26. Oliver
The doctor cleared me to drive just in time to make the appointment Logan arranged for us during All-Star break, but I swear I must be seeing things. The GPS brought us across the river and into the West Bank area, and has us stopping in front of one of the many single-story shotgun houses on this street. A small sign outside declares it to be the law practice of H. Jones, so I know we’re in the right spot. But it couldn’t be more different than I would have imagined as the place of business for a successful pack court lawyer.
The front yard inside a waist-high chain-link fence is overgrown, the grass and wildflowers desperately reaching higher and higher for an ounce of sunlight. A well-maintained stone path cuts through, leading up to a covered porch. There are a couple of wicker chairs and a matching coffee table, surrounded by larger potted plants.
Eli and I pause for a moment at the front garden gate, probably for similar reasons, as we stare up at the green house blending into the jungle-like landscaping. I glance around the deserted streets, tension twisting my insides despite not finding any cars or people. Not that I’m ashamed to be here, but we were warned to watch out for anyone tailing us. If we were caught and outed before we’re ready, all this effort would be wasted.
I follow Eli through the open gate, my thoughts swirling. With Tori and Spencer in Vegas, now is the perfect time to get this ball rolling. At first, I was seriously hesitant to trust Logan to take point on this. He’s smart, almost too smart, and trying to be too clever could just as easily backfire as it could succeed. Filing court documents before approaching upper management is a huge risk and, even though we’ve gone through our contracts with a fine-toothed comb, they could still terminate all of us on the spot.
Which would absolutely fucking suck, to put it mildly. I’m healing faster than anyone expected, and the doctors have cleared me to return to off-ice conditioning ten days sooner than the original estimate. Though I need to get back on the ice before Leroy tanks any remaining chances we have at making the playoffs.
Eli’s sharp knocks on the front door pull me out of my head, and I square my shoulders. We wait for several long moments, but I can’t hear any movement from inside. Eli and I share a worried glance, and I pull out my phone to check Logan’s message. No, we’re at the right address.
Eli lifts his hand to knock again, but before he can make contact, the purple-painted wood slab swings open, revealing a massive, shirtless form. One inhale is all it takes for me to recognize him as an alpha, and a bonded one at that. Earthy matcha mixed with something soft and feminine. Honeysuckles?
“Can I help y’all?” the alpha asks, his deep voice echoing from within his barrel chest.
“Hi. We’re here to see Ms. or Mr. Jones? The pack court attorney?” Eli asks in response, a hesitant edge to his voice.
Not that I blame him. This stranger is big enough to tower over me and has almost a foot on my partner. His dark skin gleams with sweat, like he’s been out doing manual labor before we arrived. Deep brown eyes narrow as he looks us up and down before nodding to himself and leaning back far enough to turn his head.
“Ayo, Greenie. You’ve got some new clients or somtin’,” he calls into the house.
I’m not sure what to make of this. Logan promised that his buddy’s lawyer is one of the best in the city. But how good could they possibly be when this is the greeting we get?
“It’s all good, B. They’re early, but they can come on in,” a female voice answers back.
B, the alpha, steps back, holding the door open for us to step inside, and closing the front door behind us. The front room is much cleaner than I was expecting, though there are still potted plants occupying space on every flat surface. But the furniture is clean and modern, the hardwood floors reflecting the afternoon sun spilling through the sheer curtains. There’s a closed door to the right, and a doorway with batwing doors hung inside to separate the sitting room from what could be a kitchen, at least judging by the transition from wood to tile flooring.
“Have a seat. She’ll be with y’all in two shakes,” B says, motioning to the couches before turning and heading through the swinging doors.
I find my skepticism reflected back at me when Eli looks my way this time. I’ll admit that my experience with lawyers is lacking, but this doesn’t feel like the norm. I stay standing, keeping my body angled toward the door as my eyes scan every detail of the room, searching for anything that could indicate what sort of mess we’ve gotten ourselves into. Eli takes a seat on the couch, though he doesn’t relax, choosing to stay perched on the edge of the cushions. Motion at the back of the room draws our attention, and my confusion only deepens as I see the woman pushing through the saloon doors.
First thing that hits me is her halo of tightly coiled curls, the near-black tresses shiny and healthy despite the chaotic array. She’s not tall, though I wouldn’t exactly call her short either. There’s also a timeless youth to her deep complexion, only a few laugh lines around her eyes marring her otherwise flawless skin. Dressed professionally in a blouse and wide-legged trousers, her bare toes poke out from beneath the hems of her pants.
“Sorry ’bout the wait, gentlemen. I was just making some refreshments for us. D’you mind getting the door for me, baby?” Ms. Jones starts, her words thick with the regional accent, curls bouncing as she nods to the closed door off of the sitting room.
Eli jumps up from his seat as if someone had tased him, scrambling for the door as she dips back into the kitchen and reemerges holding a bright yellow tray laden with a full pitcher of what I can safely assume is homemade sweet tea and three crystal glasses. She gives Eli a bright white smile as she leads the way through the door and into her office.
This space is more in line with what I had pictured a lawyer’s office would look like. Massive floor-to-ceiling bookshelves stuffed with thick-spined legal texts. Half a dozen filing cabinets, some of the drawers open to reveal manila folders, and several more neat piles of folders and documents sitting on top of the metal columns. A large, solid wood desk, with a high-backed chair behind it and two smaller but no less comfortable chairs in front of it.
Ms. Jones rounds her desk and sets the tray on the corner closest to us, motioning for Eli and me to sit once her hands are free. I share another glance with Eli, just to make sure he’s okay with this, only sitting down once he gives me a tiny nod and closes the office door. I let my eyes wander around the office again as Eli takes his seat, my gaze snapping to a metallic glint as the light shifts. A name plate.
Henrietta Jones, Esquire - Family and Pack Law
“You boys thirsty? Let me get you something to sip on while we talk,” Henrietta says, pulling my attention back to her face.
I’m about to decline, but she’s already poured two of the three cups, the ice tinkling merrily against the glass. She hands one each to Eli and I before settling back into her chair, crossing one leg over the other, looking at us expectantly.
Eli clears his throat and takes a sip of his tea, and I catch the slight lift of the corners of his mouth. I take a sip myself, the sugary sweetness of it so reminiscent of Tori’s scent that my heart aches. God, I miss her and it’s hardly been two days since she left.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us, Ms. Jones,” Eli starts, all politeness and softened Swedish vowels.
“Call me Rita, honey. And it’s my pleasure. But I’m hoping you can provide some answers I couldn’t get from our mutual friend when he made this appointment.” She sips her tea with a sly sort of smile I can’t really unravel.
Eli’s eyes ask me for permission to take the lead. I give him an encouraging smile, settling back into my chair. My partner turns back to Rita and explains our predicament as succinctly as he can. We need to form a pack to protect ourselves from retaliation from upper management, especially for Tori. Details have to stay private for as long as possible, so we can’t be forced into abandoning the cause by the league or the owner of the Mystic.
“And if it’s possible, we’d like to have it done before the middle of March,” Eli finishes with a sigh.
There’s a moment when I’m convinced Rita is going to laugh in our faces, or tell us we’re crazy and kick us out. She leans forward and sets her glass down on a coaster before she shakes her mouse and starts clicking away on her computer. I have to swallow a growl and a bark, trying not to disrespect the one person who might be able to help us. But the longer the silence stretches, the harder it is to control my instincts.
“Who’s going to be involved with this?” Rita asks, looking back up at us with her fingers poised over the keyboard.
I blink in surprise, both at her sudden shift in tone and her question. “Wh-what are you — What do you mean?” My responding question stumbles out.
Rita turns a stern gaze to me. “Who’s going to be in the pack and what are their designations?”
I let out a little breath of relief. “Myself, Eli, and Spencer are alphas, and Tori—Victoria Strauss—is an omega.”
We’d agreed that Logan shouldn’t join our pack until after the season is over. We don’t have room for error or questions, and we could shout from every rooftop in the state that Logan isn’t intimately involved with any of us except Tori, but it wouldn’t stop the rumor mill from grinding.
Rita starts typing, her nails clacking on the keys as her fingers move with practiced speed, filling out whatever form she has pulled up with our answers. It goes smoothly for a while, mostly demographics and lineage questions that we don’t have to think too hard about. But then she pauses, and her eyes scan the page.
“We’re almost done, and because your friend covered my retainer, I should be able to get this filed before the court closes today. Otherwise, it’ll be on Tuesday, which won’t be too late, but we really need every day we can get. It’s nothing more than an intent to file notice, but it will get us moving in the right direction,” she says, half speaking to herself and not looking at us.
Eli and I share a delighted look, relief flooding my system. That’s much sooner than I would have ever expected.
“Last thing I need is what name y’all picked and who’s going to be Prime Alpha,” Rita says with a soft smile.
We’d never discussed anything like that. I’m not sure how to answer.
“Do we need a name right now?” Eli asks, picking up on my thoughts.
Rita hums, chewing her bottom lip. “I suppose not. But I’ll need one so I can file the paperwork for review. We can’t get a court date until that’s done.”
Fuck. I look at Eli, who has the same hesitant expression on his face that I can feel pinching mine. The gears turn in his head, but I’m already pulling out my phone and typing a message. I have no idea what time it is in Vegas, but Tori always has her phone on her. I decide against sending her a private message, opting for the group chat Eli made for our household, excluding Logan for now.
What should we name our pack? And who should be in charge?
“And we have to name a pack leader now?” Eli asks, trying to buy time.
“A Prime Alpha, yes,” Rita replies.
“Why does it have to be an alpha? In Sweden, we can have omegas or betas as pack leaders,” Eli protests.
Rita lets out a long sigh. “However y’all want to run your pack at home is y’all’s business, honey. If I had a dollar for every client who wanted to have their omega in charge, I wouldn’t need to have a practice anymore. But the laws in the fine state of Louisiana aren’t as progressive as we might wish they were. The Prime Alpha is your legal decision maker. They speak for y’all in court, and they’re the ones who open pack bank accounts and sign for pack assets, like houses or cars. Federal law overruled the ‘male’ part of the statute a few years back, but they haven’t quite gotten around to fixin’ the designation part.”
Rita and Eli let out matching chuckles, but I can’t focus on anything except my phone screen. Seconds feel like hours. I’m sure the weekend delay won’t set us back too far, but I’m not willing to risk it.
Tori
Spencer says Pack Mystic.
And we think it should be you, Oli, as Prime Alpha.
I’m stunned and unable to move as I keep reading the simple lines over and over. Eli shifts to remove his phone from his pocket, grinning to himself and then giving me a nudge. I look up into the crystal blue eyes of my lover and best friend, and he’s smiling, nodding in agreement.
“Is everything okay?” Rita asks.
I clear my throat and sit forward, shoulders dropping and rolling back. “Yeah. We’ve got our picks for you.”