“Because we’re not doing that.”
“He owes this program.” Reece says it easily, like he’s been carrying the sentence around long enough that the shape of it feels comfortable in his mouth. “We lost our seed ranking because of him. Sponsors pulled out because nobody wanted their logo next to a team scandal. Half the reason we’re broke is because of his little episode, and now we’re supposed to act like putting him onstage is too much?”
I push off the file cabinet before I think better of it, Hollis’ fingers catching the back of my hoodie. The pressure is light, just enough to remind me he’s there.
“Drop it,” I tell Reece.
Reece’s smile barely moves, but something in his eyes sharpens. I’m watching his mouth, waiting for whatever ugly thing comes next, but Hollis is watching his face. He catches the flicker, the satisfaction tucked behind the suggestion, the way Reece looks pleased before anyone has agreed to anything. My Alpha doesn’t say a word, but his fingers tighten in my hoodie once and let go.
Marsh cuts in before the room can tip any farther. “Enough.”
Reece leans back, hands lifting slightly, harmless all of a sudden. Tate looks at the floor, and Marsh takes off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. “We’re not putting Jude in the auction as a spectacle. That’s final.”
No one pinpoints the real issue that putting an Omega up on that stage would be a disaster for all involved.
Reece starts to answer, but Marsh keeps going.
“What happened last year was unfortunate, but sometimes an Omega’s biology simply can’t be controlled in high-stress environments. Jude paid for it. He lost his spot and hisscholarship. We’re not dragging the boy through it again for ticket sales.”
The room settles, but the words sit wrong. Marsh means it as a defense. Compared to Reece, it is one. Still, the story begins and ends with Jude’s body failing in public. I look at Hollis, but he isn’t looking at Marsh. He’s still looking at Reece, who has gone quiet without a trace of shame on his face. If anything, he looks like he’s filing the reaction away for later.
Marsh turns back to the laptop and forces the meeting forward. “Realistic plans. I want whoever is available to create a package of what they’re willing to offer—whether it be a swimming lesson, dinner, or more than that. I don’t care what it is but we need at least ten grand to stay above water. Hell, sell some signed gear if we can make it look less like we’re cleaning out storage. I want draft packages by tomorrow night.”
The rest of the meeting moves along but my Alpha barely speaks, a few of the other Alphas volunteering eagerly.
By the time Marsh dismisses us, the office feels stale with too many bodies and too much unsaid. Reece pauses in the doorway after everyone’s left, his gaze sliding to me, then to Hollis, and his mouth curves just enough to be deliberate. “Relax. Nobody’s touching your rescue project.”
Hollis goes still again. I take one step, but his hand closes around my wrist this time, firm enough to stop me. Reece leaves before I can decide whether it’s worth making Marsh’s blood pressure worse.
Behind the desk, Marsh exhales. “Bishop.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You looked like you wanted to. Don’t make me add to the rules already set forth to protect the swim team.” Coach leans back in his chair. “I also have eyes and am very well aware that the both of you are the absolute worst at courting. Eyeing the Omega across the pool won’t get you anywhere.”
Hollis snorts. “See? That’s what I said!”
Coach Marsh chuckles. “Jude’s been through a lot and I hate what happened. I hate that the light’s gone out of his eyes, that the Omega who used to be the life of the team has all but become a ghost. However, I will not have the team captain playing with him.”
It takes me a moment to realize that Coach Marsh is protective of Jude and probably one of the main reasons Jude is still hanging around the swim team. That makes me feel marginally better, that the Omega has someone in his corner.
“I wasn’t planning on playing with him, Coach.” I nod and push Hollis out of the door, needing a minute to breathe. Even with this new revelation, I don’t feel any better about Reece’s suggestion because the bastard likes to push the envelope too far.
Hollis doesn’t speak until we’re in the hallway. The door closes behind us, and he stops near the trophy case, his fingers still wrapped around my wrist. I slide my free hand to the back of his neck, Hollis settling against me.
“He liked it,” he whispers. “When everyone reacted, Reece liked saying Jude’s name like that. He’s going to try something with Jude,” Hollis says, voice lower now. “I don’t know what, but I know that face.”
I look down the hallway where Reece and Tate disappeared, before I press a kiss to Hollis’ temple, keeping my hand at the back of his neck as some of the tension leaves his shoulders. “We’ll keep an eye on it.”
I’m going to do more than keep a fucking eye on it because knowing Reece, we’re already too late for what he’s planning.
jude
Thegirlinfrontof me in the dining hall line is an Omega, and I only know because of the way everyone else reacts to her.
The Alpha behind her leaves space he isn’t giving anyone else, just enough to look polite without looking afraid of himself. The Beta at the register softens her voice when she asks if the girl wants a receipt. Two guys at the cereal station stop talking as she passes and start again too fast, eyes down like the silence was an accident. It’s all there if you know where to look, which is useful, because my nose tells me nothing.
The dining hall smells like coffee, burnt toast, industrial cleaner, and whatever the kitchen staff has decided to call eggs this morning. No designations layered underneath. No sharp Alpha edge, no warm Omega pull, no steady Beta calm. Just breakfast and bleach. I only wear the blockers so people won’t smell me, because I can’t react to them if I tried. People think blockers make the world quieter, but they don’t. They make everything else louder.
