Chapter Seven
The practice is already well underway by the time I make it to the arena. A lot of players invite friends to watch from the stands and cheer them on.
The scrimmage is as close to a real game as it can be, and there’s something special about watching a game just for you and the players. The team plays each other for practice, so it’s good-hearted and meant to test each other’s weaknesses. I’ve been to my fair share as Brad’s favorite.
There’s typically a dozen or so bunnies and girlfriends watching in a gaggle. The girls group up in the seats at ice level. They always sit in the same space near the player’s box to natter and chirp at the guys, who pound the boards when they skate by. It’s fun to be a part of the game in a more private setting, like we’re participating in it.
The downside, of course, of sitting by the box is there isn’t an easy way to get there. I have to come in the main doors directly behind the goalie and net, tromp all the way down the stairs, and then circle around the boards.
The women whisper hurriedly when I come through the door. They see me notice them gossiping and freeze, but Livvy catches my eye and grins.
Greeeeaaatttt. What’s she done now?
Another massive benefit of the wife card—sitting up in the box or in the lower club seats without having to worry about girl-on-girl crime. Some of the wives still sit by the glass for the kids to cheer on their dads, but mostly not.
As I head toward the women I’ve known for more than a year, their eyes rake over my exposed legs in the black cut-offs barely visible under a jersey with Mason’s new number on it. He left it in my room my second night at the house, and both he and Brad are going to flip their shit when they see me walking around like all I’ve got on is Mason’s navy-and-white jersey and my favorite flame-red heels.
Is it a little trashy? Maybe. But I’m fucking hot and that’s what matters most.
Under the girls’ intense scrutiny, I straighten my spine and add a hitch to my hips. Each step girds my responses and builds up my defenses. They can fire their heaviest artillery because I’m winning this war in my polyester armor.
When I make it to the glass circling the rink, whistles from the guys ring out to Coach Adelard’s harsh reprimands to simmer down.
The glass is cold under my fingers as I skim them along the surface and seek out my guys.
Vin’s at the net closest to me and stops and turns around entirely to take me in. He pretends to drink from his water bottle while he grins at me through the mouthguard.
I flip my hair so he can see where I’ve written “W V L” on my neck in navy blue permanent marker. He shakes his head but smiles and then pivots back to take his position.
Ice flies as Mason comes to a sharp stop in front of me on the other side of the barrier. He’s already laughing when I draw the collar aside to emphasize the callback to our first kiss.
Mason thumps his glove on the glass. With a tenuous glance at the player’s box, then over the guys skating circles around on the ice, and he leans against the glass to awkwardly press his cheek to the surface. I roll my lips together to refresh the lipstick and plant a kiss on the pane where his face is.
My red-hot lip pattern is barely visible, but he still smiles at it and then focuses on me. I think he’s going to yell something, until another player shoves him hard into the glass as he passes.
Brad flies by, not even looking back after the improper body check, and instead points to Livvy in the crowd.
“That’s it, sexy!” she screams in her pathetic, high-pitched baby voice.
Mason and I share a collective eye roll, but he returns to the scrimmage.
Trick’s nowhere to be seen, but Vin’s and Mason’s responses are enough to keep me floating to where the women are waiting.
“Ladies,” I say in greeting. “Sorry I’m late. I didn’t get off work until three.”
“Wyatt’s still making you work?” Livvy snips. “Poor little bunny, so much work to do whether sitting on your ass or flat on your back. Mason’s a dog; I bet he prefers it on all fours.”
Half the women willfully avoid looking at either of us, and the rest are gawking at Livvy or hyperfocused on my reaction.
“Jealousy is ugly on you, Olivia.”
“I scored the captain, so you’re projecting. And it’s Livvy, Isabelle.”
“We aren’t friends, Olivia. Call me whatever you like. You do not matter one bit to me.”
She laughs, her pretty, angular face becoming sharp and taut.
“You’ve never been a very good liar,” she announces to the group. “If I’m so low on your priorities list, why do you keep sending pathetic late-night text messages to Brad, begging him to take you back? I hear the pings, you know. We were fucking when you messaged him last night.”
Hell.Brad’s the one messaging me, not the other way around. Is that what he’s telling her?
Either she’s lying to embarrass me in front of the girls or he’s already cheating on Livvy too.
Probably a bit of both.
So, I fire my silver bullet—my phone. Flicking through the options, I open the string of texts between Brad, starting with his pathetic apology.
“Do me the honors?” I ask the girl seated to my right. She’s been here a few times. Her name might be Kenna, but it also might be Crista... I can never keep the Livettes straight.
She squints at the phone then confirms the last message in the chain is Brad begging for me back two days ago.
Olivia reddens and huffs. “She deleted it—or actually, I’d bet she has a second phone to hide her salacious activities from Wyatt and the rest. Or, I bet Brad had to block her number to keep the contact to a minimum. Two days ago is when we started dating seriously.”
Tamping down the jealousy and rage at her comment about dating seriously, I force a nonchalant smile. With that look in her eye, I know she won’t let it go unless I give her something truly stunning. Something so embarrassing that she can’t figure out how to burn through it with her dragon breath.
A plan forms to undercut some of Brad’s appeal to the others while I’m at it.
“Keep telling yourself that, Olivia. Just remember that when you’re cleaning his chartreuse toenail clippings out of the kitchen sink. Remember that he could pay a maid but instead he’s asking you to do it.”
“He . . . does not!” she splutters out.
But I know he does. He says acts of service are part of his love language—meaning he wants you to perform them. It’s been more than three weeks since I cut it off with him, which means he needs a new servicer of said acts.
The scrimmage lasts a full two hours more. I field two text messages from my parents and have to reassure them, again, that I’m fine. Being the second youngest and the only omega makes them overreact.
Their heavy attention is a burden. If only my beta siblings could carry even a fraction of it, then I wouldn’t have to lie to them so much.
Brad, Trick, and two others remain on the ice for some last-minute work on plays while Vin remains as the star goalie.
The girls start to clear out because the players are being released, which leaves me stranded with Livvy and her hangers-on. She holds court, bragging about our captain’s promise to take her to a five-star restaurant afterward for dinner.
She’s wearing leggings and cowboy boots so I find that highly suspect, but it’s no use arguing with her. I know Brad’s only taking her to upset me. He can’t possibly be serious about her.
Right?
Yes. Of course.
Doubt creeps in as I wait.
Have I pushed him too far? Is he trying to get over me by getting under Olivia?
A heavy wash of paranoia erodes my confidence.
Is she better than me?
As if on cue, Mason texts to see if I want to go somewhere while Vin and Trick wrap things up. He adds a shower dick pic that’s clearly fake with the caption, “come lick me clean.”
After a bit of banter that boosts my spirits, we agree to head to Fluke’s with the other players. He tells me he’ll come get me so we can both give goodbyes to the guys on the ice and adds a sly winky face as if I wouldn’t have gotten his meaning.
Ten minutes later, Mason struts through the inner arena doors. His hair’s still wet but he fills out the polo and slacks like they were tailor-made. He makes it to the lower edge of the rink and marches in my direction with that sly grin affixed to his face. He tilts his head as if to ask, well?
Rushing to my feet, I bolt for my favorite fuckboy. I get a solid hop in my heels and send a silent prayer he can catch me. He drops the bag and is already swinging me around before I realize I’ve succeeded.
My player-of-a-player grips my ass and fists the back of my shirt as he pulls me in for one hell of a kiss.
With my bare legs wrapped around him, I grind my center against him and release any hesitation I’ve been having.
If Mason wants to put on a show, then we’ll put on a show.
We kiss like we’re trying to defeat the other in a game of dominance. Most alphas would hate that, but Mason sees it for the challenge it is. I wrap my arms over his shoulders and run my hands through his short hair. His tongue spears into my mouth as he groans.
Mason loses balance but catches us before we can canter off to the side.
He smears lipstick across both our faces and nips along my jaw despite my foundation, then continues down the column of my neck.
When he gets to the junction with my shoulder, he kisses the still-present brand with his initials and drags his teeth to the other side.
A guttural growl, feral and threatening, reverberates as I throw my head back to bare my skin to him. He opens wide, his teeth sinking in enough to pinch without breaking the skin.
Fuck, I like him doing that.
I want to be marked so badly. The urge is a living, breathing demand pacing in my chest like it controls my heartbeat.
Every thump is another demand to let him bite me.
Give in, the thing whispers. Good mate. Strong mate.
I want him.It’s been too long since Trick crept into my room. My body demands what’s so easily available around me now. I can suppress it with the pills, but that old scar is twitching like a motherfucker and demanding my attention.
Mason loosens his teeth and moves back to my mouth, thank the stars.
That is, until an explosion of sound and air erupts beside us.
The glass pane only inches away spiders into a thousand tiny fractures and implodes as a hockey puck rockets a foot to our left.
Glass showers down, and Mason swings me away from it while hovering over me to protect me with that imposing height and those magnificent shoulders.
Mason kneels, cradling me in his arms and taking the worst of the glass spray. Shards scrape fine lines across my exposed forearms still circled around his neck.
“Cameron, what the hell?” Coach Adelard screams. “I expect better from our captain!”
“I was aiming for the net,” Brad hollers back. “Not my fault your goalie can’t catch for shit. If anything, you should be penalizing LaMille and Vinson for fucking with practice.”
* * *
The other girls—even Livvy—were gone by the time the team’s medic finished checking Mason and me over. Mason left to shower the glass off. I didn’t have that option and I’m a hundred percent certain that there are still shards in my hair.
Trick and Vin haven’t left me any peace.
It’s all a bit surreal having them hover around me. Yes, we’ve been playing house, but it wasn’t real. I’m a glorified maid.
Trick wouldn’t even let me change alone. At least Vin had the decency to allow privacy while I’m naked, even if he’s five feet away on the other side of the door.
The alpha’s standing near the exit of the club level’s swanky bathroom, facing the closed and locked door, while I change into one of his jerseys and an extra pair of Vin’s sweats.
The man in question was very nonplussed I resisted changing at all, and then only agreed if I could use some of Vin’s clothes. The beta only has a few inches on my waist and height, compared to Trick’s half a foot and Mason’s even more.
There is no way I’m walking out of here with a saggy crotch.
Trick seems to think he’s responsible for what happened. In that skewed alpha brain of his, he agreed to the pact and so he’s at fault for Brad’s temper.
“I really wish you would’ve waited outside,” I mutter.
“Let me do this, please,” he insists. “I’m not bothering you. I can’t leave you alone right now.”
“Is this some alpha and omega shit? Because I’ve lived a very long time without a big, strong alpha to take care of helpless, hapless little me.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Then what is it?”
He pauses for long enough that I finish changing and flap out my clothes in the trash. He must be able to hear it because he turns and offers me a plastic grocery bag.
“I need to protect you,” he says, as if that answers my question.
“What is it you think will happen if I’m left alone in the bathroom for a few minutes?”
“Leave it, Izzy. Just let me exist with you. Am I causing you any problems?”
“I’m not used to people being around all the time.”
“You’re an omega. How can you not be used to doting?”
“No one’s ever doted.”
“No one? That’s impossible.”
“Letting people dote means that those people know my designation.”
“How are you getting through heats?” he asks.
“However I can without bringing other people into it. Except for Brad, of course.”
He growls, and residual stress hormones send that vibration right between my legs.
The adrenaline dumped into my system by the glass incident has fully dropped off. My limbs are shaky and residual anxiety lingers, but now I have something entirely different to distract me until I can get home and crumple in peace.
Grinning, I saunter over to Trick and stand as close as I can without touching him.
“Do that again, alpha.”
“What?”
“The growl thing.”
“So you do have omega instincts.”
“Oh, shut up,” I say and shove his shoulder.
Instead of doing as I asked, he wraps arms around me and holds me in an enveloping hug. A deep, base-filled intonation resonates from his chest and my muscles instantly relax.
I melt into his arms while Trick holds and comforts me. I’d say it was a growl, but there’s something gentle to it. Soothing.
His hearty, warming scent wraps around my mind and rocks me into subtle comfort.
Is he doing what I think he is?
“What is this?” I whisper.
“Purring. It’s offensive that no one’s ever purred for you.”
“My mom taught me about it, but I’ve never...” My voice trails off.
I can’t admit to him I’m a purring virgin. It’s embarrassing. What kind of omega can’t convince an alpha to purr for her?
It’s pathetic. I’m pathetic. No alpha wants to—
“Hey,” Trick stops to say. “I’m proud to be your first. I’ll do it whenever you want.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Ok. Thanks.”
But the spell is broken. My anxiety has returned full force. Everything Livvy said collides with the fact that Brad’s never done this for me. That no alpha has ever done this for me even believing I’m a beta.
I clear my throat and step out of his arms.
“We should get going,” I say.
Trick escorts me out to find Vin and Mason pacing beyond the door. I probably look ridiculous in Mason’s oversized jersey and Vin’s sweats paired with my heels, but not much to be done about it now.
Here comes Izzy! Strolled in like a boss and out like a walk of shame gone wrong.
The boys fuss over me for several minutes before I get frustrated and storm off on my own. They trail behind me to the parking lot.
When we exit into the blinding late-afternoon sun, Brad’s leaning against the exterior wall with his arms crossed.
“You okay?” he asks after we spill into the parking lot.
Relief soars through me that he’s here and cared enough to make sure I’m okay. He waited long after the team had left and there’s no sign of Livvy in sight.
Instead of falling into his arms, though, I decide to throw what he did at him and see if he’ll respond with contrition. If he’s coming around, we can end this before things get too far.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve waiting for me,” I spit.
“I had to know you’re okay.”
“I’m fine, no thanks to you.”
“Come on, baby. Don’t be like that.”
Mason swings at Brad, but Brad dodges the sucker punch at the last minute and it rolls off his chin.
The guys pummel each other in the torso, and Trick and Vin have to tear them off each other.
I stomp off to my car while the guys bellow at Brad and Brad screams back at them.
They’re loudly following behind me while only half paying attention to our surroundings.
None of them see what I see when I turn the corner and find my beat up wreck of a car.
BETA WHOREhas been written in permanent marker a thousand times across my paint job.
Key scratches mar the surface anywhere the words haven’t been scrawled. There are several versions of handwriting here, so it wasn’t Livvy alone.
My windows are intact.
My tires are fine.
The body of the car has no visible, non-aesthetic damage.
The door handles have been left untouched.
This is purely about humiliation.
They expect me to drive home in a car with my misdeeds exposed for all to see. A scarlet letter to announce my offenses to society.
I expected pushback about being a live-in beta bunny. Even if some alphas mate and marry betas, packs belong exclusively to omegas. My guys aren’t a pack—not yet anyway—and I’d assumed the lack of formality would save me from this particular taboo.
Not so, it seems.
Thick lettering across the hood labels the driver a SELFISH SLUT!
Tears spring unbidden in my eyes. The pathetic little grocery bag with Mason’s jersey and my shorts plops onto the ground as my body attempts to reset and pretend this isn’t happening.
Swallowing seems to make it worse.
My breathing speeds as shame and anger surge.
It’s only then that I realize the guys have stopped talking.
I can’t turn and face them. Not like this. I’ll take a second to collect myself and then get in my car like it doesn’t bother me one bit.
I haven’t done anything wrong, I remind myself.
Whether beta or omega, the guys are acting on their own free will. Bunnies tend to be forgettable to most, and that works to my benefit.
There’s a drug store on the way back to the house. I’ll buy a vat of rubbing alcohol. With a little elbow grease, my car will be good as new.
There, a plan. Now to find my calm.
Five . . .
This is a good sign. It means the tale I’ve spun with the guys is convincing.
Four . . .
Brad chased me out here. He’s coming around.
Three . . .
The guys are reacting perfectly. It was a stroke of genius for Trick to refuse to leave my side.
Two . . .
Fuck the girls. Bunch of fakes who wouldn’t know a testicle from a receptacle.
One . . .
I have nothing to be ashamed of. They wish they were me.
As I turn to face my audience, Mason is there to catch me. Long arms circle me and hold me tight to him. His chest rumbles like Trick’s did but with a different timbre to it. It’s smooth and more subtle, but the effect is every bit as intense.
“Ignore them, my sexy bunny. Envy is for the weak, and you are the strongest woman I’ve ever met.”
Vin’s at my side an instant later, but Trick doesn’t join us.
I can’t blame him. He didn’t want the pact in the first place. I wouldn’t be surprised if he calls the whole thing off and I’m homeless yet again.
My eyes water over and I bury my face in Mason’s chest so no one will see me sob.
I hate this. I’m so exposed out in the open parking lot, even hidden by Mason and with Vin close.
Except, a moment later, Trick is there. He pockets his phone and murmurs to me in a soothing voice.
“They’ll tow your car to the shop. You can use mine to get around until it’s repainted.”
“I can’t afford that. I appreciate the tow, but have them bring it to the house. I’ll take care of it.”
“Izzy—”
“No, Trick. It’s my car. My decision.”
He chews on his bottom lip, and I can tell it’s taking all of his energy not to argue with me.
One thing’s for sure, he may be letting it go for now but he has no intention of leaving it at that.
“Let’s get you home,” Mason says, his voice low and calm.
“Home? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Brad interjects, his tone acidic.
Mason twists us around so he can spit back his own retort.
“Your girl did this, captain,” he says with more venom than I’ve ever heard from him.
“Livvy’s not my girl.”
“She sure likes to claim it,” I reply.
“Oh, come on, baby. You know how the bunnies are. They all want what we have.”
Vin is practically vibrating with anger beside us. I reach out to take his hand so he won’t get himself kicked off the team.
“Had, Brad,” I reply. “What we had.”
“We still have it. You just need to relax a little and everything will fall into place.”
“Into place?” Vin snaps. “Your girlfriend and all of her little friends destroyed Izzy’s car, and what have you done about it? Not a single fucking thing.”
“I didn’t get the chance. It’s not my fault Wyatt’s faster with a phone than me.”
“I don’t want to argue,” I say. “I just want to go home.”
“Well, come on then,” Brad says and holds out a hand.
“You expect me to go home with you? You’re telling everyone who’ll listen that I’m texting at all hours, begging for you back.”
“That’s just Livvy. You know how she is.”
“Yes, I do, and how she is vandalized my car!”
“Calm down, baby. I’ll take care of it all, but you have to come with me now.”
Mason’s hold on me tightens.
“Stop calling her your fucking baby,” he growls.
“You and I both know you can’t stay with them any longer,” Brad adds. “This is just another example of that. You need me.”
“Oh, I need you?”
“Sure seems like it.”
“Give me one good reason why I need you, Brad. I’m surrounded by three guys who’ve made my life immensely better than it ever was with you.”
Prove you’ve seen the light!
“The girls, these guys, none of them understand. Even you don’t understand. You’ve never lived openly. My first girlfriend was an omega, so I get it. You’ll realize once you’re home with me that I’m better for you than them.”
Time seems to slow as Brad so casually throws that out into the world like it doesn’t matter.
In a panic, I try to cover it up.
“Yes, that’s what every beta needs,” I scoff.
Remember, you idiot? No one’s supposed to know!
Of course, though, he charges like a raging bull right past my reminder.
“You haven’t told them then?” he scoffs. “She must not trust you. Izzy’s an omega hiding from the Admin.”
I don’t know what to say to stop the freight train of angry Brad barreling toward the end of the tracks.
“The drive to bite her will get stronger the longer she’s in your house. It took all my energy not to mark her. Fucking LaMille’s already acting like he’ll bite her, and Wyatt’s neck didn’t get scratched to hell because she’s exercising restraint. It’s best to give her back now before you make a mistake that can’t be undone.”
None of the guys speak, but their gazes burn into me. I know what they’re thinking. They’re debating if I’m worth the trouble. They’re dreading my emotional breakdown. They’re angry I’m getting between them. They’re worrying about their own cars, belongings, and reputations.
Long moments pass while I wait for Mason and Vin to explode.
And then, when Trick doesn’t, for the tumult I have caused between them.
“We should go,” is all Trick gets out.
“That’s for the best,” Vin parrots.
Right, they’ll want to scream at me in private.
Brad objects, but I’m too stunned to reply.
I don’t argue when Vin steers me by the hand around the parking lot to where Trick’s Jeep is waiting.
Brad chases along behind us. His voice suddenly cuts off, and I assume he’s retreated because he knows I’m about to be out on my ass—or worse—anyway.
The walk is a daze.
A high-pitched whine blots out any further sound.
It takes the entire ride home for my mind to reconcile what’s just happened.
...and that the number of people who know my secret has now grown exponentially.