Chapter 5
Scotty
There was a bright red Mini Cooper parked in my dad's driveway.
I slowed without meaning to, grateful for something harmless and mildly ridiculous to focus on instead of the fact that my entire body still felt like it had been thoroughly rearranged in the back of a limo.
My legs were slightly unsteady, my thoughts were scrambled, and I was ninety percent certain I was still wearing the faintest trace of coffee and cinnamon beneath my scent blocker.
"Who the fuck do you belong to?" I muttered, staring at the car like it might offer up an explanation.
Hunter shared a quick glance with Ryder before following my line of sight. "Cute."
"It's not cute," I said quickly, because focusing on the car was infinitely safer than thinking about Hunter's fingers working me into a trembling mess or the way Ryder had kissed the taste of my release from his mate's mouth while I sat between them and forgot how to form coherent thoughts. "It's… suspicious."
Ryder barked out a laugh behind me, low and amused. "How is a car suspicious?"
I turned to glare at him. "It's suspicious when it's parked in my dad's driveway. My dad's friends drive trucks. Or boring SUVs. That thing looks like it owns decorative throw pillows and judges you for not having matching coasters."
If I kept talking about that freaking car, I didn't have to think about how recently I had been melting into Hunter's chest while Ryder's voice turned my bones soft. I did not have to think about how easily I had almost said yes.
Ryder shrugged and, infuriatingly, started guiding me toward the front door like this was perfectly normal and not the lead-up to potential catastrophe. Panic flickered low in my chest.
"You don't have to come in," I said, turning to face them before we reached the steps. "Seriously. You've already done enough."
"Just need to ask Coach a question," Hunter said, but there was a twinkle in his eye that filled me with immediate trepidation.
He and Ryder followed me up the sidewalk, close enough that if I suddenly bolted, they would absolutely catch me.
The worst part was that I was fairly certain they would enjoy the chase.
Hunter laughed softly when he caught the look on my face as we reached the door, completely unbothered by my rising anxiety. "Relax, Scotty. We'll behave."
That word meant absolutely nothing coming from him.
I unlocked the door and stepped inside without knocking, because this was still my childhood home and I refused to feel like a guest in it.
My dad's scent wrapped around me immediately, familiar citrus and clean spice and something steady and grounded that had always meant safe. But there was a new scent lingering in our home. Something softer and floral.
I paused in the entryway for half a second longer than necessary, my Omega quietly cataloging the difference and filing it under important and potentially life-altering.
Hunter nearly walked into me. "You good?"
"Yeah," I said automatically, even though my brain had already started running through worst-case scenarios that ranged from mild social awkwardness to complete existential unraveling.
The living room was empty, so I turned toward the kitchen, following the blended scent of my dad and whoever owned the aggressively cheerful red car outside.
The kitchen doorway framed a scene that made me freeze mid-step.
Dad was in the kitchen, and he was not alone. His hands were very clearly on a blonde woman's ass, and they were kissing like they were in the final scene of a romantic drama where the swelling music meant everything was going to be okay and the credits were about to roll.
For a second, I genuinely wondered if I was hallucinating from emotional overload.
The shock hit me like the time I was ten and stumbled upon my father sobbing in the living room, clutching my dead mother's sweater to his chest. Even catching Ken with Amber earlier that morning wouldn't have prepared me for walking into the kitchen and discovering my father aggressively making out between the fridge and the coffee machine.
Hunter cleared his throat loudly.
Dad jerked back like someone had thrown a bucket of ice water on him. "Rebecca!" he blurted.
"Hi," I said faintly, because that was the only word my brain offered up.
He looked from me to Hunter to Ryder and back again, confusion warring with guilt in real time. "I thought you were stuck in traffic." His eyes narrowed in on Hunter and Ryder. "Why are you with two of my players?"
"Traffic cleared," I replied, because discussing road conditions felt safer than discussing literally anything else happening in this room. "Uh, they gave me a lift."
The woman turned around fully now, smoothing her hands down the front of her blouse like she had not just been enthusiastically attached to my father's face five seconds ago.
"Why did you need a lift?" Dad pressed. "Where is your car?"
"Who is she?" I questioned instead of answering, feeling stubborn and more than a little put out by the strange woman standing in my childhood kitchen like she belonged there.
Dad made a show of adjusting his collar, somehow managing to look even more guilty. "Rebecca, this is Morgan." He turned to smile at the blonde. "Morgan, this is my daughter, Rebecca."
Morgan smiled warmly and stepped forward, and up close I could smell her properly now — light floral, something clean and expensive, layered naturally over her subtle Beta scent. "It's wonderful to meet you," she said. "Your father has told me so much about you."
"That's mildly alarming," I replied before I could stop myself.
Hunter snorted softly behind me, not quite managing to disguise it as a cough.
Dad shot me a look. "In a good way."
"Right," I said, the word dripping with skepticism.
Morgan's gaze shifted past me then, landing on the two massive men still hovering just behind my shoulders like extremely attractive, morally questionable bodyguards. "And I see you brought company. Hello, boys."
Before I could process that greeting, Ryder stepped forward from behind me and enveloped Morgan in a familiar, easy hug. "Hey, Mom."