Chapter 11
blair
My phone is ringing before I even make it halfway across campus.
It’s just after lunch and I’ve dodged my new Alphas all morning since practice.
I don’t know what to say to them. I don’t know how to explain that the needy bitch part of me isn’t an act.
That beneath all the crass words and hip thrusting, I crave them more than I do anything else.
Granted, I’d probably do the hip thrusting thing anyway.
I glance at the screen, already knowing who it is. Camila. Of course it’s Camila. She has this sixth sense for when I’m about to do something stupid or when I’m already in the middle of it. I answer on the third ring, earbuds in, gym bag slung over my shoulder as I walk toward the arena.
“Little brother,” she says the second the call connects, like she’s already three steps ahead of me. “You sounded like you were about to throw up when you left a message earlier. What did you do now?”
I laugh, but it comes out a little shaky.
I didn’t even say anything in that message other than hoping Camila was doing okay.
But now that she’s on the phone, I’m starting to fray at the edges.
“Nothing. Yet. I’m walking to the gym. Big match tonight.
You know, the one where I try not to get my ass handed to me in front of the entire school. ”
“Mm-hmm.” I can practically hear her leaning back in whatever expensive NYC chair she’s sitting in right now. “And how are things with your two terrifying Alphas? Still pretending you’re just casually getting railed six ways to Sunday every night?”
I nearly trip over my own feet. “Jesus, Cam. Volume.”
She ignores me completely. “You have to tell them, Blair.”
I slow down, kicking at a pebble on the sidewalk. “Tell them what? That I’m a greedy little shit who wants more than just their bed? They already know that.”
“No,” she says, sharper now. “You have to tell them. Alphas can’t read minds, dumbass.
They can read your scent and from what you’ve told me, yours has been screaming ‘I’m insecure and spiraling’ for days but I guarantee you that both of those beautiful, terrifying women aren’t used to seeing anything other than that bratty, cocky side of yours.
If you need something else from them, you have to say it.
Out loud. With words. Like a functional adult. ”
I swallow hard as I glance up at the arena, the noise of the crowd already leaking out the doors. My chest feels too tight. “It’s not that simple.”
Camila has been there for nearly every fallout, the tears, the shame, and the hurt that would follow when an Alpha deemed me too much.
It’s a piece of my life I shoved down under the facade that I was just a crass-mouthed, bratty Omega with too much of Daddy’s money.
It’s worked until now because I’ve never actually gotten anyone I’ve truly wanted.
“It is that simple,” Camila fires back. “You’ve spent your whole life using that pretty face and that mouth as currency, Blair.
I get it. It’s worked for you. But these two?
They’re not going to stick around if you won’t talk to them.
You’ll start to pull away like you always do and then your heart is going to break.
Stop waiting for them to guess. Stop assuming they’ll get bored.
Use your words, little brother. Before you fuck it up by accident. ”
I stop walking entirely, standing on the path outside the arena with people streaming past me.
My scent is probably souring again. “I don’t know how to ask for more than this,” I admit, voice quieter than I want it to be.
“What else is there? I can’t offer them anything except…
me. My body. The way I make them feel. That’s always been enough before. ”
Camila’s voice softens, just a fraction.
“Then maybe it’s time to find out if it’s enough for them, too.
Tell them what you need. Tell them you’re in love with the idea of waking up between them every single day and that you want or need all that disgusting hand-holding and PDA.
You deserve that, Blair. They deserve to know that’s what you want. ”
I rub a hand over my face. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll… think about it.”
“Think fast,” she says. “And win your damn match. I expect a full report tomorrow. Love you, idiot.”
“Love you too,” I mutter, and hang up before she can psychoanalyze me any more.
I shove my phone in my bag and head inside.
The gym is electric, the crowd already loud, both teams warming up, the air thick with adrenaline and nerves.
My teammates spot me and start yelling shit, but I just wave them off and head straight for the mats.
I need to focus and then I can fall apart just a little.
The match is brutal, mostly because I’m wired.
Every shot I take is sharper because Camila’s words are still ringing in my head.
I pin my first opponent in under a minute.
The second one puts up more of a fight, but I reverse him twice and come out on top by two points.
The third and final match of the night comes down to the wire.
We’re tied. Ten seconds left. I shoot in low, desperate to win, and manage to get behind him, driving him to the mat just as the buzzer sounds.
One point.
The ref’s hand goes up, signaling the end of the match and another win in my pocket.
The Knotlocke crowd explodes. My team rushes the mat, slapping my back, and shouting in my face.
Kenji is screaming something about me being a legend.
Devon looks like he might cry from relief.
I grin through it, but it feels a little hollow.
I should be riding high. Instead, I’m already scanning the stands for two specific faces.
Roxie’s match is up next. I don’t even bother changing out of my singlet.
I grab a hoodie and head to the front row on their side, my heart still hammering from my own win.
The women’s team is already out there, Roxie in the center of it all.
When she steps into the cage, her eyes find mine immediately.
That half-smirk appears, but there’s something softer underneath it now. Something that makes my chest ache.
I’m not even surprised when she destroys her opponent.
Roxie is a force of nature with sharp strikes, flawless takedowns, and that quiet, terrifying focus that makes her impossible to beat.
She submits the girl with a guillotine in the second round.
The crowd loses their minds. I’m on my feet with everyone else, shouting her name until my throat is raw.
When she climbs out of the cage, her eyes lock on me again, though she doesn’t come straight over. She lets the team swarm her first. But I see the way she glances at me every few seconds, like she’s making sure I’m still here.
I slip away while the celebrations are still going strong, making my way toward Sol’s office.
The noise of the arena fades behind me as I push open the door.
The room is dark except for the little desk lamp she always leaves on.
I just drop into her chair, the one that still smells like cinnamon and gunpowder and her, and lean back.
I want more than nights. I want mornings.
I want them to look at me the way they look at each other, like I belong.
But what the hell do I actually bring to the table besides the way I can make them come apart?
I’m a trust-fund brat with a smart mouth and a body that’s always been enough to keep people interested. Until now. Until them.
I close my eyes, head tipped back against the chair, and let the distant roar of the celebrating crowd wash over me. Just for a little while. Just until I figure out how to say any of this out loud without sounding like a pathetic, needy mess.
For the first time today, the sour edge in my scent finally settles. I just hope they still want me when I wake up.