Chapter Twenty
“It may have been precursors for a heat,” I say. “Maybe my body sensed I wasn’t tethered anymore and just snapped.”
My case worker, Marta, sits on the other side of her cheap desk in her dingy office at the Admin’s central Addevale location.
“One minute she was perfuming, and the next thing I know my teeth are in her,” Trick says.
“Our own bonds are still fresh,” Mason adds. “That’s a reason why you don’t normally approve omega matches for new packs, right?”
The adjudicator leaning against the wall uncrosses his arms and comes to perch on the edge of the desk.
I’m sure he has a name. I’m even sure he told me what it was.
The uncomfortable chair irritates how sore I am.
To be convincing, we reported the incident in the morning—after we’d notified everyone’s families and Jolie of course.
We didn’t even shower. The dispatched emergency medical team seemed impressed, frankly.
“You expect us to believe that you spontaneously bonded the first night your chip is off, immediately after your exclusive courtship application was denied?”
“The subconscious wants what the subconscious wants,” Trick replies.
The suit flips open the manila folder on the desk and fans out eight-by-tens of my bruises and bites, and I think of the other gift my guys gave me this morning.
When I woke up, I caught Vin taking a candid selfie of everyone asleep in bed. He then took another less salacious version of only our feet under the comforter.
“What are you doing?” I whispered.
He pursed his lips and turned onto his shoulder to show me his phone.
“When we show you this later, you’re going to act surprised.”
“Okay . . . ”
On the screen, a private account popped up.
@The.Wyatt.Pack
The feed was filled with candid shots and clips, all tasteful, of the four of us on every date over the last month. It even included a few I know happened before Bradageddon but weren’t added until the day after, when the account was created.
In one, Trick smiled at me under his arm.
In another, Mason and Vin clinked foamy pilsner glasses.
I’m at the park, face up to the sun with my eyes closed as the rays leave my skin glowing.
Mase, Trick, and I are laughing at cooking class.
Each picture provides little glimpses. Content slices of our lives narrated in 1080p.
And I played in them predominantly.
Most of the shots of the guys are really moments where they’re focused on me, with or without my knowledge.
The account is a love letter to our pack before it was official.
“This was supposed to convince you to take the bonds,” Vin whispered.
“I love it,” I whispered back and then scrolled through it for so long that I had to hide the phone when the others started to wake.
My fingers itch to discreetly peek at my phone to skim through the pictures again, but the suit speaks up before I can.
“There’s a severe penalty for unauthorized bonds.”
Yep, all meant to discourage this exact behavior.
“We enact invasive monitoring standards for the omega’s safety. She’d have the chip reimplanted,” he continues.
Ugh. But also—worth it.
“There are house visits and we track any financial transaction over an amount set by your case worker.”
None of that erases our bonds.
The guys are mine and I’m theirs. Permanently.
“Ms. Madison seems to think this was legitimately a spontaneous bond.”
Madison! That’s Marta’s last name.
Wait, did he say . . .
“So, we’re fine then,” Mason chances.
“I don’t like it,” the suit says. “But your case worker has been with you for weeks and all of her reviews are positive. Dr. Genovese approved the removal of your chip. One of the factors is the likelihood the omega will act... impulsively.”
“I’ve been working very hard on myself and am embarrassed to have backslidden so severely,” I say and hang my head in contrite supplication.
A lifetime hiding from these very people was the perfect training to evade their evaluations.
Trick’s hand tightens on mine. “I think we’re done here. Any further questions can be directed to our lawyers.”
“Not yet,” the suit says. “I want her back for another med check in a week. We’ll reassess then.”
“We’ll submit to the med eval, but the Wyatt Pack considers this matter closed.”
“It’s not your call—”
“You have no basis to punish us. You know as well as I do that some physiological urges are unavoidable.”
“It’s too convenient.”
Trick squares his shoulders and casually tilts his head to the side. It’s arrogant and dismissive and I fucking love it. When he continues, his voice is smooth but the inherent threat is there.
“We were approved for courtship. The spontaneity exception is clear. From what you’ve told us, there is no documented basis to dispute the bonds. Our lawyers are prepared to remind your superiors and Judge Matthis—as frequently and as publicly as possible—that their professional athlete clients satisfy every factor for approving a bond.”
The suit closes the folder and narrows his eyes at my alpha, but Trick continues.
“Any rejection is purely politically motivated and will be contested vigorously. If you attempt to manipulate the circumstances in any way, we’ll be sure that our collective two-point-nine—”
“Three-point-two,” Vin interrupts.
“That our collective three-point-two million followers are aware of your corruption and discriminatory treatment. We will protect our omega, even from the Admin.”
Suit guy clenches his teeth but doesn’t say anything else.
My lead alpha rises to his feet and offers his hand to me. I place my fingers in his palm and he helps me to my feet.
“Let’s go home, sweetheart. You need to rest.”
The suit makes no attempt to intervene.
The four of us file out with my fingers braided with Vin’s and Mason’s while Trick leads the way.
When we approach the car, I use my hand locked with Mason’s to swing him around toward the driver’s side door.
“Mason’s driving home,” I say and leap onto Trick. He catches me automatically but scowls.
“Mason is not driving my car.”
“What you just did was so fucking hot. I’m blowing you on the way.”
He tosses his keys to Mason.
I make good on my promise, and then there’s so much more when we make it home.
Our home.
Life stops for no one though, and so the following day we all get ready for the guys’ practice.
Given the threat by the suit, my pack doesn’t want me alone at the house. None of us trust the Admin to leave it at that.
We’ll be joined at the hip for at least a few days.
No complaints from me.
I’m perfectly content to walk around with the product of our devotion prominently displayed.
My bites are a testament to what we have, and I’ll never be ashamed of that. I’ve come a long way from having a breakdown over my car being vandalized.
My short shorts scrape against the still-healing bite inside my thigh, and we’re barely into winter so I’m freezing, but I’ll make do. With my hair bound into a high, high ponytail, the marks are unmistakable.
The Wyatt Pack practically floats into the stadium together. We’ve already decided I’ll watch from the box. As much as I’d love to see the other girls’ faces, I’m not letting anything ruin this perfect day.
Vin tells me he’ll walk me up, but they want to make a show of saying goodbye to me at the locker room. I’m technically not allowed in there, but women also sneak in all the time.
The double doors swing open and the room quiets.
Three seconds of silence follow while the rest of the team takes in our appearances.
Someone starts a slow clap, and then it escalates to applause, hoots, and hollers.
“About fucking time!”
“Damn, you mauled each other.”
“Happy bonding, guys. Couldn’t happen to a better pack.”
Even Coach Adelard exits his office. He crosses his arms and leans against his open doorway but doesn’t demand that the group settle.
They carry on their congratulations until one particular player comes to investigate the commotion.
Brad Cameron, Captain of the Addevale Cannons, enters the room and assesses the crowd.
And then his gaze finally lands on us.
He examines every inch of my skin, so I twist my leg to better show him Mason’s bite.
“WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IS THAT?” he hollers.
The team calms.
“Hit the showers, Cameron,” Adelard demands.
“No fucking way.” Brad charges over to us, and Trick slides in front of me. The other two flank me in.
“Think very carefully about your next words,” Trick says through gritted teeth.
The two stare each other down and puff up their chests, but neither relents. I have to peer around Trick to see what’s going on.
Mason moves his collar aside for a better view of my bite, and Brad flicks his hand out.
Trick grabs his wrist before he can touch our packmate.
“If one of you hits the other, I’m benching all of you for the remainder of the season,” Adelard says, his voice flat and annoyed.
“That’s my omega,” Brad fumes.
“She’s never been yours, cap.”
That was the exact wrong thing to say. Brad growls in rage and slaps a stack of sticks waiting by the door so hard they go flying.
Coach Adelard lets out a frustrated breath.
“Do you know what I went through for you, Izzy?” he yells. “I was ready to give it all up for you. I even broke up with Livvy!”
“I’m pretty sure you were with Livvy the day you told me you wanted to bite me.”
“It was a goodbye hookup.”
“You humiliated her to break it off.”
“What difference does it make how I do it as long as it happens? It was for you, baby.”
“Don’t fucking call her baby,” Mason seethes.
“Mase,” Vin warns, but Mason doesn’t listen. His fists clench as he snarls his next words.
“You don’t deserve Izzy. She’s spent the last month dealing with the jeopardy you put her in! We’ve been with her every day, helping her dig out of the hole that you dug.”
“She’d have to go through it eventually.”
“Alone? Isolated? With no one to look out for her?”
“Izzy’s tough and independent. It’s what I like most about her.”
His words resound. Hearing him say that a few months ago would’ve made my heart beat, but now I see it for the play that it is.
“No, I don’t think that’s it,” I interrupt. “When you say tough, you mean that you can push me around and I’ll make it work. When you say independent, you mean you can do the bare minimum and I won’t complain.”
“Who cares? You’re all going to get sanctioned for bonding. They’ll take you away from them. Fucking hell, you look like you attacked each other.”
“It’s sad you’ve never had that kind of draw to someone,” I say with a sniff. “I’m not mad at you anymore, Brad. I pity you. You’re mediocre in every way compared to my pack.”
“Your pack,” he repeats, the intonation a curse.
“My pack, Brad. I wish you luck in the world.”
Brad roars and swings at Trick. My alpha dodges out of the way, and Brad whirls from his own momentum.
“Brad!” a Livette shrieks from the other side of the room. She leaps out from the concealed shower area.
“Damn it, Cameron,” Adelard grunts.
The Livette—Cara? Connie?—runs over to Brad in panties and a tank top and nothing else.
“Are you okay, honey? What did they do?”
“This is embarrassing,” Vin mutters.
But the Livette reels on us. She sights me down and literally hisses.
“Oh, it’s this bitch. Back to ruin his life?”
“Me ruin his life?”
“You and your omega pheromones were trying to trap him into a bond. You tried to force him but it didn’t work, now did it?”
“Sure, babe, whatever you need to tell yourself.”
“You just don’t listen, do you? Not when we fucked up your car, not when we spiked your drink. When are you going to accept the fact that Brad isn’t yours?”
The whole of the Wyatt Pack turns to her.
“Repeat that,” Mason says through gritted teeth.
“You heard me just fine, little league. That bitch didn’t belong at a fundraiser for proper people. All she did was distract Brad from taking care of the kids and securing enough money. So, I made sure she got sick enough to leave.”
In other words, she put something in my drink while I was having it out with Jolie.
“And my car?” I ask.
“Oh that was fun. Livvy’s idea, not mine, but so many girls hate you so it took no time at all to scribble all over your shitmobile. The world should know exactly what you are.”
“Did you get it?” I murmur to Vin.
He lowers his phone and uploads the video to the cloud. “Yep.”
“Coach,” Trick calls out. “Is there a policy about women in the locker room?”
“Sure is.”
“She’s in the locker room!” the Livette screeches.
The four of us glance up at the doorframe to make the point that I’m standing in the hallway and haven’t technically entered the room.
“Better handle your woman, Brad,” Mason says with a smirk.
Brad lashes out and punches the side of a locker shield. He pivots away, and when the Livette throws her arms around him, he shoves her off.
He takes in the full locker room, watching the drama play out.
“You’re all just staring at them,” he spits. “Look at what they did to her!”
A moment of tense uncertainty follows before someone speaks up.
“She seems pretty happy about it,” one of the guys calls out, and the rest of them chuckle.
“Looks like a lot of fun,” someone else adds, and the laughter grows.
Brad’s head swings left and right while they laugh at him.
“Man, fuck this!” he screams. “I can’t wait to get the fuck out of this place. One more season, you assholes. You better hope I get you rings because when I’m gone, you don’t have a shot in hell.”
“What does that mean?” Coach demands.
The room hushes as he stalks toward Brad.
“When you say one more season, what exactly do you mean, Cameron?”
“I’m finally getting out of this shithole. Thanks for the captainship, guys. It was exactly what I needed to trigger a bidding war over my independent trade. Come fall, I’ll be a brand new member of the Airmen.”
“That’s on the other side of the country,” I say.
“Not far enough away,” he replies.
“We have two seasons left on your contract,” Coach says.
“A problem for my lawyers,” Brad scoffs with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“In other words, you were ready to bond with Izzy and then force her to leave her friends and family,” Vin notes.
Plus, it means that the deal he tried to strike with Trick was even more lies. Brad never intended to be here next year at all, let alone as captain.
Words perch on my lips to call him out for it, but Coach Adelard claps a hand on the nape of his neck.
Brad startles, and the opening is enough for Adelard to grab a fistful of his hair.
Coach hauls Brad, bent over, to the double doors where we’re waiting. We part to allow them to pass.
Brad goes flying as Coach literally throws him out of the locker room. The Livette chases after him.
“Consider yourself benched for the season,” Coach says, his voice ominously calm. “We’ll see what Bondi and Wachter say about your contract.”
Oop, invoking the team owners means there’s no going back.
Coach ushers us into the locker room, slams the doors shut, and throws the deadbolt.
Brad beats on the door, but Coach picks up the wall phone hanging beside it.
“Yeah, security? Please escort Brad Cameron off the property. I’d also like his pass voided. If he comes anywhere near my stadium, you inform me and then you call the police for trespassing.”
The moment the phone lands in its cradle, the room erupts. Another round of cheers echo against the tile in the neighboring room.
“Enough!” Adelard roars, but the team ignores him. Every player gets up to shake his hand.
“You’re all a bunch of idiots,” he gripes. “Get ready for practice. We have work to do.”
The crowd settles, but he points at me.
“You—in my office. I’m not sending you out there until he’s gone. And I had better not see you in my locker room ever again.”
“Yes, Coach,” I reply.
When we’re in his office, he leaves the door open and I make myself unobtrusive in a chair in the corner.
Coach returns to his computer and paperwork and slides his glasses onto his face.
When he speaks, he’s still looking at the screen and I’m not entirely sure he’s talking to me.
“I should probably thank you. That guy’s such an asshole. He deserves what’s coming to him.”
I remain quiet but let a smile slip out.
He looks at me over his glasses.
“You treat my boys right, yeah? I’ve seen the difference in them. You make ‘em happy. They play better that way. We’ve got a cup to win and we’re down a starting player.”
“Yes, sir. I promise.”
It’s a promise I am absolutely certain I will have no trouble keeping.