Page 101 of Scrum Heat

But it’s also made things complicated.

I’ve bonded to one alpha, but I’m living with three more.

And someone out there has noticed.

There’s a knock at the door. It’s sharp and clipped—the kind that carries bad news in its back pocket.

I jump. “Yeah?”

The door opens, and Rory steps inside. His jaw is tight, his brows drawn. The tension radiating off him makes my stomach twist.

“Tom wants to see us,” he says simply. “All of us.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

*

We gather in one of the meeting rooms upstairs.

Tom—Alderbridge RFC’s club manager, logistics guy, and general bearer of bad news—is already standing at the front. He’s got a clipboard tucked under one arm, a laptop open in front of him, and a pinched look that says he’d rather beanywhereelse.

Evie is already there, too; perched at the far end of the table in a fitted blazer, pen in hand, and an expression sharp enough to skin someone. She doesn’t look up when we enter, just clicks her pen deliberately.

Tom clears his throat. “Everyone here?”

We nod. No one speaks.

He exhales like it physically pains him. “Right. Let’s get straight to it.”

I sit beside Finn, pulse already thudding in my ears. Theo’s bouncing his leg under the table. Jax looks carved out of stone.

Tom scrolls something on the screen. “There’s been a formal complaint.”

The air tightens instantly, and he glances up, straight at me.

“About you, Frankie. And your… unofficial involvement with whatappearsto be a forming pack.”

My mouth goes dry. “What?”

“Concerns have been raised,” Tom continues, “about pheromone exposure on club property. About unmanaged heats, about alpha-omega proximity, and—frankly—about stability.”

Theo’s chair screeches as he leans forward. “That’sbullshit.”

Tom holds up a hand. “I’m just the messenger.”

“That’s notjusta complaint,” Finn says, voice sharp. “That’s regulatory language.”

“Yeah, well, that’s also not everything,” Tom continues. “The Omega Safety Compliance Board has been notified. There’s suspicion that the environment here is…unregulated.”

Rory growls low in his throat as Tom taps his laptop, then turns the screen toward us. “You’re close to going viral, Frankie. And I don’t mean your own videos and footage—I meanyou.Fan accounts have been created and are posting sideline shots, post-game hugs, edited reels.”

My mind is whirring. “I don’t—I didn’t—I had no idea,” I stutter, lost for words.

“There’s also been some… commentary. From rival players.”

Theo’s jaw flexes. “Denton Vale.”

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