Chapter Forty
Jax
T he last seventy-two hours have been… a lot.
We beat Denton Vale on Saturday. Walked off the field to a sold-out crowd roaring our names and watched Rory nearly break Marcus Vale’s hand during the post-match handshake, then came home and collapsed into the kind of celebration you feel in your bones.
By Sunday, the high was still buzzing through us; until Theo dropped the truth about the troll accounts—and Frankie learned her own mother was behind them. That should’ve been the worst part; but that had somehow turned into the four of us breaking every rule of restraint and worshipping her like we were built for it.
(Who knows: maybe we are.)
Somewhere along the line, I’d told her about my childhood, too. Things I hadn’t said out loud before, and still didn’t understand why .
But now it’s Monday, and we’re all dressed in club polos and clean jeans, sitting on a round table in front of the Alderbridge board.
What a fucking weekend.
Frankie’s seated at the head of the table with Evie beside her, posture straight and chin high. Her scent is calm on the surface, but I can feel the spike of nerves humming under it. Through the bond, it’s like white noise—tightly wound and simmering.
I want to touch her. Just one hand on her thigh, her back, her wrist. Something.
But we’re being watched. Hard .
Across the table sit six members of the Alderbridge RFC board—men and women, all with clipped voices, pressed collars, and expressions like they forgot how to smile sometime during the Cold War. They’re flanked by Tom, who looks about as uncomfortable as someone can without physically melting into his chair.
“We’ve reviewed all submissions,” says Gray Hair. Evie called him Peter. “The references from your coaches were, admittedly, glowing. Though perhaps biased.”
Theo leans forward slightly. “We’re very loveable.”
Evie nudges his ankle under the table without looking.
Gray Hair doesn’t even blink. “As for the Omega Safety Compliance Board—they’ve deferred to us for the time being. They don’t currently require a direct meeting, but are expecting a full report.”
“Which is why we’re here,” adds the woman with the glasses, steepling her fingers. “This pack arrangement is... unconventional.”
Frankie doesn’t flinch. “It’s stable.”
The woman tilts her head. “For now.”
“We’ve submitted incident reports, scent scans, footage, and data,” Evie says smoothly. “You’ve seen the analysis. There’s been zero volatility and a marked increase in cohesion since formal bonding—both on the pitch and off.”
“Not to mention,” Tom adds, gesturing loosely to Frankie, “our social metrics have increased by over four hundred percent. Engagement, ticket sales, brand visibility. We’re trending weekly, and the players are becoming local icons.”
Finn perks up. “A woman did ask me to sign her baby last week. That feels iconic.”
The woman with the glasses blinks slowly.
“Anyway,” Finn adds quickly, “she didn’t have a pen.”
I hear Theo stifle a laugh beside me.
“We’ve got a sold-out final coming up next weekend,” Rory says firmly, bringing the room back to order. “The team’s stronger than ever. We’re winning. We’re representing this club better than we ever have—and it’s because we’ve found balance. The kind that only happens when your people are right.”
He doesn’t even look at Frankie when he says it, and that’s how you know he means it.
Peter leans forward. “And what happens when this balance… tips ?”
“It won’t,” I say simply.
Several heads turn. I rarely speak in these things, so when I do, they listen.
“You’re confident,” another board member says dryly.
I nod. “We’re bonded. This isn’t a PR stunt. It’s not unstable. It’s pack .”
“And you believe that overrides concern?” the woman with glasses asks.
“No,” I say. “I believe it proves you don’t need to be concerned.”
A long silence follows. Then, the other woman on the board—the one who hadn’t said a word yet—leans forward.
“It’s not so much an issue of one omega being bonded to four alphas,” she says slowly. “It’s the fact that said omega is the club’s social media manager, and the four alphas in question are all members of the first team. Do you understand how that presents to the public? The way this... looks ?”
Frankie leans forward, calm and unshaken. “You’re worried about appearances, and I understand that. I do . But… I’m also worried about performance, stability, and safety. All of which are solid. And, if I’m quite honest, I don’t really care how it looks —I care how it works . And if the engagement data tells us anything, it’s that it’s working.”
There’s silence again—the kind that hums with judgment—then Theo clears his throat.
“Quick question,” he says brightly. “Is now a bad time to suggest we launch an official Alderbridge thirst-trap calendar?”
Evie closes her eyes. “Theo.”
“What? I’m brainstorming.”
“Save it for later.”
Thankfully, Rory’s still locked in full captain-mode. “Look, we know this isn’t ideal ,” he says. “We’re not pretending it is. I get that you would’ve rather Frankie didn’t work for the team, or live in one of the staff houses when all of this went down. But we’ve done everything you’ve asked, and then some. If this club is supposed to be about results, then the results speak for themselves.”
“And what of the omega?” Peter asks, before turning to Frankie. “Are you certain you’re safe with them?”
She doesn’t miss a beat. “I’m safer with them than I’ve ever been in my life.”
The room stills again.
And I feel it—through the bonds. That sharp pulse of pride from Theo. The deep hum from Finn. The slow rise of warmth from Rory.
Mine sits steady in my chest, slow and certain.
She’s ours.
Peter looks down at the papers again, frowns, then finally says, “We’ll file the report. Pending any further issues, we’ll consider this matter resolved—though I still can’t say we’re endorsing it.”
Frankie stands and straightens her shoulders before nodding, polite but firm.
“I understand. Thank you for your time.”
She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t gloat—just turns and walks for the door with quiet, measured confidence.
One by one, we follow, because that’s what you do for a leader.
And make no mistake—that’s exactly what she is.
*
Evie leads us down the corridor to one of the side offices—small, windowed, and too sterile for how exhausted we all feel. Tom’s the first to step inside, and we all move after him, but Frankie lingers just outside the doorway. Her hand brushes mine, but she doesn’t stop or follow us in.
Instead, she turns to Evie.
“Do you have a minute?” Frankie asks.
Evie’s eyebrows lift, then she nods. “Of course.”
They step just out of earshot, near the end of the hall. I try not to watch, but I still catch the shift in Evie’s posture as Frankie talks, and through the bond, I feel her. Not in words; but in this low, muffled ache that radiates under my ribs. She’s standing upright, voice steady; but inside, she’s shaking.
“I’m sorry,” Evie says as they move back toward the room. “If I’d known…”
Frankie shakes her head. “You couldn’t have. It’s fine.”
Evie’s mouth twists like she wants to argue. “Is there anything you need?”
“No,” Frankie replies. “I’m going to deal with it. I’m going to see her tomorrow.”
“Alright. Well, make sure that you take the day. No work, no pressure. There’s nothing that can’t wait for one day, and we’ll make sure everything’s covered.”
Frankie gives a half-smile, then turns back toward us.
Tom’s voice captures all of our attention. “You all did good in there.”
“We know,” Theo grins.
Tom doesn’t rise to it. “Just do me a favor and keep your heads down. One more week. That’s all you’ve got. That final’s coming fast.”
Rory nods once. “We’re ready.”
And I don’t say anything—but I look at Frankie.
She’s tired, hollowed out, but still standing. Still here .
And that’s the kind of strength I’d follow anywhere.