Chapter Thirty
Frankie
I woke up this morning sandwiched between Jax and Finn, which is… not how most days begin for people who own a sensible Google calendar and a matching bra-and-underwear set.
I was officially the middle of the world's sleepiest alpha burrito. Finn had his arm around my waist; his face buried in my shoulder, mouth slightly open, breathing like a smug little furnace. Meanwhile, Jax was behind me, solid and warm, hand curled gently around my wrist like he’d forgotten how to let go.
They didn’t say anything when I stirred—just shifted closer. Jax pressed a kiss to the inside of my wrist like it was instinct, and Finn kissed my shoulder without even opening his eyes.
Then Finn mumbled something that might’ve been “You smell like safety and chaos, never leave” , or maybe it was “Did we ever fix the downstairs leak” —
Unclear. And I didn’t ask.
I’d just waited there for a second, letting the weight of them press into me from both sides, warm and grounding. Jax had tucked his chin into the back of my neck, Finn had tangled his leg over mine, and for a few minutes, I forgot what today was.
And then I remembered: the board meeting.
And suddenly, my heart did several things .
One of which was an attempt to eject itself through my ribs, and the other was to immediately calculate whether I could escape without waking either of them and spontaneously combust in the hallway with dignity.
The moment I shifted, Finn groaned softly and buried his face in my chest. “Mmm… don’t go,” he mumbled. “Board meetings are fake. Let’s stay here forever.”
“Finn,” I whispered. “I need to get up.”
“No you don’t,” he whispered back, eyes still shut. “Stay. I’ll tell the OSC you’re busy being snuggled into pack compliance.”
Jax, still half-asleep behind me, muttered, “We’ll file a motion.”
“Cuddle exemption clause,” Finn nodded.
“You two are useless,” I said softly.
“We’re warm,” Finn said, finally cracking one eye open. “And you love us.”
Unfortunately, I did. I loved them in the sleep-heavy, morning-breath, emotionally irresponsible way that made it physically painful to leave that bed.
But I had to, because there was a meeting to get to, and apparently, it was my job to convince a board of mostly middle-aged men in matching quarter-zips that me being bonded to four alphas was not, in fact, an operational hazard or a bad PR choice.
I wriggled out from under Finn’s arm, pressed a kiss to his hair, and turned to kiss Jax’s temple too.
They both made annoyed, sleepy noises.
“Traitor,” Finn mumbled.
“Jax, bite him,” I whispered.
Jax didn’t respond, but I’m pretty sure he smiled.
I know I shouldn’t be too worried, since I’ve prepared as much as I possibly could for this meeting. I’ve written out all the potential questions they could ask, I’ve bullet-pointed my bullet points, and I even tried to distract myself this morning by checking the stats on the rugby footage I posted yesterday.
That was, unfortunately, a huge mistake .
The video of Theo lifting Finn into the air by the shorts during training has gone viral. And not just rugby-viral: full-scale girls-in-group-chats, multiple-account-fandom-threads viral.
Someone clipped the slow-motion part and added a popular song that’s now sent it trending. Another user edited a fake trailer for a fake romance series about— and I quote —feral teammates who bond in the locker room and have unresolved tension over who gets to be the little spoon.
And now, as a result of all the attention, the online girlies and guys have all banded together and bought the last of the tickets for Saturday’s semi-final. Not even just the locals—some of them are travelling from hours away, and are planning on streaming their journeys to town.
So. That means that Alderbridge RFC is officially playing a sold out match to one of their oldest rivals, in a game where the stakes could not have been higher.
No pressure.
Just me. The club. The OSC. Thousands of ticket holders, and a trending hashtag called #ScrumAndKnot.
(Kill. Me.)
*
It’s too quiet in the hallway.
That’s the first thing I notice.
The second is that I’m sweating through my bra.
“Don’t overthink it,” Evie says briskly, heels tapping up the narrow stairs as we climb toward the Alderbridge boardroom. “They’re not here to attack you. Just to ask questions, clarify the situation, and assess risk.”
“Which is definitely not the same as attacking someone,” I mutter. “Very soothing, thanks.”
Evie snorts. “If you’d prefer, I can be blunt about it: this is a politically delicate, legally fraught optics review that could impact your future and theirs.”
“I would not, in fact, prefer that.”
She presses her lips together, like she might actually smile. “Good. Then walk straight, speak clearly, and don’t let them bait you.”
I hesitate. “I should probably tell you something.”
“Let me guess,” Evie says as she raises a brow, not once slowing her pace. “You’ve bonded to all four of them.”
I blink again. “Okay, how do you—”
“I know everything,” she cuts in calmly.
I don't respond—I just keep walking. Mostly to hide the fact that I’m a little creeped out by how she manages to always know everything.
“I saw that the Theo-Finn video passed 400k shares,” she adds lightly, glancing down at her phone. “And I’m sure you know that you’ve officially broken into the side of the internet where people write academic think pieces about locker room homoeroticism and hashtag it with rugby thirst traps.”
“You make it sound so much weirder than it actually is.”
“Did you know that ticket sales for the semi-final maxed out two hours ago?”
I sigh. “I did.”
“It’s a good thing, obviously,” she nods. “I just hope you’re prepared to be publicly claimed by four extremely sweaty men in front of a full stadium.”
I groan. “Don’t say it like that.”
“Well—you’ve already won the internet. Now you just need to make sure you win the room today.”
I nod, trying to channel composure; but every step I take feels louder than the last, and the door at the end of the hall looms closer.
Still, I can feel them. All four of them. Not here physically, but inside me, around me; that soft, invisible web of connection tugging under my skin, running hot and steady through my chest.
Jax, low and grounded. Finn, bright and protective. Theo, sharp and focused. Rory, anchored and still.
Evie stops just outside the door and turns to face me. I draw in a slow breath, then another.
“Any final advice?” I murmur.
“ Yes .”
I wait, and she leans in close.
“Remember: the moment you walk into that room, you stop being the rumour. You become the story,” she says. “So tell it right.”
The door opens, then clicks shut behind us.
The boardroom is colder than I expected.
Not in temperature, but in atmosphere.
The long oak table looks like it hasn’t hosted joy in a decade as five people sit spaced evenly along it, each with a notepad, a glass of water, and the kind of expression that suggests they’d rather be doing literally anything else than talking to me. Tom’s already here, seated slightly off to the side with a laptop in front of him and a stress line between his eyebrows that looks permanent. He offers a polite smile and gestures for me to take the empty chair at the end of the table.
Evie follows behind me. She doesn’t sit—no, she stands behind me, pen already in hand, posture regal and dangerous.
“Good morning,” says the man at the center of the table. He’s older, with crisp gray hair and an Alderbridge RFC crest pinned to his lapel.
I don’t catch his name, and he doesn’t offer it.
He folds his hands. “You’re Frankie.”
It’s not a question.
“Yes,” I say evenly.
There’s a pause, then a woman to his left—mid-fifties, glasses she doesn’t seem to need—makes a note on her pad and speaks without so much as looking up at me.
“And you’re now bonded to four members of the senior squad.”
“Yes,” I repeat, steady.
“And prior to this week,” she continues, flipping to the next page, “you were bonded to only one. Mr. Rivera. The others followed… when , exactly?”
“Over the past few days,” I say, then clear my throat. “It was a mutual, consensual decision. The bonds formed organically as our relationships developed.”
Another board member snorts. Evie’s pen clicks sharply.
“And the decision,” Gray Hair says, leaning forward slightly, “to allow this… situation to progress within club property—who authorized that?”
“No one,” I reply. “Because it wasn’t planned. None of us anticipated bonding.”
He raises an eyebrow. “And yet you’re now fully integrated into a professional team’s living arrangements and scent profile.”
Jesus Christ .
Tom clears his throat gently. “It’s worth noting that since the full pack bond formed, there’s been a noticeable decrease in conflict indicators. Scent volatility’s down, territorial flags are resolved, and the squad’s functioning as a stable unit.”
“Convenient,” mutters the woman with the glasses.
One of the men—tall, with a permanent frown carved into his forehead—leans forward slightly, eyes narrowing.
“Forgive me if I’m not reassured. This is the same ‘stable unit’ that opened a match three weeks ago with Mr. Rivera throwing a punch shortly after the anthem, and Mr. James receiving a formal warning for his team’s on-field conduct.”
“That was different,” I say, my spine straightening. “The winger made an… inappropriate comment .”
“About?”
“...Me.”
“ Ah. ” He sighs. “And Mr. Rivera chose to respond with violence.”
“Mr. Rivera responded with restraint ,” Evie cuts in crisply. “I’m sure we are all aware that if he hadn’t, then the other player would’ve left the pitch on a stretcher, and the punishment would have been far worse than a delayed start and a warning.”
There’s a pause, then Tom coughs again.
“ Regardless , there have been no incidents since the full bond formation. In fact, training performance is measurably improved! The group’s displaying coordinated behaviour and clear communication, both on and off the field.”
“And how long do you expect that to last?” the woman with the glasses asks. “How long before another player on another team says something about her, and one of them snaps again because they can’t control themselves?”
“That’s not going to happen again.” I meet her gaze. “We’re bonded now. Properly .”
“And we’re supposed to take your word on that?”
Evie steps forward smoothly before I can respond.
“We understand your concerns— truly. But the club has monitored the situation since initial notification, and while the complaint made to OSC was valid at the time, the circumstances have since… evolved . We now have a bonded pack, no heat symptoms, no pheromonal interference, and a zero-incident record during training. We’ve also run scent checks on the B-team during a mixed session this week, who’ve confirmed no disruption.”
One of the board members—balding and unpleasant looking—interjects. “And yet the optics remain a problem.”
“There’s nothing in the OSC guidelines that forbids multi-alpha packs in semi-professional settings,” Evie replies coolly.
“No,” he concedes. “But there’s also nothing in them that prepares the public for it either. The pack has been trending online.”
Right. Here we go.
“It’s worth mentioning,” I say carefully, “that the attention hasn’t been negative. There’s been a massive uptick in match interest and social engagement. The semi-final this weekend is now sold out.”
Gray Hair tilts his head. “Because of a viral video of two players lifting each other on the training pitch.”
I nod. “Which we filmed, edited, and posted strategically. Because fans are watching, and they’re excited.”
There’s a pause.
Then another board member leans forward. “Do you understand how risky this is?”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
He gestures vaguely to me, then to some invisible idea of what I represent.
“You’re a young omega: peak biological profile, bonded to four Alphas and now living in close quarters with them. Working professionally adjacent to them. You’re a social media figure now for this team, for this club . Which means that one wrong clip—one hint of mismanaged heat or elevated scent—and this club becomes a headline.”
My jaw tightens, but I keep my voice level. “I’m also an adult. Capable of regulating my own suppressants, managing my scent profile, and knowing the difference between a bonding instinct and a PR stunt.”
The woman with the glasses doesn’t look up as she mutters, “For now.”
Evie inhales sharply through her nose. “If your concern is fertility,” she says, “then I’d suggest redirecting that energy toward writing an updated health and wellness clause instead of implying that Frankie’s hormonal cycle constitutes a liability.”
Tom clears his throat, then says in a too-bright tone, “Shall we return to performance metrics?”
I smile at him in thanks before returning my attention to the others. “Look—all I’m saying is that I understand the risks.”
“Do you?” Gray Hair presses. “Because this club isn’t just about you . It’s about every young player coming up through the ranks who sees this and thinks, ‘Maybe I’ll join a team and find an Omega to nest with.’ ”
I feel my jaw clench. “Of course I do. And we’re not a gimmick —we’re a real pack. We didn’t plan it, but nothing about us is unstable, or dangerous. And our lives are not your PR problem.”
“Not yet,” the woman says dryly. “But who’s to say that they couldn’t become one?”
I can feel my pulse in my ears. They’re not trying to understand—they’re trying to find a reason to not let this work.
“I know what we look like from the outside,” I say, louder now. “But what you’re missing is what it’s actually like .”
I look directly at each of them, one by one.
“I’ve been living with all four alphas since the day I moved to Alderbridge. Since before any of us knew this would happen. And I haven’t had a single incident—not one . I’m stable, I’m healthy, and the team is performing better than ever. And the players ? They’re not just happy and performing well, but they’re protected. By me . By us .”
I let the silence settle before going on.
“You’re worried about dominance issues? There are none. You’re worried about scent volatility? It’s being managed, and under complete control. You’re worried about chaos? It’s gone . We’re not scattered anymore—we’re bonded. And… we’re united. As a pack.”
Tom shifts in his seat, looking uneasy. “And you’re prepared to speak to the OSC directly, aren’t you, Frankie?”
“If I have to?” I meet his eyes. “Yes. I’ll tell them everything.”
Gray Hair exhales, slow and clipped. “We’ll prepare the documentation for OSC review. They might ask for you to attend. The rest of the pack, as well.”
“And after that?” I ask. “What happens then?”
He blinks. “We’ll see what they say.”
That’s it?
“You want me to show up and explain it all, but you still might pull the rug out from under us anyway?”
“We haven’t ruled anything out,” he shrugs.
“I’m not the only one this affects,” I say, forcing my voice to stay even as rage flickers somewhere deep inside. “They have a semi-final match in two days. A sold-out stadium. Scouts coming. People watching. This —” I gesture around the room “—this circus you’ve built around us? It doesn’t just jeopardise my future. It could derail theirs.”
Glasses Woman shifts in her seat, but doesn’t speak.
“You want a real answer?” I press. “Then come on Saturday. Watch what happens on that field. See what we actually are.”
There’s Another pause, then Gray Hair gives the briefest nod.
“We’ll attend,” he says slowly.
It’s not approval. Fuck , it’s not even support—it’s just permission to continue for now.
Still, it’s something .
“This doesn’t mean we endorse it,” he says flatly.
“You don’t have to,” Evie replies, voice sharp enough to cut glass. “You just have to stop pretending it’s not working.”
“This meeting is concluded,” he says.
I stand slowly. My knees feel locked, my palms damp, my pulse loud in my ears—but my spine? That’s still straight.
Evie places a hand at the small of my back as we turn to leave, but before I step out, I turn and look them square in the eye.
“We’re not a scandal,” I say clearly. “We’re a team. You’ll see that on Saturday.”
Because the thing is: yes, I might be young, and I might be an omega, and I might be nothing but a bimbo in their eyes; but the fact is—I’m also theirs .
And I’m not letting anyone take that away.
Not even the OSC.