Page 107 of Scrum Heat

I exhale, and for the first time all night, something inside me eases.

We sit there together, not speaking. Two alphas. Two idiots.

One omega upstairs—

And everything about to change.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Finn

The kitchen smells like vanilla extract and a nervous breakdown.

I’ve got two trays of different flavor muffins in the oven, some banana bread cooling on the windowsill, and there’s scone dough resting in the fridge—overworked, thank you very much—because apparently, I’ve decided that baking myself into carpal tunnel is a better coping mechanism than screaming into a pillow.

Stress baking would be an understatement right now. This is a full-blown meltdown pâtisserie.

I whisk harder, and the mixer bowl wobbles on the countertop.

“Easy, Gordon Ramsay,” Theo mutters from behind me.

I scoff, wanting to correct him that Gordon Ramsay is achef,but I don’t. I don’t look up, either.

“Tell that to the Omega Safety Compliance Board who want to turn our house into a cautionary tale.”

He snorts and swipes one of the warm muffins from the tray. “These smell good.”

“I added cinnamon to those ones,” I say darkly. “To honor the flavour of betrayal.”

Theo bites into it and groans. “God, she’s ruined me. This is better than sex.”

“I hope it’s not,” I mutter. “I’m not knotting you over a traybake.”

He laughs, but my stomach still twists.

Because the truth is… I’m scared.

Not of bonding. Not of commitment. Not even of the headline-level chaos that seems to follow Frankie like an extremely hot personal raincloud. I’m scared of her getting hurt; of this whole thing spiralling beyond what any of us can fix.

Theo wanders off—probably to go pester Rory in the backyard—and I’m left alone again. Just me and the muffins and the echoing sound of government-issued doom.

The scent of Frankie and Jax’s bond is everywhere now. It's as though it’s sunk into the walls and the sheets and every pack instinct I have. I’m happy for them—really, I am—but it makes everythingreal. This isn’t casual, this isn’t theory—this ishappening, and if the OSC decides to make an example of us? If someone from Denton Vale stirs up more trouble? If Frankie wakes up tomorrow and realizes she’s bonded to two emotionally unstable rugby players with a muffin budget bigger than their salaries?

Well—what if she decides she doesn’t want this? What if she decides that we’re too much?

I rub my hands down the front of my apron (yes, I’m wearing an apron, and yes, it says “Bake It Till You Make It,” and no, I will not be accepting criticism at this time) and stare out the window, where Rory is doing his usual emotionally constipated pacing and Theo is sitting down on the patio.

Jax had passed through earlier with a carved spoon and a face that saidspeak and I’ll remove your vocal cords,so. That’s where we’re at.

Then—

“Finn.”

I nearly jump out of my skin.

Frankie’s in the doorway, and for a second, I forget how to speak. Or move. Or exist.

Her hair’s a mess. She’s in an oversized cardigan that’s slipped off one shoulder, and a white dress that might be a nightgown or a declaration of war, I don’t know. All I know is she looks soft and sleepy and like something I want to protectandworship, which feels borderline rude when I’m already spiraling.

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