I think back to the contract that is still wet with my signature. That had been the only requirement for me to inherit the team. There had been nothing about what would happen if I didn’t follow through with the coaching position. I don’t think myfather had even thought that far. He had clearly known that I would have taken the position without second thought, which is exactly what I did.
The only issue is that I did sign a general contract. The same one I know every single Cardinal employee signs upon the commencement of their employment. I shake my head. I don’t even want to get into the logistics of contracts and anything to do with the legal system while my head is so messed up. I have enough to focus on. Keeping away from things that feel dangerous, like Dominic, is the best thing I could possibly do for myself.
“I just… I can’t right now. I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize my position with the Cardinals. I’m the only person who can carry my father’s legacy now. It means too much to me to fuck this up.”
Bronte sighs, nodding. “Just, don’t give up on happiness completely, Lenn. You deserve to find your pack even if you say that you don’t need one.”
“I hope you know that goes for you, too, B.”
She may be on my case right now, but God only knows Bronte could do with taking her own advice. She is just as steadfast as I am in refusing pack life, citing Omega independence and the importance of standing on our own two feet. Except that she isn’t afraid to date. To scratch that itch. To find a pack to spend her heats with, unlike me, who writhes around, begging for relief I know I won’t get. We finish setting up my nest for now, the space is an ongoing work in progress. I know that there are one too many things missing from the area.
I know for sure one part is the scents. They aren’t right. It’s too… clean. Not yet used. Lacking that usual comfort, a certain smell can give.
Not allowing me to dwell on all of the things I could be perfecting in my nest, Bronte drags me out into the living room,two boxes of our favorite pizza already sitting on the coffee table, along with the show we had been watching together, even though we had been on other sides of the country.
“Okay. I’m going to level with you,” Bronte says, removing the box of pizza from my hands I had just reached for, before placing it back down. “You have been spiraling over NHL Alphas and Betas for weeks, Lennon. We need to get your ass on a dating app.”
“Oh…NO,the fuck we don’t,” I counter immediately, scandalized by the mere thought. The last thing in the world I need right now is the politics that comes with dating. I don’t even think I have the bandwidth to learn all there is to know about another person. What makes them tick. Getting to know them. Their needs. I’m all booked out in the brain. As much as the idea is intriguing, mindless dating isn’t what I need right now. Casual sex, on the other hand, I’m all for.
She sees my answer on my face before the words even escape my lips.
“Fine. But just know, there’s nothing hotter than a bunch of Alphas jealous of the fact that an Omega is efficient enough to take matters into her own hands. Getting the garden watered elsewhere would send them into a frenzy, I’m sure.”
Chuckling, I throw a napkin at her head.
“First of all, never say ‘getting the garden watered’ ever again.”
Bronte snorts, shrugging. “No promises.”
“Second of all, absolutely not. And thirdly—”
“Oh, great. There’s a third.”
My eyes narrow on my best friend because, despite her ability to make jokes, I know just how serious she is. Before I can respond, my phone buzzes, and I reach over to see who it is, smiling when I see lilac hair fill my screen.
“Girl! Where the hell are you?” Veronica demands, the scenery outside her car window blurring behind her. Her oversizedsunglasses are perched on top of her head, and despite the long, grueling day she’s no doubt had, her makeup is as flawless as ever. I look like an unmade bed two hours into my day most of the time.
I let out an exhausted sigh.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to go.”
Veronica scoffs, offended that I’d boycott another press conference. The truth is, there is no need for me to go to all of them. The team was filming for a charity, then went on to attend a luncheon where wealthy sponsors drank champagne and talked about the upcoming games for the rest of the season. Those same faces attend all of them, and I wasn’t up for small talk today. Besides, Bronte is here, and I wasn’t about to leave her stranded for work. I’ve done enough of that over the years.
“Neither did I, bitch. Neither did I. Anyways, the event was the same as always. I spent the last three hours scared shitless for what those broody assholes would say the minute the cameras were on them. So… nothing new.”
“I’m so glad I’m not the PR manager.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not for the faint of heart, that’s for damn sure. I swear they’ll be the fucking death of me.” She glances away from the road for half a second before rolling her eyes dramatically. “Do you know how many thirsty journalists were there, questioning whenPack Ars Mortiswere planning on settling down? I swear, they’re asking for themselves, not because they’re even remotely interested in writing a damn article about the team.”
“Let me guess, Sports Weekly,” I let out a breathy laugh, because it’s true. I’ve observed enough since I started, and even a corpse could see the long line of women they each have waiting for a sliver of attention from them. The players themselves don’t even seem to notice half the time. Or maybe they do and simply don’t care. Either way, attention follows them everywhere.Interviews, fans, charity galas. Thirst trap videos that fans make of them online. It never ends for them. Women scream their names from the stands. Social media practically worships them. Entire comment sections are dedicated to debating who is hottest, who they’d want to knot, and who they’d want to marry. People spend hours editing thirst-trap videos and interviews where they say two words, and suddenly half the internet is ovulating. And they eat it up. Why wouldn’t they? They’re young, attractive, successful, and worshipped by thousands. Which means whatever strange tension I’ve been feeling between Ars Mortis probably isn’t unique at all. How many women have stood where I stood with Dominic the other day? How many have caught Holden looking at them with those hot as fuck eyes of his? How many have mistaken Sasha’s intensity for interest?
I’m not stupid. Men like him don’t spend their lives waiting for someone. They don’t look at an Omega and suddenly forget the hundreds of others throwing themselves at their feet. They don’t spend their days pining over fleeting attractions or whatever it is between us. While I’m aware that it’s great for the team to have such media coverage and popularity, I can’t deny I feel a little…insecure. Not because of all the attention, but because if they were mine, nothing would change. I would be an afterthought to the one love they equally share. Hockey and the life that comes with it. I understand. Hockey has a way of doing that to a person, especially star players like them. But all of that means their reactions to me are dime a dozen, and I’m right to not go there for that reason alone.
I ignore the small parts of me that feel a little envious about that, because I don’t want to unpack them right now. Especially when I’ve made my decision, and I’m sticking to it. The team is off limits. Period.
“Yeah, Sports fucking Weekly,” Veronica confirms with a groan, pulling me from my thoughts. Bronte snorts beside me.
“Wait, is that the infamous Bronte?”
