Chapter 10
Radio Confessions
~MABELINE~
Etienne's car smells like him.
That should not be a surprise. It is his car. His space. His scent has had years to soak into the fabric of the seats and settle into the dashboard and embed itself in every fiber of the worn cloth interior.
But knowing this logically does not stop my Omega hindbrain from practically purring as I sink deeper into the passenger seat, surrounded by evergreens and old books and that quiet, steady warmth that makes me feel like I could close my eyes and be safe.
Focus, Mae. You are eating breakfast, not nesting in an Alpha's car. Get it together.
The sedan is nothing fancy. No luxury leather or touch-screen displays or any of the flashy upgrades I would expect from an Alpha on a hockey scholarship.
Just a clean, practical vehicle with a few textbooks stacked on the backseat, a reusable water bottle in the cupholder, and a small notebook wedged between the center console and the emergency brake.
His writing notebook, maybe?
I want to ask about it, but I am too busy savoring every last bite of the cream cheese bagel like it might be the last meal I ever eat. Which, knowing my track record with mornings, is not entirely outside the realm of possibility.
Etienne turned on the radio when we settled in, letting the low hum of the local station fill the space between bites and sips of coffee. It is comfortable. Easy. The kind of quiet companionship I have not experienced in longer than I care to admit.
The host's voice crackles through the speakers, cheerful and energetic in a way that feels obscene this early in the morning.
"Welcome back, folks! If you are just tuning in, we are here talking about Valenridge University, the brand-new Alpha-Omega academy that has everyone buzzing this season. And joining me today is Coach Rick Holloway, head of the hockey program over at Valenridge. Coach, thanks for being here!"
A gruff, warm voice responds.
"Happy to be here, Dan. Love chatting about the sport."
I take another sip of my coffee, half-listening as the host dives into questions about the hockey program.
"Now, Coach, the first official games are going to start right before the love holiday comes rolling in. Tell us about the schedule. What can fans expect?"
"Well, Dan, we have got weekly games starting next week.
Five straight weeks of competition, the last game falling right before Valentine's Day.
The cumulative scores from every team will determine who advances into the junior and senior playoffs.
" The coach's voice carries the gravelly enthusiasm of someone who genuinely loves what he does.
"It is going to be an intense stretch. Five weeks does not leave much room for error. Every game counts."
I glance at Etienne, who is listening with his head tilted slightly, his coffee cup resting against his lower lip.
Five weeks. Five games. And the last one right before Valentine's Day, which is conveniently the same deadline my mother has set for me to be bonded and shipped off to whatever pack she has selected. The universe really does love its dramatic timing.
"And why do you think this sudden trend has taken off?" the host asks. "Hockey programs at Alpha-Omega academies are popping up everywhere."
The coach chuckles.
"Look, hockey is the best form of aggressive sport out there.
And what better way to channel all that Alpha energy than to throw a bunch of them onto a team and let them get that adrenaline out while doing a sport they actually enjoy?
These young men are passionate. Competitive.
Full of more testosterone than they know what to do with.
Might as well point that energy in a productive direction before it starts causing problems off the ice. "
I snort into my coffee.
Channeling Alpha energy through sanctioned violence. What a concept. Though, to be fair, it does seem to work. Rafe punching people during a game is at least better than Rafe punching people in the dorm. Marginally.
"Interesting, interesting," the host says. "Now here is a question our listeners have been sending in. Would there ever be a time where we see a female or an Omega on the hockey team?"
The coach laughs, the sound hearty and a little too long.
"Well now, we would not be seeing that in these parts.
Not anytime soon, anyway. But hey, if someone can pitch it to the higher-ups in Minnesota, there is a possibility.
Stranger things have happened. The sport is evolving.
" He pauses for a beat. "Though let us be real, most Omegas gravitate toward the figure skating field, which Valenridge University provides as well.
Beautiful program they are building over there. "
My ears perk up at the mention of figure skating, my hand tightening around the coffee cup.
"And speaking of figure skating," the host continues, "this is the first time Valenridge is introducing Omegas into their athletic programs, particularly in skating.
Now, Coach, some are speculating that Omegas are too, quote unquote, hormonal to be in such a professional sport. What are your thoughts on that?"
I cannot help but roll my eyes so hard I am surprised they do not get stuck in the back of my skull.
Hormonal. Right. Because Alphas throwing punches on the ice and getting into literal brawls over a rubber puck are the picture of emotional stability.
The coach laughs again, but this time it carries a different weight. Warmer. Almost nostalgic.
"Now you listen here, Dan. My best friend used to be a coach for over thirty years. Figure skating. Dedicated his whole life to it. And his daughter is an Omega."
I freeze.
My hand stops halfway to my mouth, the bagel suspended in mid-air.
His best friend. A figure skating coach. For over thirty years.
His daughter is an Omega.
"I have seen that girl on the ice once," the coach continues, his voice softening in a way that makes my throat tighten.
"Once. That is all it took. One performance, and she brought tears to my eyes.
And I ain't a cryer, Dan. Ask my wife. Ask my players.
I do not cry. But watching that young woman move across that ice with the kind of grace and raw emotion that she had. .."
He trails off for a moment.
"It is a true shame," he says, his voice heavier now.
"A true shame that our society looks down on Omegas as if they are not the reason most Alphas have legacies.
Without Omegas, there are no packs. No bonds.
No next generation to carry on whatever empire these Alpha families think they are building.
And yet we treat them like they are less than.
Like their emotions are a weakness instead of a strength. "
My heart is hammering against my ribs.
Is he talking about me?
Is he talking about Dad?
Coach Rick Holloway. Holloway. Why does that name feel familiar? Is he the same Holloway who used to come to our house for Sunday dinners when I was a kid? The one who called me 'little swan' and snuck me candy when my mother was not looking?
Stop it, Mae. You are reading too much into this. There are probably dozens of figure skating coaches with Omega daughters. This is probably a coincidence.
Except it does not feel like a coincidence.
"Figure skating," the coach continues, passionate now, "is one of the most demanding sports in existence.
It dwells on vulnerability and emotion projected through dance while articulating some of the hardest athletic moves on a surface that is inherently risky and unstable.
We are talking about ice, Dan. Slippery, unforgiving ice.
One wrong landing and your career is over.
One miscalculated rotation and you are looking at broken bones. "
He pauses, letting the weight of his words settle.
"Any Omega who can work toward performing in front of a bunch of judgmental spectators, under that kind of pressure, on that kind of surface, can scale to the top just like all the testosterone-fueled, aggression-filled Alphas on the ice that you lot encourage to bash into each other over a puck."
The host laughs.
"Is that not the truth! Well said, Coach. Now let us take a quick commercial break, and when we come back, we will be talking about preseason predictions and which teams to watch..."
The radio transitions into a car insurance advertisement, and the car falls quiet except for the jingle playing in the background.
Etienne reaches over and turns the volume down.
"That was an intriguing segment," he says, glancing at me with those storm-blue eyes. "Coach Holloway seems like a good man. Most coaches I have met do not speak that highly of Omega athletes."
I nod slowly, still processing everything I just heard.
"Yeah," I manage. "He does."
And I think he might know my father. And I think he might have been talking about me. And I think I am going to lose my mind if I keep thinking about it.
I shake it off, forcing myself to focus on the present. On Etienne. On the fact that we are sitting in his car eating breakfast like normal people instead of characters trapped in some complicated omegaverse drama.
Oh wait. We are characters trapped in a complicated omegaverse drama. My mistake.
"Are you worried?" I ask, shifting the topic before my brain can spiral any further. "About the hockey season? Five games in five weeks is a lot."
Etienne considers the question, those storm-blue eyes growing distant and thoughtful.
"No," he admits after a moment. "Not worried exactly.
But I have not been around these guys long enough to know if we actually have a chance.
Hockey is a team sport. You can have the most talented individual players in the world, but if the chemistry is not there, if the pack dynamics are off, it falls apart. "
"And your pack dynamics are off," I observe.
He smiles, but it does not quite reach his eyes.
"You could say that."
I tilt my head, considering.