Tucking them away for later, knowing that flicking through these kinds of documents while I am so upset, I pick up the phone. Surprisingly, it's unlocked.
I don’t know what drew me to it, but obviously, something in my subconscious knew I needed to see what was on it.
When I open the messages app, I see only one name. Mine.
I feel my stomach drop.
No.
No.
They can’t have done this.
My stomach rolls violently as I click into the message thread, finding exactly what I had dreaded.
It wasn’t just some fucked up coincidence that had seen my name and only mine in their message app.
No, the truth is far more sinister than that.
Because the three men who are not only players on my team, my fucking colleague and my scent matches, they are also my stalker.
They broke into my house. Took pictures of me naked. Had me terrified of my own godsdamned fucking shadow.
“Fucking hell.”
My eyes snap to the door, finding the three men I didn’t want to see, especially not now. Their eyes are wide as they stare at me in shock. Their hair is disheveled, like they have been combing their hands through it a million times since they got out of what I am guessing was a very quick shower, based on the scent of sweat and their strong scents still clinging to them.
“Bit of a change when it isyour Omegathat is the one doing the break and entering. Thank you for the dead bird by the way.”
“Lennon,” Holden begins, taking a single step into the room before I stop him.
“No, Holden. I don’t want to fucking hear anything you have to say. I can’t trust your words. You three have lied to me from the get-go.”
I snort sarcastically, “It had already sucked that I was being treated like shit by the three of you for months with no clear reasoning. But then to not only find out that you had been keeping incredibly important family history from me, along with stalking me and sending me these vile fucking messages,” I say, holding up the offending phone that Sasha at least has the decency to grimace at. “But I also found out that you three fuck heads are also my scent matches. Yet another thing you have been withholding from me.”
I feel the first tear begin to trickle down my cheek. I don’t want to cry. Not for them. But I am just so exhausted. So tired of having to be strong. To keep my shoulders back and my head high. I don’t want to fight.
“We…” Holden begins, but Sasha stops him with a hand on his chest.
“No, this is my mess. I dragged you two into it. I need to explain myself.”
With a nod, Holden steps back. It's funny to see an emotion like nerves on the face of a man who has been nothing but stoic and bitter since the moment I met him.
“My father was Matvey Volkov. He played as a right wing alongside Patrick Gilmore during the early two-thousands.”
I nod, having vague memories of the Alpha.
“During one of the games, there was a nasty collision between another player, my father, and Patrick. At the last minute, Patrick moved out of the way, causing my father to be hit directlyby the other player. He was knocked completely unconscious. When he finally came too, it was found that he had post-concussion syndrome.”
Sasha swallows roughly, his eyes dropping from mine like he can’t bear to look at me.
Pathetic.
“The injury brought on a severe depression episode, one that he numbed with alcohol. When that wasn’t enough, he turned on his wife and son. He used us as punching bags.”
My breath hitches, my mouth dropping. I have heard the stories about post-concussion syndrome and just how dangerous they are when players are not properly looked after after serious head injuries.
“For years, I blamed Patrick. If he hadn’t moved, my father wouldn’t have been injured. He wouldn’t have turned into a monster who pushed his wife to suicide and his son to become bitter.”
