Chapter 2
bishop
I’m not surprised when Coach Marsh calls a meeting the next morning, handpicking who’s to attend, and miraculously Jude isn’t part of that list. Coach’s office wasn’t built for a closed meeting with half the senior roster and a financial crisis.
Coach Marsh sits behind his desk with his laptop open and his jaw tight. He looks like he hasn’t slept, which isn’t unusual, but today there’s something worse under it. Something that makes the room go quiet before he says a word.
“All right,” Marsh says. “Door shut.”
Nelson reaches over to shut it as Marsh turns the laptop around so we can see the spreadsheet. I don’t need to be close to know it’s bad. There’s too much red, and there are only so many ways a swim program spreadsheet can bleed before someone starts talking about cuts.
“Our travel budget got cut again,” Marsh says. “Recruitment support is nearly gone. Equipment replacement is delayed. Pool hours are under review. If the spring audit goes badly, the swim program gets absorbed into rec athletics.”
The word absorbed does enough damage on its own. It sounds tidy, almost harmless, like we’ll be folded into something bigger and survive it. The numbers on Marsh’s screen tell a different story, and when Carter asks what it means, Marsh drags one hand over his face before he answers.
“No dedicated coaching. No meet travel unless it’s individually funded. No recruitment budget. No athletic department support beyond general pool use. You’d still be able to swim. You wouldn’t have this team.”
Hollis’ arm brushes mine, his eyes on the laptop as a grimace sets into his expression.
“The Spring Splash auction is our only real shot,” Marsh says. “If we raise enough, we buy ourselves another year as an independent program. If we don’t, I go into that audit with nothing but a speech and high blood pressure.”
Spring Splash is ridiculous, but it works.
Every month, athletes get auctioned off for dates, training sessions, lessons, dinners, study help, and whatever else the department can put on a poster without sounding desperate.
Alumni bid because they like school spirit.
Students bid because they like attention.
Sometimes even professors bid and someone always comes out mated from these things.
Always.
Marsh clicks to another tab. “We’ll need date packages from the obvious names. Reece, Hollis, Carter. Bishop, I want you to offer a dinner for auction.”
I glance at him. “Dinner?”
“You’re the captain.”
“I’m also a Beta. Usually only Alphas are on that stage.”
“You answer emails in full sentences and you know how to smile which is more than what half the team can conjure up.”
There’s a small laugh from one of the juniors, but it dies quickly. Even the jokes feel thin with the spreadsheet still glowing between us. Hollis' mouth curves beside me, and I keep my eyes on Marsh because if I look at my Alpha, he’ll only make it worse with his face.
The problem is that I don’t want to be on that stage. Hollis is mine and I’m trying to make Jude ours as well. Getting up on that stage would ruin whatever progress I’ve made with the Omega who obviously wants nothing to do with the world that shunned him for a mistake.
“Coach, I’ll help rally support and raise money but neither I nor Hollis will be on that auction stage.
” Coach opens his mouth but I just put a hand up.
“There’s no obligation for either of us to participate and as captain, I’m aware that’s not the answer you want to hear but Hollis is my Alpha and if someone were to try something during auction night, it wouldn’t be pretty. ”
Hollis might seem soft around the edges but he can be highly territorial and I just hate when people try to touch my Alpha. Auctioning us off to the highest bidder would have consequences. Coach just sighs and waves his hand in the air, muttering ‘whatever’.
Reece leans back in his chair, one ankle sliding over his knee. He studies the numbers for another second, then smiles like he’s found a solution and already knows we won’t like it. “You know what would actually sell?”
Marsh looks up. “If you have a real suggestion, make it.”
Reece lets the room wait before he says, “Put Jude up there,” and everything in the office stops at once. Beside me, Hollis goes still, his arm no longer brushing mine and his hand curling once against his thigh.
Reece looks around the room like he’s waiting for everyone else to catch up. “Come on. The whole campus still talks about what happened. People would pay to see the Omega who went into heat in the middle of a meet. People have been dying for a chance at Jude and this would be the perfect moment.”
A couple of guys laugh because they’re uncomfortable and don’t have the spine to sit in it.
Someone near the door mutters that it’s fucked up.
Nelson looks like he wants to disappear into the trash can beside him.
Tate shifts behind Reece, eyes down, and for a second I think he might say nothing.
Then he says, quieter than Reece, “I mean, he’s not wrong. It would get attention.”
That’s almost worse. Reece says it like cruelty is the point. Tate says it like he can make it sound practical if he keeps his voice low enough.
“No,” I say.
Reece turns his head toward me, smile still in place. “Why not?”
“Because we’re not doing that.”
“He owes this program.” Reece says it easily, like he’s been carrying the sentence around long enough that the shape of it feels comfortable in his mouth.
“We lost our seed ranking because of him. Sponsors pulled out because nobody wanted their logo next to a team scandal. Half the reason we’re broke is because of his little episode, and now we’re supposed to act like putting him onstage is too much? ”
I push off the file cabinet before I think better of it, Hollis’ fingers catching the back of my hoodie. The pressure is light, just enough to remind me he’s there.
“Drop it,” I tell Reece.
Reece’s smile barely moves, but something in his eyes sharpens.
I’m watching his mouth, waiting for whatever ugly thing comes next, but Hollis is watching his face.
He catches the flicker, the satisfaction tucked behind the suggestion, the way Reece looks pleased before anyone has agreed to anything.
My Alpha doesn’t say a word, but his fingers tighten in my hoodie once and let go.
Marsh cuts in before the room can tip any farther. “Enough.”
Reece leans back, hands lifting slightly, harmless all of a sudden. Tate looks at the floor, and Marsh takes off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. “We’re not putting Jude in the auction as a spectacle. That’s final.”
No one pinpoints the real issue that putting an Omega up on that stage would be a disaster for all involved.
Reece starts to answer, but Marsh keeps going.
“What happened last year was unfortunate, but sometimes an Omega’s biology simply can’t be controlled in high-stress environments. Jude paid for it. He lost his spot and his scholarship. We’re not dragging the boy through it again for ticket sales.”
The room settles, but the words sit wrong.
Marsh means it as a defense. Compared to Reece, it is one.
Still, the story begins and ends with Jude’s body failing in public.
I look at Hollis, but he isn’t looking at Marsh.
He’s still looking at Reece, who has gone quiet without a trace of shame on his face.
If anything, he looks like he’s filing the reaction away for later.
Marsh turns back to the laptop and forces the meeting forward.
“Realistic plans. I want whoever is available to create a package of what they’re willing to offer—whether it be a swimming lesson, dinner, or more than that.
I don’t care what it is but we need at least ten grand to stay above water.
Hell, sell some signed gear if we can make it look less like we’re cleaning out storage.
I want draft packages by tomorrow night. ”
The rest of the meeting moves along but my Alpha barely speaks, a few of the other Alphas volunteering eagerly.
By the time Marsh dismisses us, the office feels stale with too many bodies and too much unsaid. Reece pauses in the doorway after everyone’s left, his gaze sliding to me, then to Hollis, and his mouth curves just enough to be deliberate. “Relax. Nobody’s touching your rescue project.”
Hollis goes still again. I take one step, but his hand closes around my wrist this time, firm enough to stop me. Reece leaves before I can decide whether it’s worth making Marsh’s blood pressure worse.
Behind the desk, Marsh exhales. “Bishop.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You looked like you wanted to. Don’t make me add to the rules already set forth to protect the swim team.” Coach leans back in his chair. “I also have eyes and am very well aware that the both of you are the absolute worst at courting. Eyeing the Omega across the pool won’t get you anywhere.”
Hollis snorts. “See? That’s what I said!”
Coach Marsh chuckles. “Jude’s been through a lot and I hate what happened. I hate that the light’s gone out of his eyes, that the Omega who used to be the life of the team has all but become a ghost. However, I will not have the team captain playing with him.”
It takes me a moment to realize that Coach Marsh is protective of Jude and probably one of the main reasons Jude is still hanging around the swim team. That makes me feel marginally better, that the Omega has someone in his corner.
“I wasn’t planning on playing with him, Coach.” I nod and push Hollis out of the door, needing a minute to breathe. Even with this new revelation, I don’t feel any better about Reece’s suggestion because the bastard likes to push the envelope too far.
Hollis doesn’t speak until we’re in the hallway. The door closes behind us, and he stops near the trophy case, his fingers still wrapped around my wrist. I slide my free hand to the back of his neck, Hollis settling against me.
“He liked it,” he whispers. “When everyone reacted, Reece liked saying Jude’s name like that. He’s going to try something with Jude,” Hollis says, voice lower now. “I don’t know what, but I know that face.”
I look down the hallway where Reece and Tate disappeared, before I press a kiss to Hollis’ temple, keeping my hand at the back of his neck as some of the tension leaves his shoulders. “We’ll keep an eye on it.”
I’m going to do more than keep a fucking eye on it because knowing Reece, we’re already too late for what he’s planning.