Chapter 7 The Rules Of Engagement
The Rules Of Engagement
~MABELINE~
"These are the rules."
I stand in the middle of the living room with my hands clasped in front of me, channeling every ounce of confident energy I can muster.
Which, admittedly, is not a lot after the day I have had.
Slushie drenching, naked hockey player confrontation, childhood bully reunion, luggage death, brother standoff.
My reserves of bravado are running dangerously low.
But fake it until you make it, right?
That is the Mabeline Mae Rose way.
The three Alphas are arranged in front of me like a jury about to deliver a verdict.
Cal is sprawled on the couch, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, those amber eyes sparkling with barely suppressed amusement.
His cinnamon roll scent fills the space around him, warm and inviting in a way that feels almost deceptive coming from someone who used to call me names on the playground.
Etienne is perched on the armrest beside him, looking curious rather than hostile.
His storm-blue eyes track my movements with an attention that makes my skin prickle, though not unpleasantly.
His evergreen and old books scent has settled into a calm, steady presence that my Omega hindbrain finds inexplicably comforting.
And Rafe.
Rafe is leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed over his broad chest, still glowering from the earlier confrontation with his packmate.
His cedar smoke scent has soured with residual anger, sharp enough to make my nose twitch.
He looks like a storm waiting to break, all tension and barely contained aggression.
They are all looking at me like I have grown a second head.
"Um..." Cal tilts his head, those dimples threatening to appear. "We moved in here before you. Pretty sure we already have established rules and routines and all that."
I put my hands on my hips, refusing to be intimidated by the very obvious height difference between us. Even seated, Cal is nearly at eye level with me. Standing, all three of them tower over my five-foot-four frame like redwoods looking down at a sapling struggling to reach the sun.
Do not think about the height difference. Do not think about how their combined scents are making your hindbrain do gymnastics. Focus, Mae. Focus.
"Sure," I say, injecting as much sass into my voice as I can manage.
"But I am an Omega. Versus the three Alphas in front of me.
" I gesture at them with a sweeping motion, encompassing all that height and muscle and testosterone.
"That makes this dynamic completely unbalanced and unfair.
So in order for me to not feel like I am being constantly overwhelmed by waves of Alpha energy, there need to be some rules.
Non-negotiables. Ground rules that we all agree to follow. "
Rafe huffs from his position against the wall, the sound dripping with derision.
"See?" He directs this at Cal, his voice carrying that vindicated edge of someone proving a point. "You were defending her like she is some delicate princess who needs protection. But look at her. She does not like to be pushed around either. Wants to be the one doing the pushing."
"Shut up, Rafe." Cal does not even look at him.
Etienne frowns, his storm-blue eyes flickering between his two packmates with growing concern.
"Speaking of which," he says slowly, "why were you two fighting earlier? Miss Phillip mentioned an altercation, but neither of you have actually explained what happened."
Silence.
Heavy, uncomfortable silence that stretches like taffy and settles over the room like a fog.
Cal's jaw tightens. Rafe's glare intensifies. Neither of them says a word, both suddenly fascinated by opposite corners of the room.
"Nothing," they both mutter at the same time.
Interesting. Very interesting. So they were fighting about something they do not want to discuss in front of me. Probably something related to me, given the timing and the guilty way they are both avoiding eye contact.
Good to know I am already causing drama just by existing. Classic Mabeline.
I roll my eyes, deciding not to push. I have bigger fish to fry and a limited window of their attention before someone storms off or starts another fight.
"Anyway." I clear my throat, drawing their focus back to me. "Rule number one."
Three pairs of eyes focus on my face. It is mildly terrifying. Like being stared down by a pack of wolves deciding whether you are worth the effort of hunting.
You are not prey. You are not prey. You are a bold Omega who does not back down from intimidating Alphas. You kicked ass today. You can do this.
"My room is off limits." I hold up one finger for emphasis. "Do not go trying to sneak in there. Do not try to barge in without knocking. Do not attempt to enter for any reason unless I explicitly invite you, which, spoiler alert, I will not. My space is my space. Respect it or face consequences."
Rafe snorts, the sound rich with mockery.
"No one wants to go into your closet of a room." His voice is dismissive, cutting. "None of us could even lay down in that tiny space without our feet sticking out the door. Pretty sure if I tried to stretch out, I would end up in the hallway."
I pout before I can stop myself, feeling the sting of the comment even though I know he is not entirely wrong. The room is small. Embarrassingly small. Barely bigger than the walk-in closet in my parents' house that I used to hide in when things got too overwhelming.
But it is yours. It is your space. Your sanctuary. And no one else gets to make you feel bad about that. Not him. Not anyone.
I push past the hurt without acknowledging it, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
"Rule number two." I hold up a second finger. "I take school seriously. I am here to learn, to figure out my life, to work toward whatever comes next. And I do not need distractions or setbacks or anything that reminds me of the worst years of my childhood."
I pause, letting my gaze sweep across all three of them.
"If you want to be assholes, do it outside of class. I do not want to be bullied like you guys..." I trail off, my voice catching on the memories.
Get it together. Do not let them see you falter. You are not that scared little girl anymore.
I point directly at Rafe, then at Cal.
"Like you two enjoyed doing to me when we were kids."
The words hang in the air like a verdict. Cal winces visibly, his earlier amusement evaporating into something that looks like genuine shame. Even Rafe has the decency to look slightly uncomfortable, though he masks it quickly with that perpetual scowl he wears like armor.
"It was not fun," I continue, my voice steadier now. Harder. Forged in the fires of years of therapy and self-reflection. "It was not nice. It was not harmless pranks or childhood roughhousing that everyone would laugh about later. It was your entertainment, but it certainly was not mine."
I take a breath, pushing through the tightness in my chest.
"I cried in bathroom stalls because of the things you said. I dreaded going to school every single morning because of you. I still have nightmares about that fucking chant."
Nerdy MaeBell, go to hell.
Nerdy MaeBell, go to hell.
Nerdy MaeBell, go to hell.
I blink hard, pushing the memory away before it can drag me under.
"So no bullying. Not in class. Not in this dorm. Not anywhere. Are we clear?"
Cal nods immediately, his expression shifting into something genuinely remorseful.
"Crystal clear," he says quietly. "I am sorry, MaeMae. For all of it. I know that does not fix anything, but I need you to know that I am not that kid anymore. I have changed. Or at least I am trying to."
I study him for a moment, searching for signs of insincerity. Finding none.
Maybe he is telling the truth. Maybe people can change. Maybe the boy who called you names grew into a man who regrets it.
Or maybe he is just really good at lying. Time will tell.
Rafe, predictably, has a different response.
"Maybe you should have defended yourself," he says, his voice flat. Unapologetic. Utterly infuriating. "Instead of just taking it. Maybe if you had fought back, we would have left you alone."
The audacity.
The absolute fucking audacity of this man.
Did he really just say that? Did he really just blame twelve-year-old me for not defending myself against a pack of Alphas who were bigger, stronger, and more popular than I could ever hope to be?
Did he really just suggest that his cruelty was my fault for not magically developing combat skills at age twelve?
I do not say anything.
I just walk toward him.
Slowly. Deliberately. My footsteps soft against the hardwood floor. Watching the confusion flicker across his face as I close the distance between us.
He is easily a foot taller than me, all broad shoulders and muscle and Alpha presence. His cedar smoke scent intensifies as I approach, sharpening with what might be uncertainty.
He does not move. Probably assumes I am going to yell at him. Maybe shove his chest ineffectively. Maybe cry.
I do none of those things.
Instead, without hesitation, I kick him in the balls.
Hard.
With precision that surprises even me.
"FUCK!"
Rafe doubles over with a strangled howl that sounds like a dying animal, his hands flying to his groin, his face contorting into an expression of pure agony.
He crumples to the floor like a puppet whose strings have been cut, curling into a fetal position and making sounds that no human being should be capable of producing.
Cal's reaction is immediate and explosive.
He bursts out laughing.
Full, belly-deep, tears-streaming-down-his-face laughter that fills the entire room and probably carries to the neighbors who already complained about noise earlier. He is clutching his stomach, gasping for air, looking at Rafe writhing on the floor with an expression of pure, unadulterated joy.