Chapter Thirty-Three
Jax
T he locker room is tense.
Finn’s pacing, still buzzing from the last kick. Theo’s stripping his jersey off, Ollie and Ben are bickering about what needs to be done to make a point to Denton Vale, and Rory’s got his head down over a clipboard, talking strategy with Coach.
I just sit.
My back’s against the wall, taped hand resting on my knee as I listen.
Not to the noise—but to her .
Frankie’s bond thrums steady in my chest, low and grounding: a heartbeat inside my own. She’s out there, somewhere; watching and worrying. I haven’t looked for her. I don’t need to.
I can feel her.
“You’re playing clean, but they’re playing filth ,” Coach Carter says, clapping his hands to catch our attention. “So don’t meet them there. Do you hear me?”
A few of the guys respond with tired nods. I don’t move an inch.
“They’re testing the ruck every time,” Coach Graham steps in. “Offside. Sealing off. Hands in after release. Refs missing it all, which means you need to be louder. Make them notice. Make them watch. ”
Theo mutters something under his breath, and Finn swears quietly as he pulls tape off his arm.
Then Rory steps up.
“You’re doing better than they want you to. That’s why they’re pushing,” he says. “That’s why they’re targeting us.”
I swallow hard as he looks round at each of us.
“They’re trying to bait us into a red card. One fight, one swing, one loss of control, and that’s the narrative. The ‘unstable pack’. The ‘omega disruption’. The scandal .”
Theo breathes heavily through his nose, and I watch as Finn rubs a hand through his hair.
Rory’s voice lowers. “But that’s not who we are. Not anymore. We don’t give them a story—we give them a scoreboard. ”
Coach Carter wraps up the breakdown with a grunt. “We’re holding, but not by much. Don’t get sloppy. They’ll come in meaner second half.” Then he sighs and pushes toward the door. “Be right back. Checking tape with the booth.”
He leaves. The room quietens down for a minute, with some of the guys dispersing around us. I push my head back against the wall—
And then the door opens again.
Frankie slips through wearing a staff lanyard, a denim jacket, and phone in her hand. She shuts the door behind her quietly, and looks at all of us—and then at me.
Her scent wraps around me instantly, and I swear I feel my ribs expand just breathing her in.
Frankie steps forward, keeping her voice low. “I know I shouldn’t be down here. I just… wanted to check in.”
Theo’s already half-smiling, and Finn’s face softens completely. Even Rory relaxes a little.
“You’ve got two minutes,” he tells her, weary but steady. “Coach won’t be long.”
She nods. “I just… I had to come and see you, or at least try. Because I can feel it. You’re on edge—all of you. I get it. So am I. But obviously, it’s different, since you’re doing it . You’re holding the line while they’re baiting you, constantly. They want chaos, they want instability—but you’re giving them control.”
She looks at Rory, then Theo, then Finn, then finally, at me.
“And I know they’re watching. The OSC. Probably with little notebooks and red pens and entire spreadsheets of reasons to shut this down.”
“Helpful,” Rory sighs.
“But they haven’t gotten one yet,” she continues. “Not one . You’ve been fouled, hit late, talked at, baited—and you’ve stayed standing. That matters. They’ll see that.”
She moves to Finn first.
He looks up at her, flushed and fidgeting, like he doesn’t know whether to smile or cry. She leans in and wraps her arms around his neck, and he squeezes her back.
“You’re doing so good,” she whispers. “You’re my light out there.”
Finn nods once, his jaw tight as she turns to Theo. He gives her that twitchy, cocky half-grin he always does when he’s two seconds from combusting.
She doesn’t tease him, though. She walks straight in and presses her forehead to his for a beat before pulling him in for a hug. His arms band around her waist instantly, one hand curled into her denim jacket like he needs the grounding.
“You’re playing smart,” she murmurs. “Keep doing it.”
Then she turns to Rory. His arms are crossed, but the second she steps close, he drops them. She hugs him without hesitation—tight around the middle, cheek against his chest.
“You’re leading them,” she says softly. “Don’t doubt that.”
He breathes in once through his nose, eyes closed, then nods.
And then, she’s in front of me.
She reaches for my hand first. Warm fingers curl between mine before she leans in, arms sliding around my shoulders. I hold her there—carefully, completely; one hand on her back, the other in her hair as her glorious scent hits me square in the chest.
She doesn’t need to say it. Not really.
But she does anyway.
“You’re my anchor,” she whispers into my neck.
I close my eyes—just for a second.
She pulls back, kisses the corner of my mouth, and then she’s gone—out the door before anyone can stop her.
Her scent lingers behind her, sweet and steady, threading through every inch of me like armor. Coach steps back into the room half a minute later, barely missing her.
He claps once, rounding us all up with his eyes.
“C’mon, boys. Second half. Let’s finish it.”
We stand.
We move.
And I already know—I’ll kill to protect this.
*
We go back through the tunnel, back into the light, and the second we step onto the pitch again, everything shifts.
The crowd is louder. The wind has picked up. And Denton Vale is buzzing .
I can feel it in the air—the edge. The change.
The ball’s live again, and they come harder this time; sharper.
And worse?
Smarter .
Because this time, they start talking.
“Shame about your little social media girl,” a winger scoffs as he brushes past Finn. “Hope she doesn’t get too distracted watching real players .”
Finn growls—audibly.
Theo’s shoved off the ball. When he turns, someone grins and says, “Hey, asshole —bet your omega’s getting real nervous, starting to see what a mess you all are.”
I see Theo’s fists clench, but Rory’s voice snaps across the field. “Breathe.”
We hold. Barely .
But Denton scores.
Quick off the ruck, down the blindside. Our cover’s late, and they take advantage.
We’re still ahead, but it’s close now. Too close.
And I feel it again—that buzz in my chest.
It’s not just the bond, not just the rage; but the fear.
They’re trying to rip us apart from the inside, and they’re getting closer than feels comfortable.
The kick resets. The whistle blows, boots pound, and everything in me tightens.
“ Oi , Rivera,” someone mutters just behind me as we pack down for the scrum. “You the one who gets sloppy seconds, or do you just watch while the real alphas do the work?”
Rory growls from the front. Theo snarls something sharp under his breath, but I don’t move, and I don’t look back.
Finn stiffens beside me, but I let it land.
Let them think they’re winning.
“Didn’t peg you for the quiet type,” he adds, voice smug, just low enough that the ref can’t hear. “What’s the matter? Not man enough to hold her attention all by yourself?”
It takes everything within me not to react. I go back to a place mentally I swore I’d never go—to a time in my life where I didn’t have a voice, back to when I didn’t have my height, build, and fists on my side.
But I’m playing the game. Not just for me, not even just for her; but for us.
For my pack.
The ball comes out, and the ref resets us.
So. We go again.
The same idiot lines up near me this time—same number, same voice, same borrowed ego.
“She’s watching, you know,” he laughs. “Pretty little blond. Probably wondering if any of you are worth it.”
My head turns, and I meet his eyes for the first time.
He’s tense. Shoulders bunched too high, neck stiff, and jaw flexing like he’s chewing glass. His stance is off—too square, too set.
Good . If he swings first, then that means I technically didn’t start it, and if I retaliate, then I was technically just defending myself.
“Funny,” I bite back, my voice low. “She hasn’t even noticed you exist .”
A few of the guys laugh around us, but I keep my eyes locked on him. I see it—the flicker of white-hot rage behind his eyes, the twitch in his hand, the way his shoulders drop just enough to get ready to throw.
I’ve just got to push him over the edge.
“Must be hard, getting ignored by someone you tried to jerk off to in a screenshot.”
His face shifts, and something behind his eyes cracks .
And then, he swings.
Right on cue.
Right hook, open fist, no control. A wild, stupid punch that barely glances off my shoulder pad.
The whistle shrieks as the ref blows hard, and flags go up around the pitch.
And then I hit him.
Up under the ribs, and hard . He folds, gasping, and I step in—grab his jersey, yank him forward, and drive a forearm across his chest like it’s part of the play. He stumbles back into the grass, wheezing.
Now the whistle is really blowing.
Arms are waving, refs sprinting in, and Rory’s hand finds my chest again, already there, already steady.
The crowd is losing it, booing heavily as Marcus Vale charges at the ref and begins to talk at him with his hands. The OSC, wherever they are, are definitely paying attention now—but as far as I’m concerned, I’m an innocent party in all of this.
And the scoreboard is still ours—even if not by much.
The ref pushes Marcus away and points to the player. “ Instigation .”
I can’t help but smirk.
No card for me.
Rory watches me carefully as the ref gives us a penalty. “You good?”
I nod once.
Theo whistles low. “ Jesus , Jax.”
Finn grins. “Fucking surgical .”
Denton’s number six is still on the ground, red-faced and sputtering, and I step back into position, calm and composed and completely in control.
And if dirty’s what they want, then dirty’s what they’ll fucking get .