Page 100 of Scrum Heat

And then, because it’s us, someone produces a rugby ball.

“Don’t look at me,” I say. “It’s not mine.”

Theo twirls it in one hand. “Time for full-contact therapy?”

“No,” Rory deadpans. “It’s a public park.”

Theo immediately starts warming up.

Jax rises next, then Rory; and soon the three of them are on their feet, hurling the ball across the green with a combination of alarming accuracy and very little respect for local bystanders.

Frankie and I stay on the blanket. She stretches her legs out in front of her, toes painted soft pink. The sun catches the gold in her hair, her sunglasses slip down her nose, and I watch as she nudges them back into place with her pinkie.

A comfortable silence settles between us as her fingers find mine, and I smile like an idiot.

“They’re chaos,” she murmurs, nodding at the others.

“They’reyourchaos,” I reply. “You’re stuck with us now.”

Her lips twitch. “I’m not stuck. I chose it.”

Andgod, she doesn’t even know it, but that meanseverything.

I run my thumb over the back of her hand. She turns slightly, shifting to lie down, and rests her head in my lap with a contented little sigh. Her dress rides up just enough to show the curve of her thigh, but her expression is peaceful, her body loose and relaxed.

“You comfortable?” I ask, brushing a piece of hair from her cheek.

“Perfect,” she mumbles, eyes already fluttering closed.

Theo whoops in the distance as Rory shouts something back at him. I look up just in time to spot Jax catching the ball one-handed before throwing it like he’s launching a missile. My instincts are thoroughly torn between staying put with my omega or running off to the rugby ball, but I remain put. I keep watching them for a minute, this chaotic little unit we’ve become—fractured and weird and built around this one incredible woman who showed up and made it all make sense.

She’s not marked by all of us yet. She hasn’t been fully claimed.

But she’s part of the pack.

And no matter what’s waiting around the corner—articles, haters, rival teams with sharp teeth and sharp tongues—I think we’ll be alright.

Becausethis? This is more than alright.

This is her, curled up in my lap in a sundress, sleeping in the sun while our pack throws a rugby ball around badly and yells like children.

This is home.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Frankie

I’m in my makeshift office at the club—you know, the glorified broom cupboard with a window and a crochet gecko—wearing Jax’s hoodie and uploading the latest one-on-one interview onto all of the club’s socials.

Today’s victim was Ollie, who thought wearing neon socks made him media-ready.

He was, of course, incorrect.

The wifi’s lagging, the captions aren’t syncing, and I’ve just found a hate comment that calls me “a pheromone-chasing omega skank with a tripod fetish,” which is both rude and oddly specific.

Still. I’m trying to focus.

My bond with Jax is still new—raw and quiet and constant. I feel him everywhere: in my skin, in my chest, in the way his scent clings to this hoodie like a second skin. It’s grounding as much as it is calming; a low hum of connection that keeps me from unraveling completely, even on days when I want to scream.

---