bishop
I’mnotsurprisedwhenCoach 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.
I stand near the file cabinet with my clipboard tucked under my arm, Hollis beside me, shoulders angled away from the bookshelf so he doesn’t knock into the framed team photo from 2009. My Alpha has to make himself smaller in most rooms, and Marsh’s office makes that nearly impossible. Reece takes thechair closest to the desk without asking. Tate stands behind him with his arms folded, quiet and already looking like he regrets being wherever Reece is. Two juniors crowd near the door, and Nelson gets stuck by the trash can, which feels unfair even for a freshman.
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 asan 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 youwant to hear but Hollis ismyAlpha 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?”
