Chapter Thirty-Four
Rory
T he final five minutes stretch longer than the rest of the game combined.
Every tackle is louder, every hit leaves a mark, and every time one of my boys gets shoved, spat at, or clipped off the ball, I feel it burn through my spine like a match pressed to fuse.
But I stay calm, because I can feel her : somewhere just beyond the barrier, heart pounding, breath held, watching.
And her bond is what’s keeping me here; keeping me grounded, keeping me focused. If I didn’t have that thread pulling me back to her, anchoring me, I don’t know what I’d be right now.
Probably ejected. Definitely bleeding.
Instead, I keep calling plays, and keep driving them forward.
But Vale keeps pressing, too. Their winger knocks Theo into the dirt while their flanker trips Finn again . Jax doesn’t even flinch when someone elbows him in the ribs mid-maul—just resets, clears the ruck like the guy wasn’t even there.
They’re trying to break us, but they forgot who we are now.
There’s a brief break in play, and Marcus Vale jogs up next to me; all casual and calm, his mask still painted on.
“Captain to captain,” he says with a smirk. “Tell me—what’s it like knowing your omega’s getting passed around like a free sample on the sidelines?”
I stop walking, but he keeps going.
“I mean, seriously. Four alphas? Couldn’t even pick just one or two to knot her properly? Or am I giving you guys too much credit, here—do you all just take turns holding the camera?”
My hands curl into fists, and I hear Jax exhale behind me.
“You’re really confident behind your mouth, Vale,” I say quietly. “Let me guess—you’re the one who started the trolling? Your team’s little smear campaign?”
He snorts. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, James. You sound paranoid as fuck.”
“Oh really?” I shrug. “Just all seems a little too… obvious. Frankie’s been getting anonymous comments for weeks, now; but it’s all conveniently been timed, all escalated recently to line up with this game.”
It’s his turn to shrug. “If she can’t handle a little attention, maybe she should’ve stayed out of sight.”
That’s it.
I step close—close enough he can’t dodge, and close enough no one else hears it.
“You say one more word about her,” I grunt, “and I will drag you off this pitch by your fucking larynx.”
His smirk twitches—just for a second.
I add, “And then I’ll piss on your cleats for good measure.”
He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.
“Rory.” Theo calls behind me. “Ball’s placed.”
I don’t break eye contact.
“Get ready to lose, Vale.”
It’s only then that I turn around and walk back to my team—back to my pack. Theo’s waiting with the ball in hand, half-stretched out to me already.
“You want this?” I ask him.
He nods once, sharp. “Every second.”
I clap a hand on his shoulder. “Then take it.”
The ref signals the penalty, and Theo places the ball.
It’s not an easy angle—just past the 10-meter line, wide right—but he doesn’t even blink.
He steps back, inhales a long, deep breath, then kicks.
It’s clean. High. Arcing through the sky like it’s been summoned by the gods themselves.
And it’s fucking perfect .
The flags go up, and the crowd goes insane.
There’s no final whistle, yet—won’t be for another eighty seconds—but they know it, just as we do:
We’ve won.
Finn tackles Theo first, knocking him to the turf. Jax lets out a sharp, feral yell—rare for him, but it cuts through the stadium like lightning. Ben and Ollie sprint across the field, mobbing everyone.
And I laugh.
Through it all, I just stand there and laugh.
We did it. We actually did it.
By the time I can process everything happening around me—the whistle finally being blown, confirming our victory, the crowd losing their minds in the stands around us—Frankie’s already halfway through the gate, her hair flying, mouth wide open, and eyes on us like we just rewrote the stars. Harper’s beside her, the pair of them sprinting at full pelt, and I watch as Theo stumbles up to meet her first with arms spread wide, half-laughing, half-crying.
A few others join us all on the pitch to celebrate the victory, and then Finn reaches Frankie. I keep my eyes on them and smile as he picks her up like she weighs nothing, spins her once, then sets her back down just in time for Jax to pull her in and press his forehead to hers.
I’m itching to head over to her, to them; but I can’t—not yet.
There’s one thing left to do.
I walk to center field, toward the ref. Marcus Vale’s waiting there, surrounded by the disappointed faces of his team, who are all still very much pretending not to be crushed by the scoreboard.
I’m usually a lot more humble about these kinds of things—after all, nobody likes to be on the losing side—but fuck ‘em. These guys had it coming.
He offers his hand, sneering as he speaks.
“Congratulations. That was one hell of a match,” he says. “Shame your girl’s the only real headline.”
I take his hand, and squeeze.
Hard .
Until his knees shift and his smirk falters.
“Say her name again, Vale,” I say, leaning in close. “And let’s see how fast I make the front page.”
Marcus grits his teeth and tries to pull away, but I just squeeze tighter.
He winces, a crack forming in that smug little facade, and only then do I let go.
He stumbles back, face tight, eyes flashing. Then he turns— fast —and walks off without another word.
I stand there for a second longer, but I don’t watch him leave. Instead, I allow myself to drink in this moment, this accomplishment, this victory. I let the roar of the crowd crash around me, let the sweat cling to my back, the turf burn sting beneath my taped wrists, the bond in my chest hum steady and low like it’s been waiting for me to look up.
Then I turn, and she’s there. In the middle of the field, hair wild from the wind, cheeks flushed. She’s standing completely still, eyes locked on mine, as if the whole stadium doesn’t exist.
She starts toward me, and I don’t move.
I wait. Let her cross the distance. Let her reach me.
Because that’s how it’s always felt.
Like she’s the only thing I’ve ever been waiting on.
I open my arms when she gets close enough. She steps into them without hesitation and wraps her own arms around my middle. I exhale deeply as she presses her face to my chest, and I hold her tight. Tighter than I should do, probably; but I can’t help it. My body’s still ringing from everything—rage, control, effort, pride—but this calms all of it.
“You did it,” she says quietly, voice muffled into my jersey. “You led them.”
“No,” I murmur into her hair. “ We did.”
She pulls back just enough to look up at me, and when she smiles, I finally let go of everything I’ve been holding back since the first whistle blew.
I smile back, and then I kiss her.
Right there; center pitch, post-win chaos erupting around us. It’s not loud or showy or anything for the cameras—it’s just real.
Victory . Not just on the scoreboard, but everywhere that matters.
*
The locker room is mayhem.
There’s shouting. Someone’s got a bottle of Prosecco. I’m 90% sure Theo is already trying to sync a playlist labeled “post-win thirst trap edit soundtrack,” and Finn’s doing shirtless push-ups for a crowd of two—Frankie and Harper.
It smells like victory, and protein powder, and unhinged male joy; and there’s nowhere I’d rather be.
“Shirts off or you’re not allowed in the TikTok!” Theo announces, waving his phone around while trying to get a decent angle of himself, Finn, and Ben doing a three-man chest bump.
Finn flexes, then yells, “THIS IS FOR THE VIEWS.”
“Are you trying to get the club trending, or get banned?” Jax mutters as he tosses a damp jersey into the laundry bin. “Because this is how you get banned.”
“I’ll blur the nips,” Theo says seriously. “I’ve got morals.”
“Do you?” Jax asks.
Frankie’s laughing near the lockers, camera half up, cap backwards, fully caught in the chaos. She’s in the team’s warm-up jacket— mine , I think—and she looks like she’s about ten seconds from being rugby-tackled by affection.
“Frankie,” Theo says, hopping over a bench to get to her, “you’re going to tell the OSC that my hips don’t lie, right?”
“But Theo, your hips tell so many lies,” she deadpans. “Last week they said you could do box jumps without tearing your hamstring.”
“That was slander!” he replies, hand on chest. “And it was barely torn.”
“I have footage,” she says sweetly.
“Why are you like this?”
“Because I have taste.”
Finn drops to the floor beside her, dramatically sprawling over her boots as he mimics Theo.
“Frankie, do you promise to tell the press I was humble in victory?”
“You’re literally shirtless, sparkling with Powerade, and you’ve been singing your own name to the tune of ‘We Are the Champions.’”
“Right. So I’m humble,” he confirms.
I roll my eyes at their ridiculousness before I reach for a nearby towel and toss it over his head.
Jax catches my eye from across the room and gives me the smallest nod.
We did it. We held it. And even now, with the crowd still roaring outside, we’re the ones roaring louder in here.
Tom steps into the room with Coach Carter and Graham, instantly ducking a flying water bottle.
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t see that,” our team manager says, straightening his clipboard.
“Well played, boys,” Coach Carter grins. “Remember to keep your heads down, though. The OSC’s still sniffing around.”
Graham adds, “You’ve earned a night. Just don’t turn it into a scandal.”
“Yes, Coach,” the entire team says in a chorus that sounds wildly insincere.
They disperse, and I turn around to catch Theo and Finn trying to stack protein tubs. Apparently, they want to see who can do a handstand on top of them first.
Jax appears beside me. “Ten dollars says Finn breaks the whiteboard.”
I snort. “ Done .”
“Hey.” Frankie tugs on my sleeve. “You see Ollie?”
I glance around. “Yeah. He’s hovering by the showers. What about him?”
“I don’t know if I’m just imagining things, but I swear he’s been looking at Harper like he wants to propose and ask her what her printer toner preferences are.”
I frown, then turn to watch him a second from across the room. Come to think of it, he has mentioned her a couple of times; in training sessions, and in the gym,
“You think she’d go for him?”
“I mean… I don’t see why not,” Frankie shrugs.
I shrug. “Then I’ll see what I can do.”
“I love when you meddle,” she grins.
“I’m very subtle.”
At that moment, Theo yells, “ if I land this, then someone’s buying me a new blender! ”
—right before crashing into the benches.
Tom reappears and lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Jesus Christ .”
“I told you,” Coach Graham mutters. “We should’ve installed padded walls.”
“Frankie!” Harper calls out, rushing over toward us. “This is gold . Pure feral alpha content. I’m putting it on Instagram Stories and tagging it ‘Omega-Owned.’”
Frankie laughs so hard she nearly drops her own phone.
I look around and drink it all in again. Theo yelling. Finn flexing. Jax quietly sharing a protein bar with Ben. Even Tom pretending this is all fine.
And then, of course, at Frankie; flushed and glowing and pressed into my side like it’s the only place she wants to be.
I let it sink in:
We won. We held it together, we proved them wrong, and we did it like this.
Together , as a pack.
And the best part?
We’re just getting started.