chapter THIRTY-ONE
Eli
T he sexual tension in this lobby could power the entire hotel.
I'm sitting in a strategically chosen chair that gives me a clear view of the whole team while keeping Jackson in my peripheral vision.
He's been wound tighter than a piano wire since yesterday, and watching him try to pretend Reese's presence doesn't affect him is like watching someone try to ignore a fire alarm.
Bo and Reese enter together, and even from across the room I can smell how their scents have mingled.
They're not touching, but they might as well be wearing matching "we fucked all night" t-shirts.
Bo walks with that loose, satisfied gait of a man who got exactly what he wanted, while Reese has that slightly flushed, well-used look that announces recent orgasms.
Good for them, honestly. Someone needed to help her through the worst of it.
Gray, standing by the check-out desk like he's conducting a military briefing, watches their approach with the kind of controlled neutrality that indicates he's absolutely losing his shit internally. The muscle in his jaw ticks twice before he catches himself.
Fascinating. Our fearless captain is jealous.
"Morning," Zane calls out with deliberate cheerfulness, because subtlety died sometime around freshman year with this crew. "Everyone sleep well?"
Beckett nearly chokes on his coffee. I shoot Zane a look that clearly says shut the fuck up but he ignores it completely. Tyler, bless his socially oblivious soul, actually responds with, "Sleep efficiency was approximately 87 percent. Acceptable parameters."
I love that kid. He's like a human calculator who occasionally remembers to eat.
Jackson keeps his eyes glued to his phone, but I can see the tension in his shoulders, the careful way he's breathing to minimize scent intake. He's fighting every instinct right now, and it's costing him.
"Let's get this over with," Gray says, because apparently we're skipping pleasantries today.
We gather in a corner that's marginally more private than the main lobby. The trophy sits on the coffee table between us, gleaming like the golden elephant in the room. Everyone keeps stealing glances at Reese, then looking away like they've been caught staring at porn.
Real smooth, guys.
"Coach Bennett and Coach Wilder left early with the equipment," Gray begins, slipping into captain mode. "They expect us back by three for debrief and trophy presentation."
"Does Coach know?" Beckett asks, leaving the obvious unfinished.
Gray's expression tightens. "About Callahan's designation? No."
"He's going to figure it out," Jackson says quietly. His first words of the morning, delivered with the grim certainty of someone who's hypersensitive to these things.
"Her scent is controlled right now," Bo interjects, and there's an edge of protectiveness in his voice that makes me want to roll my eyes. Down, boy.
"For how long?" I ask, because someone needs to address the practical reality here. "Standard Omega heat cycles run three to five days. You managed one night, Strickland. What's the plan for the rest? Because if you try to handle this solo, you're going to end up in the ER for acute dehydration."
All eyes turn to Reese, who squares her shoulders under the scrutiny. She looks tired but composed, maintaining her dignity despite the fact that we're literally discussing her biological functions like a weather report.
"I should be fine for the bus ride," she says calmly. "But by tonight..."
She doesn't need to finish. We all know what happens tonight. Our coxswain is going to need another Alpha to fuck her senseless, and we're all sitting here pretending this is a normal team logistics meeting instead of secretly hoping we're the one she picks.
"We need a strategy," I say, because apparently I'm the only one willing to state the obvious. "Both short and long-term."
"I'm working on it," Gray responds, running a hand through his hair. The usually perfect strands stick up at odd angles.
"Are you?" Cameron speaks up from his spot against the wall, voice quiet but carrying weight. "Because Strickland can't handle this alone."
The implication hangs in the air like smoke. Bo shifts closer to Reese, a movement so subtle most people would miss it. I don't.
"I've got it covered," Bo says firmly.
"Do you?" Gray challenges, and I can practically see the Alpha posturing beginning. "Heat cycles last days. You have class. We all have training."
This is where it gets interesting. Gray, our undisputed pack leader, suddenly facing competition from Bo, who's usually content to be second fiddle. The hierarchy is shifting, and everyone can feel it.
Jackson's jaw clenches beside me. He's probably reliving his last team, watching for the first signs that we're about to implode the way Hampton Hills did. Poor bastard.
"Maybe," Zane interjects with unusual wisdom, "we should let Reese weigh in on her own situation?"
Revolutionary concept. Let the Omega have agency over her own body. Who would have thought?
Reese shoots Zane a grateful look before turning to address us all. "Look, I appreciate the concern, but this is still my body, my choice. I didn't plan for my suppressants to fail during Riverside, but here we are."
She takes a breath, and I can see her gathering herself. "Bo helped me last night, and I'm grateful. But we need to get back to campus and figure out something sustainable. My new prescription should arrive Friday."
"Five more days," Tyler calculates aloud, because of course he does. "Approximately 120 hours of active symptoms."
"Which is why," Gray cuts in, his captain voice fully engaged, "we need arrangements that don't burn out any single team member." His eyes meet Reese's. "Unless you object to... alternative solutions."
Jesus Christ, Gray. Could you be any more awkward? "Alternative solutions." Like he's proposing a new training regimen instead of a fuck schedule.
Reese's face flushes, but she doesn't look away. "I'm open to discussing options. Once we're back on campus."
The collective relief in the room is palpable. My teammates, these ridiculous, competitive Alphas, all mentally volunteering to "help" our Omega coxswain through her heat. Because that's totally not going to complicate everything.
I catch Jackson's eye and see my own skepticism reflected there. This is going to be a clusterfuck of epic proportions.
"Great," Zane says, slapping his hands down on the table with false enthusiasm. "So we have concepts of a plan. Can we eat now? I'm starving."
The meeting breaks up, and I watch the resulting chaos with academic interest. Gray texts me to meet him after we eat, probably to discuss strategy.
As I move, I keep my attention on the others.
Jackson makes a beeline for the exit, clearly needing space from Reese's pheromones.
Tyler immediately pulls out his phone, probably researching Omega biology with the same focus he brings to split times.
Bo murmurs something to Reese that makes her smile, a soft, unguarded expression I haven't seen before. It transforms her whole face, makes her look younger, less burdened.
Something tugs in my chest at the sight. Not jealousy exactly, but recognition. Whatever's happening between them is real in a way I don’t think anyone is ready for, especially them.
"Interesting developments," Cameron says, appearing beside me with his usual silent-ninja routine.
"That's one word for it." I watch as Bo and Reese head toward the restaurant. "Think they'll figure it out?"
"Eventually. Once they get past the bullshit."
Cameron has a point. Gray thinks everything is a competition, even things that aren't his to win. And Bo, for all his protective instincts, is going to have to learn to share.
"You knew from the beginning too," I observe. "Just like Jackson, Tyler, and me."
Cameron shrugs. "Wasn't exactly subtle once you knew what to look for."
There's something in his tone that makes me want to dig deeper, but Cameron Blake doesn't do personal revelations. Fair enough. We all have our secrets.
The restaurant is typical hotel continental breakfast fare with pastries that taste like cardboard, coffee that could strip paint, and runny scrambled eggs. I load my plate anyway and claim a seat with a good view of the whole table.
The seating arrangement is telling. Gray at the head, naturally. Bo and Reese across from each other instead of side by side, which fools absolutely no one. Jackson sits next to me, not because of our situationship but because it’s as far as he can get from Reese while still being with the group.
Zane slides in next to Reese and immediately starts his golden retriever routine, making her laugh despite everything. Kid's got a gift for defusing tension.
I watch my teammates with the detached fascination of a behavioral scientist:
Gray, stealing glances at Reese when he thinks no one's looking.
Bo, radiating quiet possession without being obvious about it.
Beckett, flirting on autopilot while tracking every interaction.
Tyler, taking mental notes with scientific detachment.
Cameron, seemingly disinterested but missing nothing.
Jackson, hyperaware of every sound Reese makes.
It's like watching a nature documentary. Here we observe the Alpha pack in their natural habitat, demonstrating complex mating behaviors while pretending to discuss rowing technique.
Everyone tries their best to act normal through the rest of breakfast. We rehash the race, critique our performance, discuss the look on our competitors' faces when we blew past them. Standard team talk that carefully avoids the obvious topic.
When Gray stands to give final instructions, his voice is softer when he addresses Reese directly. "If you start feeling uncomfortable during the drive, tell someone. We'll figure something out."
The consideration catches everyone by surprise, Reese most of all.
"Thank you," she says, and there's genuine gratitude in her voice.
Twenty minutes later, we're loading the bus. I notice how everyone gives Reese space, careful not to crowd her as we board. Instinctive Alpha behavior around an unbonded Omega, complicated by the fact that she's carrying Bo's scent.
I claim my usual seat and pull out a book, but I'm really watching Jackson. He chooses a spot as far from Reese as possible, shoulders rigid with tension. This is going to be a long three hours.
As the bus pulls away from the hotel, I can't help but calculate the variables ahead of us.
An Omega in the middle of her heat cycle.
Eight unmated Alphas. University policies that could destroy everything if this gets out.
And somehow, we're supposed to navigate this mess while maintaining team cohesion and competitive performance.
The mathematical probability of this ending well is approximately zero.
But then I glance at Reese, now sleeping peacefully against Zane's shoulder, and see the protective way Bo watches over her from the next row back. I see Cameron's quiet acceptance, Tyler's clinical problem-solving, even Gray's careful consideration.
Maybe the math doesn't matter. Maybe this team, this ridiculous, loyal, stubborn collection of Alphas, is going to prove that some things can't be calculated.
Either way, it's going to be interesting as hell to watch.