Chapter Nineteen
Frankie
“Y ou did not,” Harper gasps, a chip frozen halfway to her mouth. “Frankie! In the locker room ?!”
I bury my face in my hands and groan into them. “ Please keep your voice down.”
We’re sat on a patch of grass just off the training field, sunshine on our faces and snacks spread between us. I’ve got an iced tea in one hand, Harper’s working her way through something aggressively cheesy, and my dignity is currently decomposing somewhere between the goalposts.
“Oh my god ,” she hisses again, grinning. “Frankie!”
“I know.”
“I can't believe it. You and Theo.”
“Please stop saying it like that.”
“ You. And. Theo .”
I peek at her through my fingers. She’s beaming .
“He was shirtless!” I say, deadpan. “I was unsupervised. What’s a girl to do?!”
She cackles. “Oh, please—that man’s been circling you like a shark since the day you fainted into his scent cloud. You’re telling me the locker room was accidental?”
“I went in for a mic rig.”
“And got dicked down instead?”
“ Harper !”
She giggles into her lemonade, practically vibrating with secondhand chaos. “Sorry, sorry. I’m just impressed. That’s a story for the ages. And you —” she points at me “—look like you finally slept more than four hours without stress-twitching.”
I hide my smile in my tea.
It’s nice. Having someone to tell. It’s been such a whirlwind that I haven’t even had time to process it. The looks. The tension. The fact that I literally can’t walk past Theo without heat prickling behind my knees.
It’s not just that it happened. It’s that I want it again. And that’s the terrifying part.
Harper bumps her shoulder against mine. “I’m happy for you. Truly. It’s nice to see you happy.”
I nod, soft. “You’re the first friend I’ve had in ages that isn’t allergic to asking about feelings.”
She winks. “You bring the chaos, I’ll bring the carbs.”
I’m mid-laugh when my phone buzzes.
You still here?
I frown at Evie’s message. I reply yes , and Harper and I pack up the rest of our snacks.
Twenty minutes later, I’m back at the club, unlocking the front door with Harper behind me, still mid-rant about cheese-to-bread ratios. I head straight for my office, thinking I’ll check my emails and maybe recover what’s left of my serotonin—
And nearly scream.
Because Evie is already inside.
Just… standing there , in the center of the room; perfect hair, perfect blazer, and holding a laptop like it’s about to ruin my life.
I jump so hard I almost drop my keys. “Jesus—Evie! You can’t just appear like that. This isn’t a horror film.”
Her expression doesn’t move. “Hello to you too.”
Harper coughs to cover a laugh and wisely retreats.
“Is everything… good? Are we being sued?”
She turns the screen toward me, and I freeze.
Because there it is. In bold, glossy font, sitting smug as hell on the homepage of a local gossip site I didn’t even know existed:
WHO IS THE OMEGA BEHIND ALDERbrIDGE’S SOCIAL MEDIA SURGE? New to town. Living with four Alpha players. Rapid career rise. Too good to be coincidence?
The subheading twists the knife:
Sources close to the club say it’s not just her content that’s grabbing attention…
My stomach plummets, and I actually sway on the spot.
“They published this?” My voice comes out thin. “This is real?”
Evie’s expression is granite. “It’s out there now. And no—there’s nothing slanderous enough to pull it. Not legally. It’s phrased with just enough plausible deniability to get away with it.”
I read the line again. And again.
Not just her content.
My skin prickles. “They’re implying I slept my way into the job.”
“They’re implying a lot of things,” she sighs. “And they’re counting on people to fill in the blanks.”
I let out a harsh breath and drop into my chair. My hands are trembling, and my mouth feels full of cotton.
“Did they even mention the engagement metrics? The account growth? The fact the club barely had an online presence until I got here?!”
“No. Because they’re not interested in the truth,” Evie says, stepping closer. “They’re interested in clicks. This? This gets attention. You’re young, you’re attractive, and on top of that, you’re an omega in a house full of alphas. That’s all they need.”
My throat closes up.
“They didn’t even use my name,” I whisper. “Just... the omega. ”
Evie’s eyes soften. “They’re trying to dehumanize you. Make you a character, not a person. But you’re not going to let them, Frankie.”
I want to cry. Or scream. Or print out the article and set it on fire using Theo’s hair spray and a lighter from Rory’s glovebox.
“I’ve worked so hard,” I say, voice catching. “I didn’t get handed anything. I’ve stayed up editing until 2am. I’ve read every single comment. I’ve been careful. Professional. I’ve done everything right .”
“And that’s why you’re still winning,” Evie says as she places the laptop gently on my desk. “You’re not just some social media girl—you’re the reason people are watching this club again. And you’re not alone in this. I’m going to make sure of it.”
I nod, because I don’t trust myself to speak.
As she reaches the door, she pauses. Looks back.
“And Frankie?” she adds, quiet but firm. “For what it’s worth—they only write about you when you matter.”
Then she’s gone.
*
The walk back to the house after work feels different today—everything’s slower and heavier.
My phone is silent now—no more notifications, no pings from Harper, no unread messages from Evie. Just me and the headline echoing in my skull.
I can’t even look at the screen anymore without feeling sick. Not after reading the line about my “inexplicably rapid promotion despite a lack of notable credentials.”
Right. Because I couldn’t possibly just be good at my job.
(Or, you know—the only one who actually sent a goddamn application.)
That’s the thing about small towns—everyone thinks they know you. Or worse, they act like they do, based on whispers and headlines and who they think you should be. You breathe wrong, and someone’s aunt’s book club has already dissected it by dinnertime.
I’ve been here five minutes and they’ve decided I’m either a gold-digging omega or the second coming of Kardashian-level social climbing.
It’s exhausting .
I didn’t come here for a scandal—I came here for a job. For a fresh start. For the chance to build something real.
And apparently, that’s threatening enough to make the front page.
The house comes into view, and I spot Jax immediately.
He’s sitting on the top step, hunched over something small in his hands. His carving knife glints in the afternoon sun as he works a piece of wood into something unrecognizable. It’s quiet—just the sound of birdsong and the scrape of blade on timber.
He doesn’t look up until I’m halfway up the path.
Then he does—and immediately stills.
His brows pull together, gaze sweeping across my face like he’s assessing damage. And maybe I’m doing a good job of hiding it, but apparently not from him.
He drops the carving as he moves to stands, and I don’t think. I don’t speak, either.
I just… go to him.
And when I get close enough, when his height and heat and presence hit me, I fold.
My arms wrap around his middle, my face presses to his chest, and I break .
No sobbing. No tears. Just this deep, exhausted ache that swells in my chest and melts out of me, bone-deep and soul-tired.
Jax stiffens—
But only for a second.
Then I feel it—his arms. One across my back, one settling around my waist. It’s not perfect, not practiced, but it’s real .
He breathes, slow and deep, like he’s syncing with me on purpose.
“You’re home,” he says, voice low.
I nod against his shirt.
“Good.”
I have no idea how long we stay like that. Time seems completely irrelevant as I remain wrapped around the quietest alpha in Alderbridge; his chin resting on my head, his heartbeat steady against my ear. Eventually, he nudges me gently toward the door.
Inside, the living room is quiet. The others are waiting. Rory’s standing by the window, his arms folded across his chest. Theo’s pacing again, hands on his hips. Finn’s sat forward on the couch, elbows on his knees, expression unreadable.
They all look up when I walk in.
Theo takes one look at my face and stops pacing. Rory straightens.
“She saw it,” Jax says, voice still even as he closes the door behind us.
No one says anything for a beat, then Rory gestures to the couch. “Sit.”
I do. Wordlessly. Finn offers me a bottle of water, and I take it without thinking.
Rory speaks first.
“It’s bullshit.”
Theo’s voice cuts in immediately, sharp and low. “Someone wanted that article out there. Badly . I’ve already flagged it to a contact—he’s tracing the site’s contributor history and checking for dummy domains.”
“Because this is all totally normal,” Finn mutters. “Media manager for a semi-pro rugby club becomes small-town tabloid bait overnight? Please .”
“This isn’t random,” Theo says darkly. “I’ve seen this kind of thing before. Someone has an agenda.”
I stand there, blinking, the air heavy with tension and something else—something tight and charged.
They’re all watching me. I can feel it.
Waiting .
Rory’s voice softens. “That’s why we’re not letting it slide.”
My stomach twists. “...What does that mean?”
“It means we’ve been talking,” he meets my gaze. “And thinking. And we’re done waiting around for someone to come at you again.”
“It means protection. Respect. You don’t have to face this alone. It’s not just that you’re in this house, Frankie—you’re part of us. And we want to make that official.”
“Official?”
Rory meets my gaze evenly. “We want you in the pack.”
I blink at him, completely caught by surprise. My chest goes tight. I don’t know what I was expecting their reaction to the article to be, but it definitely wasn’t this.
“You think this is the right time? After that article?” I ask. “Because it kind of feels like a panic response—like damage control.”
Theo steps closer. “It’s not.” His voice is low, serious now. “Frankie, I’ve told you since day one—I knew we were scent-matched. The second you hit the floor in front of me, I felt it.”
I swallow. “I knew too. I just… didn’t want to say it.”
“Why?” he asks, tilting his head.
“I don’t know. It sounds stupid, it’s… Saying it out loud made it real .”
Finn’s voice is gentle. “Real’s a good thing,” he smiles. “You’d have the pack’s care. Our protection. We already look out for you, obviously , but if you were bonded...”
He trails off, and I feel it in my chest.
That word: bonded .
“I don’t even know how it works ,” I admit. “I’ve met packs before, sure, and I've read a lot online, but... I’ve never actually spoken to anyone about the logistics. And I never imagined it’d be like this.”
“Neither did we,” Theo huffs a quiet laugh. “But we want you, Frankie. All of us do.”
“All four?” My voice is small.
Rory nods. “We’re sure.”
I pause for a moment, my heart pounding so loud I can hear it in my ears. It’s not that I don’t want it—it’s that I want it more than I’ve allowed myself to even think.
“And this isn’t some idea you’ve just come up with in the last ten minutes?”
“No,” Rory says firmly. “We’ve been talking about it for days. Quietly. We wanted to give you space, time. But after today… we’re not risking someone trying to take what’s ours.”
Mine.
That word echoes in my chest, curling hot and low. I look around the room.
Rory, solid and unreadable but always watching.
Theo, confident and cocky, jaw tight with restraint.
Finn, warm and steady and already halfway in love with everyone he touches.
And Jax, leaning against the wall, silent but entirely present, like a mountain that’s already decided not to move.
I take a shaky breath.
“Okay,” I say.
The word lands in the room like a match.
Theo’s grin is slow and devastating. Finn exhales, like he’s been holding it in. Jax doesn’t move, but his eyes flick to mine, and there’s something solid there. Something steady, something protective, maybe even a little possessive.
Rory’s nod is small and certain, almost like he expected it. And me?
I’ve never felt more wanted. Never felt more chosen.
Never felt more like I could finally stop running.
I shift slightly, the air in the room thick with something warm and heavy.
“I want in,” I say. “I want to be in the pack.”
And for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like I have to prove anything.