Page 8

Chapter Eight

T apping my leg, I sit across the desk from my coach and the team’s PR manager while they both frown. No one has said a word yet, and so the stare-down continues. I’m honestly not sure if they called me in about climbing into the stands or the videos of the bar fight—but either way, I regret nothing.

Coach sighs, the first to break this little standoff.

“What the hell am I supposed to do, Miller?” he bitches, and it takes everything in me not to roll my eyes toward the heavens. Instead, I glare straight ahead, watching the clock tick on the wall. “The best catcher in the league. Now you’re acting like a loose cannon.”

Nothing loose about my cannon.

“We’re going to need you to issue a statement,” the PR guy chimes in, wiping his hands on his pants leg and leaving a sweaty trail. “An apology.”

They wait expectantly while I process the request while the PR guy’s breathing gets heavier and heavier. My pants stick to my sweaty legs, irritating me further. The PR manager’s light beta scent is turning with fear, and I seriously don’t get the reaction. What the fuck is he afraid of?

“An apology for what?” I ask, my voice low and menacing.

“F-f-for beating up a fan. We can’t have people afraid the Alphas on the team will jump into the stands and maul them. It’s not good for business.” The PR guy’s stammering explanation only makes me frown harder. It’s not like I did this on a whim. I did it to protect my omega. My unclaimed omega.

My hands pause their tapping and pull into fists. As she’s getting older, it’s becoming harder to control my instincts.

“If anyone is rude to Posie Moore, they’re going to face the consequences. End of story,” I reply gruffly, getting to my feet. I’m not going to sit here and get reprimanded. Fuck this.

“You beat a man unconscious, Miller,” Coach snaps, standing toe-to-toe with me. “That goes against every morality clause in your contract. And this isn’t the first time you’ve let your anger get away from you.”

“Understood. But I’m not sorry, and I won’t say so publicly.” Calm, cool, collected—I maintain my composure and stop myself from shoving past him.

“I could suspend you for this,” he threatens, but it’s all bluster .

“Are you?” I ask, staring him down, although I can see the answer in his eyes. He’s already been told he can’t—Willie always protects his boys.

“Fuck. No. But Miller, if it happens again, we’re going to have a problem,” my coach says, but he’s talking to my back. My feet thunk against the floor as I make my way toward the clubhouse. Practice was grueling. I’m hot, sweaty, and tired as fuck. There’s no more damn time to waste. It’s been hours since I’ve gotten to check Posie’s location or see if she texted me back.

My skin’s too tight, the need to check in like an itch that can’t be scratched and I’m so close to losing it I nearly rip the door off its hinges to get into the locker room. A beast prowls beneath my skin; ferocious, needy, and begging for release.

Eyes bore holes in my back, but I ignore them—intent on one thing. That blinking blue dot. My heart pounds as I feel around in my bag for my phone, thankful when the cool metal slides against my palm.

I fish it out and tap in my pin before logging into the locator app. Pain splits my jaw as my teeth grind, waiting for it to load. Come on. Come on…

Finally, the app pops up. She’s home. Thank goodness.

My heart returns to its normal rhythm. There’s a red bubble over my messenger app. That’s not unusual, but something in my gut already knows it’s from her—and I’m not going to like it.

Posie

Thanks for the offer, but I’m good. I signed up for driving school.

Oh. Hell. No.

That’s definitely not happening, but I’ll figure it out. I toss my phone back in the bag with a thump, then grab my shower shit on the way to our team’s private bathroom.

“Damn, that took you a while,” Damien says, leaving the steam filled room with a towel slung around his waist. “We’re just about finished cleaning up. Wanna grab dinner?”

Shifting back and forth, I mull over the offer. With Posie safely behind her parents’ locked doors, I don’t have anything better to do with my evening besides jerk off, thinking about Posie. And I can do that after food. My stomach rumbles loud enough to make Damien chuckle, and he raises an eyebrow in question.

“Count me in. But pick somewhere good. I’ll be quick.” The shower is calling my name, so I head that way, ready to get out of my sweaty, itchy post-practice clothes. I pass the other members of Pack Moore on my way, but we don’t stop to chat. There’ll be plenty of time for that over dinner.

“Burger time!” Crimson chants, acting worse than the toddler throwing Cheerios on the floor two booths over from us. We’ve already fed the big lug multiple appetizers, and he’s still starving. To be fair, so am I—today’s practice was a bitch, but I can still comport myself like an adult. Even if internally, I’m also throwing a tiny tantrum .

“So, what did they threaten you with?” Owen asks, slurping his soda straw. “They told us if we have any more media fiascos we need to do community service.”

“They wanted me to issue a public apology to the fans,” I tell them with a roll of my eyes.

“I say we do community service at an animal shelter. Omegas love dogs. And my knot loves omegas.” Crimson does a happy dance as our food arrives, giving our waitress a big grin and a thank you. He bites into his burger without any decorum, laughing as the ketchup oozes out the sides.

“So, what did you say?” Damien wonders aloud, throwing a napkin at his packmate.

“Told them I wasn’t sorry, so I wouldn’t be apologizing for shit. Then I walked out.” I take a big bite of my burger with an appreciative groan, my stomach finally chilling the hell out.

Owen barks out a laugh, slapping my shoulder. “Wish I had said that. We just said protecting our family comes first and left it at that. I don’t like the way those assholes thought they could touch my sister.”

Crimson and I both snarl, in full agreement.

“No one touches little sis and lives,” he says, and they all nod.

She’s not a little sis to me.

“Speaking of crazy. Do you think we should offer for her to come live with us?” Damien glances between the three of us. I have no idea why he includes me in the question since we don’t live together. We both inhabit the same apartment building, just a few floors apart. Pack Moore has a fairly large four-bedroom penthouse, while I have a smaller two-bedroom to myself .

“We don’t have the space…” Owen begins, trailing off and staring into nothingness as though mentally reconfiguring their apartment. The moment is filled with tension, and I wonder if they’re waiting to see if I’ll offer. And if it’s a trap or genuine hope. Do they know?

Damien watches me like a hawk as I chew ever so slowly, considering my options.

With seven years between us, Owen has always made it clear that Posie is off-limits to everyone. Between the two of us—and now his pack—we’ve gone out of our way to scare off any little shit who showed interest. She’s been relegated to protected status, and I’ve been completely on board with keeping her untouched.

But it can’t be that way forever. It won’t be that way forever.

The phone buzzing saves my ass. With a muttered curse, Owen reaches for it, but not before I see the screen light up with his mother’s picture. He raises his finger to indicate that he needs a minute before heading toward the doors of the busy restaurant to take the call outside.

The food suddenly tastes like ash in my mouth as worry builds inside me. Why is his mom calling? What if something’s wrong with Posie?

Not bothering to be discreet, I pull out my phone and log into the tracker app. The little blue dot still blinks just where it was before, and I take a few deep breaths through my nose.

She’s fine. She’s fine.

I quickly close it before anyone can see, wiping my now-sweating palms on my legs .

“We’re heading out next weekend to help Jazzy through her heat. Wanna join?” Damien asks, dipping a fry into some ranch dressing before tossing it into his mouth.

Digging, you shit?

Crimson continues to eat, completely unbothered—but then again, Damien’s always been the second smartest member of Pack Moore. I need to be more careful around him.

“Nah. I’m good.” There’s a little break in our game schedule next weekend, and while I have no plans, my dick will only ever be inside one woman.

“Miller the Monk. Maybe we should change your name, Killer,” Crimson jokes, raising his hand to signal to the waitress for a refill. I bite my tongue, unwilling to rise to the bait. His eyes widen, locking on something behind me.

“Shit…”

Turning around, Owen’s making his way back over to us. His eyes are blazing, but his face is drawn in an unhappy grimace. Worry twists again in my gut, making bile race up my throat. All the heavy food suddenly giving me extreme indigestion.

“Everyone okay?” I ask, barely able to squeak out the words around the lump lodged in my throat.

“Yeah, fine.” He slumps into the booth, throws his head back against the seat, and massages the bridge of his nose. Clearly, something isn’t right, but it doesn’t seem urgent, so I wait him out.

“Seems fine,” Crimson interjects, nudging him under the table with his foot.

“Don’t kick me, dick. ”

“Then spill. You’re freaking us out. Was it Coach? Jazzy?” Crimson kicks him again for good measure, and the two get into an under-the-table footsie battle.

“Children. Cut it out,” Damien barks, and while they each need to get in one last hit, they finally do. “Now, talk.”

“It’s not major. I just can’t go with you for the heat. My parents need me to babysit Posie because they’re going away on a vacation,” he says, picking at his fries. The frustration rolling off him in waves is palpable. “I’m sure the three of you will have plenty of fun fucking the pretty omega without me.”

“No, dude! What? Can’t someone else do it? You’ve been looking forward to this for weeks. And we all know Posie doesn’t want a damn babysitter. Your parents need to stop with the bullshit.” Crimson visibly deflates before me, and I want to smack them both upside the head. Posie’s more important than having their knots milked by whoever their most recent fling is. They are right about one thing, though—there is someone else who can do it.

Slowly, a plan forms in my mind, and excitement spreads through my veins.

“I’ll do it.”