he asks them… isn’t.
Another pause: this one longer. Coach exhales through his nose, shoulders easing just a fraction, like something tight has finally let go.
“Good,” he says quietly. “That’s the line. Everything else is secondary.”
Something warm and unexpected settles behind my ribs at that.
“I need you to understand why I’m asking,” he continues. “This isn’t about policing your personal life. You’re an adult: an omega who knows her instincts and her boundaries.” His gaze sharpens just slightly. “But alphas feel shifts before they know what to do with them.”
“I know,” I say. “I can feel it, too.”
“I figured you could.” A faint smile touches his mouth. “That’s why I hired you.”
He leans back, folding his arms, but his posture stays open.
“There’s a home game this weekend,” he says. “You’ll be on the bench with us.”
“Of course.”
“There’s already tension,” he adds. “And if I were worried about you, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I am worried about them, though,” he says plainly. “About instincts flaring faster than judgment, and loyalty turning into possession if it isn’t handled right.”
I hesitate, then decide honesty matters more than composure.
“I’ve been here before,” I say quietly.
Coach’s eyes soften.
“Tell me.”
“I had an alpha once. Before Iron Lake. He was charming. Careful. Always said the right things.” I let out a breath that feels older than it should. “He told me I was special. That he wanted a future.”
Coach doesn’t interrupt.
“He never told me he was married,” I continue. “He kept her hidden, and lied to both of us. He basically built a whole life on omission.”
My fingers curl lightly in my lap at the memory of it all.
I’ve pushed it away for weeks, but it all comes back so easily once I tap in.
“I wouldn’t have minded sharing. Truly. I would’ve talked about it, and negotiated it. The idea of a pack has never scared me. But… he didn’t give me that choice.”
Coach’s jaw tightens.
“That’s not polyamory,” he says flatly. “That’s deception.”
“Exactly,” I say. “And that’s what broke it. It wasn’t the sex, or even the instincts. It was the lie.”
Silence settles between us, heavy but not uncomfortable.
“So I don’t step into things blindly anymore,” I finish. “And I don’t stay where my consent is treated like an afterthought.”
He nods once, slow and deliberate.
“Good.”
Then, quieter:
“Beau’s never been good at trusting his instincts.”
That surprises me. “No?”
“He learned early to suppress them,” Coach says. “To keep things contained. And that kind of control… let’s just say, it doesn’t come from comfort.”
I think of Beau’s restraint, of his carefulness. The way he always asks, even when he doesn’t need to.
“I know,” I say softly.
Coach watches me for a long moment.
“Are you happy, Emery?”
I don’t know why, but the question lands harder than all the others, causing a lump to form in my throat.
“Yes,” I answer, without hesitation.
And I really do mean it.
“Safe?”
“Yes.”
“Then we’ll figure the rest out.”
He stands, signaling the end of the conversation, but not the care behind it.
As I reach for the door, he adds, almost casually,
“You don’t owe this team silence or smallness to keep the peace, you know.”
I turn back.
“Just honesty,” he says. “The rest is on them.”
I nod in understanding, and leave his office with my shoulders lighter than when I went in.