7. Chapter Seven
Practice ended twenty minutes ago, but the burn in my shoulders still feels good.
I cut across the quad, still in my practice jersey, the fabric clinging to me with damp from the drills Coach Hudson put us through.
Sophomore year was supposed to feel easier than freshman year, but the pressure has only gotten heavier.
The call with my father this morning is still lodged in my head like a splinter.
Same script as always. Grades need to stay perfect.
Leadership positions must be secured. The family business will not run itself, and neither will I.
He never raises his voice, but the expectations land harder than any hit on the field.
I hate the business program with every fiber of my being, but fighting him feels pointless.
It’s easier to follow the path he’s laid out than to watch the disappointment settle in his eyes.
The pack is my anchor in all of this. When my father’s expectations start to feel like chains, they become the only thing that keeps me grounded.
They never demand explanations or perfection.
They simply stand beside me, solid and supportive, and that’s enough. I’m grateful for them every single day.
Coach Hudson gets it too. He knows the pressure my father puts on me and never questions why I stay late after every session. Lacrosse is just the one thing that lets me breathe.
I’m glad I planned to meet Jamie after practice. I need his sense of humor right now to shake off the morning.
The tepid early fall breeze shifts across the quad, carrying the faint scent of cut grass and distant rain.
Then it hits me.
A bright, sweet scent slices through the breeze. Pink lemonade. Crisp and refreshing with a tart edge that makes my entire body go still. My instincts snap to attention in a way they rarely do. I know immediately what this is.
This is our omega.
My steps falter for half a second before I change direction, following the pull without conscious thought.
The scent grows stronger as I move, guiding me across the grass toward one of the open green spaces.
String and posts divide the area into large squares, students scattered at intervals working on projects.
She kneels in one of the marked squares, completely focused.
Her strawberry blonde hair falls forward as she leans over a clipboard, biting her lip in concentration.
A simple equipment bag sits beside her. She takes several photos of the ground with her phone, then reaches for a small glass jar.
With delicate fingers she picks up a fallen leaf and places it inside, sealing the lid with gentle precision.
I stop a respectful distance away, watching her.
She moves with such a certain purpose that I find myself strangely captivated.
I have no idea what she is studying. Some kind of environmental survey?
It kind of reminds me of the ones I did in high school biology class.
Whatever it is, she approaches it with a total focus that makes everything around her fade.
The pink lemonade scent wraps around me, sweet and addictive. Being near it feels like the first deep breath I have taken all day… maybe all my life. My alpha instincts settle in a way they almost never do, calm and assertive at the same time.
This is her.
This is our omega.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. Jamie checking in. I glance at the message and type a quick reply saying I’m running a little late but on my way.
I should go, but instead I take one more moment to watch her. The way she diligently works, completely absorbed in whatever task she’s doing. It’s captivating.
One of the other students in the green area starts walking toward a nearby building. I jog over to him before he can get too far.
“Hey, quick question,” I say, keeping my voice casual. “What are you all doing out here?”
The freshman alpha looks excited to explain. “It’s an ecology field study for entomology. We’re mapping insect populations in the different squares.”
I tilt my head. “Entomology?”
“Insects,” he says with a grin. “We’re all in the specialized freshman stream.”
I thank him and take one last long look at her. She’s still kneeling in her square, clipboard in hand, completely unaware of the way her presence has shifted everything for my pack.
I jog the rest of the way to meet Jamie. When I reach him, he’s leaning against my car with that easy grin already in place. I slide into the driver’s seat without a word about what I just saw. I want to investigate properly first. No sense getting the pack’s hopes up until I know more.
When we pull into the driveway at home and Jamie hops out with his usual easy energy, already cracking a joke about my mysterious lateness, I manage a laugh but my mind is still back on that green quad.
Our pack house always feels like the one place the world can’t touch me.
I drop my bag by the door and head straight to the kitchen island, pulling out my laptop before I can talk myself out of it.
The entomology program page loads quickly.
I scan the details and feel a smile spread across my face.
It is the only specialized stream of its kind in the entire country.
Highly competitive. Extremely rigorous. Our omega is not just smart, she is exceptional.
Adrian walks in from the hallway and stops short when he sees me. “You’re smiling after your weekly call with your dad? Did something break in the universe?”
I lean back in the chair and let out a short laugh. “The call was the same as always. Exhausting. But the afternoon turned out better than expected. Practice helped.”
Adrian studies me for a second, then sighs when he notices the empty counter. “You haven’t eaten since practice, have you?”
Before I can answer he is already moving around the kitchen, pulling out ingredients with the nimble efficiency that always makes the space feel calmer. Chase is out, but Adrian handles it without missing a beat, the way he always does when one of us needs it.
While he works I keep researching, my alpha instincts already stirring.
I want to give her something meaningful…
not flowers or jewelry or anything generic.
I picture her again, kneeling in the grass without a care for her clothes or the dirt, completely absorbed in her work.
The image sticks. This can’t be a normal courting gift.
I fall down several rabbit holes before I find it. An antique entomology field guide, hardback, beautifully illustrated, coming up for auction in a few days. It feels exactly right, rare and thoughtful, something that matches the way she studies the world around her.
I pick up my phone and call one of my father’s assistants who sometimes helps with pack matters. She answers on the second ring.
“I need you to bid on something for me,” I say. “Whatever it takes. Make sure we get it.”
Adrian sets a plate in front of me without comment, but I catch the small, knowing smile on his face as he slides into the seat across from me.
This is only the beginning.