Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Spencer
"Mills, c'mon." Ronald, one of the Sloth's running backs, elbows me as he refers to me by my last name with enough emphasis to let me know he's tried getting my attention more than once. "Coach called a timeout."
I blink myself out of a haze and back into the present moment. We're better than the team we're playing tonight. Why the hell can't this game be over yet?
An unhappy growl escapes under my breath as I join Ronald in jogging to the sidelines, where Coach Lamb is waiting. The other guys on the team look confused as he waves everyone away from him, seemingly only waiting for me.
The glare on Coach's face would scare any of my teammates, but I'm uncharacteristically distracted. My gaze pans further down the sideline to where several reporters are gathered. It only takes a moment for me to zero in on the source of the sweet, delicate scent that interrupted my concentration.
Hibiscus.
I never would have guessed our omega would have a floral scent. Once our pack's scents are all combined, I have a feeling our home will smell like a permanent vacation. My muscles already relax just thinking about how comforting her scent will be to come home to.
Squinting, I try to make out the details of my omega more clearly. All three of us guys in the pack have dark hair, and so does she. A perfect match to complement us. I can already imagine dark-haired children splashing around in the Olympic-sized pool in our backyard.
Note to self: Have Zak look into putting a fence around the pool. I can already imagine how worried he's going to get about baby-proofing the house we've lived in as a bachelor pad for far too long.
"Spencer!" Coach shouts my name from the sidelines, jarring me from my fantasizing.
Ronald has slowed alongside me and stares at me with bewildered eyes. "Are you okay?" he asks, searching my face for answers that no one usually bothers looking for past my excellent poker face.
"Yeah," I answer in a tight voice that's sure to be a dead giveaway that everything is not, in fact, alright. Because while I still have nearly half of this game left to play, my omega is standing right there on the sidelines just out of my reach.
No wonder my poker face can't hold up under scrutiny for once. This is the moment every alpha spends their entire life dreaming about. My usual calm and collected vibe shatters under the weight of this moment. None of my dreams warned me that finding my omega would steal the air from my lungs.
Now I have to pause planning every delicate detail of our future to play a game. An important game. But my pack has always been my top priority, and our soon-to-be new addition is no different.
How am I supposed to throw a football when I can't even catch my breath?
When we're only a few strides away from Coach Lamb, he waves Ronald away.
He only wants to talk to me, and the reason is obvious.
My head is no longer in the game. Not exactly captain-like behavior for me to be this distracted when we're only up by seven on the scoreboard, and with six minutes left on the clock, this could still be anyone's game.
Knowing my team is counting on me, I settle my nerves through sheer willpower. I'm lucky my parents all worked together to raise me with a superhero-like ability to stay level-headed.
I lean in, teeth discreetly gritted as I prepare for a chastising from Coach that doesn't come. He pats my chest, instead.
"There's only one thing in the world I imagine could knock my star quarterback off his game." He flashes a rueful smile. "Is your pack about to have a new plus-one?" He looks behind him at the crowded stadium, as if he could pick the omega in question out of the crowd somehow.
I fight the urge to smirk. "Wrong direction." I nod my head in the direction of the reporters.
"A sports reporter?" He groans and rubs a hand down his face. "Deacon Kane is going to hate this."
Deacon Kane, the billionaire owner of our football team, is notorious for hating the press. He would be the first to kick them off the field altogether if the league didn't require the media coverage.
"Which one is yours?" Coach asks with weary resignation.
"She's not ours yet," I point out. A detail I already loathe, my chest aching in protest to how wrong the statement feels. The ache feels like a physical reminder that fate won’t be ignored, as if I would dare take the gift of a scent-match for granted.
There's no way our pack will feel anything but complete adoration for our mate.
Some people turn their nose up at the idea of falling in insta-love with a scent-match, but there are plenty of people who settle into relationships for far less compelling reasons.
The statistics for scent-match relationships that fail are practically nonexistent. Fate knows what it's doing.
"Which one will be yours?"
"The dark-haired woman." My gaze is drawn to her again, my alpha desperate to draw closer. My willpower is being seriously tested, and though I'm usually considered pretty unflappable, I'm feeling plenty of things that are absolutely fucking flapping me right now.
"At least she's behind the camera and not in front of one," Coach grumbles.
He grabs the front of my helmet and yanks me close.
The clock is running out on our time-out.
"Listen, I need you to keep your head in this game a little longer.
The stakes are too high to risk putting second-string in. Mitchell is good, but he's not you."
"I know, but–"
"I'll arrange for someone to bring the omega to the tunnel after the game. You can meet her outside the locker room, and use Freddie's dressing room for some privacy as you get to know each other."
As an alpha, I hate being interrupted. As a player on this team, I don't get to out-alpha Coach Lamb. Still, I hate his idea of having someone else escort her into the tunnel. I don't want some random member of the security team getting to talk to her before our pack gets to.
One of the game officials blows his whistle on the field, warning us that our time out is ending. If I don't get back in position soon, we risk a penalty for delay of game.
"Get out there." Coach tries nudging me onto the field, but my feet are planted firmly.
I shake my head. "I want Freddie to be the one to get her."
"Seriously?" Coach knows better than to hope I'm joking. He waves me onto the field with an exasperated huff. "Fine, fine. You get me another touchdown, Spencer, and I'll explain to Deacon Kane later why Simon the Sloth skipped out on his post-game routine."
"Consider it done," I tell him with the utmost confidence. Winning by one touchdown was never going to be enough to satisfy me anyway.
As I pivot toward the field, I notice Freddie, dressed in his mascot costume, has crept close enough to look like he's eavesdropping even though I can't imagine he could hear us through the suit. He tips his head in silent question. I'm not even sure if he's caught the scent of our omega yet.
"Be ready!" I shout loud enough to ensure he hears me through his thick suit.
He shrugs his sloth shoulders and nods.
Oh, hell. He definitely doesn't seem to realize yet that the missing piece of our pack has been found. Too bad I won't get to see the look on his face when he realizes the reporter he's going to be asked to collect is her.
Hopefully, he'll contain his enthusiastic personality enough not to make her think the worst of us.
Freddie is harmless and a lot of fun, but he can be a little much without Zak and me around to balance him out.
She needs to see all three of us together before she draws any conclusions for herself about our pack.
"Clock is running," a referee in his black-and-white striped shirt mutters to me as I jog past him.
"Yes, sir," I acknowledge in the most polite tone I can muster.
My attention is already focused beyond him, on Zak standing slightly apart from the offensive line, his helmet dangling from his fingers.
His eyebrows are knit down with worry, which wouldn't usually strike me as a surprise since he tends to take a nurturing, worrisome parental role in our pack, but then his gaze slides past me.
I know exactly who he's looking at, confirming that he's caught her scent too, so I share his pain as he draws his gaze back to me with reluctant anguish.
We both want nothing more than to be at the mystery omega's side right now, but we've made a commitment to this team.
Neither of us could face our omega in good conscience–or look ourselves in the mirror–if we abandoned being men of our words.
"Give me six more!" I call out to Zak, pointing at the scoreboard.
He hesitates, almost as if he wants to argue, before giving a terse nod of his head and yanking his helmet on. "You're the Captain!"
The captain of our team on the field, and the head alpha of our pack at home.
All the responsibility lies squarely on my shoulders, but I'm broad-shouldered enough to carry the weight.
Let's just hope I'm making all the right choices because when the final whistle blows to end this game, there's going to be something far more precious than the team's league ranking at stake.