Page 171 of Scrum Heat

Jax’s hand curls around mine, solid and grounding. “You’re not dreaming.”

Theo presses a kiss behind my ear. “But if you are… we’d better make it worth staying asleep for.”

I smile. Because if thisisa dream, I never want to wake up.

Chapter Forty

Jax

The last seventy-two hours have been… a lot.

We beat Denton Vale on Saturday. Walked off the field to a sold-out crowd roaring our names and watched Rory nearly break Marcus Vale’s hand during the post-match handshake, then came home and collapsed into the kind of celebration you feel in your bones.

By Sunday, the high was still buzzing through us; until Theo dropped the truth about the troll accounts—and Frankie learned her own mother was behind them. That should’ve been the worst part; but that had somehow turned into the four of us breaking every rule of restraint and worshipping her like we were built for it.

(Who knows: maybe we are.)

Somewhere along the line, I’d told her about my childhood, too. Things I hadn’t said out loud before, and still didn’t understandwhy.

But now it’s Monday, and we’re all dressed in club polos and clean jeans, sitting on a round table in front of the Alderbridge board.

What a fucking weekend.

Frankie’s seated at the head of the table with Evie beside her, posture straight and chin high. Her scent is calm on the surface, but I can feel the spike of nerves humming under it. Through the bond, it’s like white noise—tightly wound and simmering.

I want to touch her. Just one hand on her thigh, her back, her wrist. Something.

But we’re being watched.Hard.

Across the table sit six members of the Alderbridge RFC board—men and women, all with clipped voices, pressed collars, and expressions like they forgot how to smile sometime during the Cold War. They’re flanked by Tom, who looks about as uncomfortable as someone can without physically melting into his chair.

“We’ve reviewed all submissions,” says Gray Hair. Evie called him Peter. “The references from your coaches were, admittedly, glowing. Though perhaps biased.”

Theo leans forward slightly. “We’re very loveable.”

Evie nudges his ankle under the table without looking.

Gray Hair doesn’t even blink. “As for the Omega Safety Compliance Board—they’ve deferred to us for the time being. They don’t currently require a direct meeting, but are expecting a full report.”

“Which is why we’re here,” adds the woman with the glasses, steepling her fingers. “This pack arrangement is... unconventional.”

Frankie doesn’t flinch. “It’s stable.”

The woman tilts her head. “For now.”

“We’ve submitted incident reports, scent scans, footage, and data,” Evie says smoothly. “You’ve seen the analysis. There’s been zero volatility and a marked increase in cohesion since formal bonding—both on the pitch and off.”

“Not to mention,” Tom adds, gesturing loosely to Frankie, “our social metrics have increased by over four hundred percent. Engagement, ticket sales, brand visibility. We’re trending weekly, and the players are becoming local icons.”

Finn perks up. “A woman did ask me to sign her baby last week. That feels iconic.”

The woman with the glasses blinks slowly.

“Anyway,” Finn adds quickly, “she didn’t have a pen.”

I hear Theo stifle a laugh beside me.

“We’ve got a sold-out final coming up next weekend,” Rory says firmly, bringing the room back to order. “The team’s stronger than ever. We’re winning. We’re representing this club better than we ever have—and it’s because we’ve found balance. The kind that only happens when your people are right.”

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