CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Reese
I arrive at the administration building twenty minutes early.
The hallway outside the conference room is empty, morning light streaming through tall windows.
My reflection in the glass looks composed, professional.
Navy blazer, pressed slacks, hair pulled back in a tight bun.
No one would guess I spent the night staring at my ceiling, replaying Gray's face when he couldn't claim me.
The door to Conference Room B is closed, but I can hear voices inside. Dean Morrison. Coach Bennett. Someone else I don't recognize. They're setting up for my execution.
Good.
I straighten my shoulders and knock.
"Come in," Morrison calls.
The room is smaller than I expected. A long table dominates the space, five chairs on one side, nine on the other.
They've set up for the full team, at least. The five seats are occupied: Dean Morrison, Coach Bennett, Dr. Patricia Harmon from Student Affairs, Professor Whitfield from the Ethics Committee, and Assistant Director Carmine from Athletics.
"Ms. Callahan." Morrison's voice is cold. "You're early."
"I wanted to speak with you before the others arrive."
Harmon and Whitfield exchange glances. Carmine makes a note on her clipboard.
"That's highly irregular," Morrison says.
"Please." I move to the center of the room, hands clasped in front of me. "There's something you need to know."
Bennett leans back in his chair, arms crossed. His expression is unreadable, but there's something in his eyes. Disappointment, maybe. Or resignation.
"Five minutes," Morrison concedes.
I take a breath. "The situation with the team is entirely my fault. I pursued them. I manipulated the dynamics. I hid my designation and when they discovered it, I used my biology to—"
"Stop."
The voice comes from behind me. I spin to find Bo in the doorway, the rest of the team filing in behind him. They're all in dress shirts and slacks, looking like they're headed to a formal dinner rather than a disciplinary hearing.
"She's lying," Bo continues, moving into the room. "Whatever she just told you is bullshit."
"Language, Mr. Strickland," Morrison warns. “Let her speak.”
"No." Gray steps forward, and my heart stops. He looks exhausted, shadows under his eyes like he didn't sleep either. "We're not doing this. Not letting her fall on her sword for us."
"Gentlemen, you're early as well," Harmon observes. "We asked you to arrive at nine."
"We came together," Jackson says quietly. It's the first time he's spoken in a group setting in weeks. "As a team."
They arrange themselves behind me, a wall of Alpha presence. I can feel the heat of them, smell their combined scents. Pine and cedar, ocean salt and copper, cinnamon and rain and something uniquely Tyler that reminds me of graphite and clean paper.
"Sit," Morrison commands.
No one moves.
"I said, sit down."
"We'll stand with our coxswain," Gray says, and his hand finds my shoulder. The touch burns through my blazer.
Morrison's jaw tightens. "Very well. Ms. Callahan, continue your statement."
"No," I say quickly. "I need to—"
"She needs to tell the truth," Cameron interrupts. His voice is steady, certain. "Which is that we're a bonded crew. All of us."
The silence that follows is deafening.
"You're..." Whitfield starts, then stops. "All nine of you?"
"Not yet," Eli says. "But we will be."
"That's impossible," Carmine speaks for the first time. "The biological dynamics alone would create chaos. Eight Alphas cannot share—"
"We can," Beckett cuts her off. "We do."
"We're aware of the university's position on mixed-designation crews," Tyler says, stepping forward.
His voice is calm, analytical. "Section 47-B of the student handbook specifically prohibits romantic entanglements between teammates that could compromise performance.
However, there's no explicit rule against pack bonding. "
"Because it's never been necessary," Morrison snaps. "No one's ever been insane enough to attempt it."
"Insane?" Zane moves closer to me. "What's insane is pretending biology doesn't exist. What's insane is forcing us to suppress what we are."
"You're students," Harmon says. "Athletes. You have responsibilities—"
"Our responsibility is to each other first," Gray interrupts, and his fingers tighten on my shoulder. "To our pack."
The word hangs in the air. Pack. Not team. Not crew.
Pack.
"This is my fault," I try again. "If anyone should be punished—"
"Stop," Jackson says, louder this time. "Just stop, Reese."
I turn to look at them. All eight of them, standing behind me like a shield. Gray's hand on my shoulder. Bo close enough that I can feel his breath. Tyler with his jaw set in determination.
"Don't do this," I whisper. "Don't throw away your futures for—"
"For you?" Zane steps forward, pulling me into his arms before I can protest. His embrace is warm, solid, everything I've been trying not to need. "You are our future."
"Mr. Hollis," Morrison's voice is sharp. "Physical displays are inappropriate—"
"No," Gray says, and there's steel in his voice I've never heard before. "What's inappropriate is threatening to destroy our crew because we refuse to pretend we're something we're not."
"You're playing with fire," Carmine says. "Eight Alphas, one Omega. The biological imperatives alone—"
"We've been managing for weeks," Bo points out. "We just won Riverside. In the middle of a heat cycle."
"Because you finally stopped fighting what you are," Bennett speaks for the first time.
"Your performance improves when you work as a pack.
It fails when you fight it. Assistant Coach Torres' observation reports confirm it - your synchronization increases when you stop suppressing your biological dynamics. "
Carmine flips through her papers, frowning. "Torres did note improvement in the recent practices..."
"Significant improvement," Bennett corrects. "Best times they've posted all season."
"Because we were fighting ourselves," Cameron says. "Fighting what we knew was right because we were afraid of this." He gestures at the panel. "Afraid of you."
"As you should be," Morrison says coldly. "I have the authority to dissolve this team immediately."
"Then do it," Gray says.
Everyone turns to stare at him. Even I twist in Zane's arms to look at his face.
"Gray," I breathe.
He meets my eyes. "I'm done letting fear control me.
Done letting other people decide what I can and can't have.
" His gaze shifts to Morrison. "You want to dissolve the team?
Fine. But you'll have to explain to the alumni why the crew that just won Riverside—while our coxswain was in heat—suddenly disappeared two weeks before nationals. "
"Is that a threat, Mr. Lockwood?"
"It's a fact. We're ranked third nationally after that win. We'll take the championship if you stop trying to force us apart. You destroy us now, you destroy the program's reputation and a guaranteed national title."
"Your parents—" Morrison starts.
"Can go to hell," Gray says flatly. "All of them. Any parent who'd rather see their child miserable than happy doesn't deserve consideration."
Tyler makes a sound beside him. When I look, there are tears in his eyes.
"Tyler?" I ask softly.
"He's right," Tyler says, voice thick. "My parents have had my life planned since I was five. Which schools, which degrees, which job offers to accept. But this?" He gestures at all of us. "This is the first choice I've ever made that was just mine. And I'm not giving it up."
"This is insanity," Whitfield mutters.
"This is biology," Beckett says simply. "Scent-matched bonds exist for a reason. Sometimes eight Alphas and an Omega just... fit."
"You're suggesting you're fated mates?" Carmine's tone is skeptical.
"I'm suggesting," Tyler says, his analytical mind working, "that there's documented precedent for multi-Alpha pack bonds with a single Omega when the scent compatibility is strong enough. It's rare, but not unprecedented."
"And you all just happen to be scent-matched?" Morrison asks.
"You tell us," Cameron says quietly. "We won Riverside with our coxswain in active heat. If that's not proof of biological compatibility, what is?"
Morrison stands, planting both hands on the table. "Biological compatibility doesn't mean you understand the consequences of what you're proposing. The scrutiny, the judgment, the professional ramifications—"
"We're not naive," I say, finding my voice. "We're adults making an adult decision about our lives."
"Based on what? Hormones?" Morrison challenges.
"Based on knowing," Jackson says quietly, and everyone turns to look at him because he so rarely speaks in groups. "Sometimes you just know who you're supposed to be with. It's not logical. It's not convenient. But it's right."
"The science supports it," Eli adds. "Scent-matched groups show increased performance, better emotional regulation, stronger pack bonds. We're not fighting biology anymore. We're accepting it."
"A decision that could ruin you," Harmon says, but her voice is softer now. "The scrutiny you'll face, the judgment—"
"We've already faced it," Eli points out. "From other teams, from our families, from you. We're still here."
"We're still together," Jackson adds quietly.
Morrison looks at Bennett. "Coach? You've been remarkably quiet."
Bennett sighs, rubbing his face. "They're the best crew I've ever coached.
Their synchronization is unlike anything I've seen in thirty years of rowing.
If you force me to choose between regulations and excellence...
" He trails off, shaking his head. "I won't choose. But I won't stand in their way either."
"This is highly irregular," Carmine says.
"Everything about this is irregular," Morrison agrees. "Which is why we need time to consider the implications."
"How much time?" Gray asks.
Morrison and the others exchange glances.
"One month," she says finally. "You have one month to formalize your...
arrangement. All bonds must be registered with the university health center.
Any violation of conduct standards, any degradation in performance, any sign that this is affecting your academics or the integrity of the program, and you're done. All of you."
"That's not—" I start.
"It's more than fair," Morrison cuts me off. "Most schools would expel you immediately. One month. Prove this can work, or it ends."
"We'll prove it," Gray says.
Morrison's laugh is bitter. "We'll see, Mr. Lockwood. We'll see."
She gathers her papers, and the panel files out. Bennett pauses at the door, looking back at us. He sighs and shakes his head before saying quietly, "I hope you prove me wrong about this being impossible."
Then he's gone, and we're alone.
The silence stretches until I can't stand it anymore. I wrench myself out of Zane's arms, whirling to face them.
"What the hell were you thinking?" My voice cracks. "Do you have any idea what you've just done?"
"Saved you from martyring yourself," Bo says mildly.
"You didn't save me. You've potentially destroyed your futures. Gray, your parents—"
"Will either accept my choices or they won't," Gray says. "But they won't control me anymore."
"Tyler, your scholarship—"
"Is based on academic merit, not their approval," Tyler says. "I ran the numbers. I can make it work."
"All of you." I look at each of them, my vision blurring. "You're idiots. Complete, absolute idiots."
"Probably," Cameron agrees. "But we're your idiots."
"That's not—" I break off, covering my face with my hands. "One month. How are we supposed to form six more bonds in one month?"
"Enthusiastically," Eli says simply. I smack him on the arm but he just grins at me.
"It's impossible," I say, glaring at each of them.
"No," Jackson says, stepping closer. "What's impossible is imagining a future without you in it."
"Jackson," I breathe.
"I was broken before you," he continues. "We all were, in different ways. But you made us whole. Made us a pack."
"So we're not letting you go," Beckett adds. "Not for the university, not for our families, not for anyone."
"Even if it means losing rowing?" I ask.
"Rowing brought us together," Gray says. "But it's not what keeps us together. You are."
The tears come then, hot and fast. Eight pairs of hands reach for me, pulling me into the center of a group embrace that should feel suffocating but instead feels like coming home.
"One month," I whisper against someone's chest. Tyler's, from the scent.
"One month," he confirms. "We can do this."
"How?"
"Same way we row," Bo says. "All eight, swing together."
"Plus one," Zane adds, pressing a kiss to my temple. "Our perfect nine."
I want to argue more. Want to tell them they're making a mistake, that I'm not worth this sacrifice. But surrounded by their warmth, their certainty, maybe their love, I can't bring myself to push them away.
"Okay," I whisper. "Okay."
"Okay?" Gray pulls back enough to see my face. "You'll let us do this? Form the bonds?"
I look at him, this beautiful, stubborn Alpha who just said his parents could go to hell for me. Then at the others, each one ready to fight the world if necessary.
"Like you're giving me a choice," I say, but there's no heat in it.
"There's always a choice," Cameron says seriously. "This only works if you want it too."
"I want it," I admit, the words tearing from somewhere deep. "God help me, I want all of you."
"Then you have us," Gray says simply. "All of us."
"One month," I repeat, the timeline sitting heavy in my chest.
"One month," they echo.
We stand there in the empty conference room, holding each other like our lives depend on it. Maybe they do. One month to form eight bonds. One month to prove the impossible.
But looking at their faces, feeling their determination through the tentative pack bonds already forming, I think maybe, just maybe, we can pull this off.
We have to.
Because the alternative—going back to being alone, being less than what we are together—isn't an alternative at all.
It's unthinkable.