Page 84 of Scrum Heat

That word echoes in my chest, curling hot and low. I look around the room.

Rory, solid and unreadable but always watching.

Theo, confident and cocky, jaw tight with restraint.

Finn, warm and steady and already halfway in love with everyone he touches.

And Jax, leaning against the wall, silent but entirely present, like a mountain that’s already decided not to move.

I take a shaky breath.

“Okay,” I say.

The word lands in the room like a match.

Theo’s grin is slow and devastating. Finn exhales, like he’s been holding it in. Jax doesn’t move, but his eyes flick to mine, and there’s something solid there. Something steady, something protective, maybe even a little possessive.

Rory’s nod is small and certain, almost like he expected it. And me?

I’ve never felt more wanted. Never felt more chosen.

Never felt more like I could finally stop running.

I shift slightly, the air in the room thick with something warm and heavy.

“I want in,” I say. “I want to be in the pack.”

And for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like I have to prove anything.

Chapter Twenty

Frankie

You know what’s a terrible combination?

Four possessive alphas, a viral article basically accusing you of sleeping your way into a job, and a live-streamed rugby match.

Add in a rival team full of cologne-drenched meatheads with the collective IQ of a damp sponge, and I’m one snide comment away from throwing myself into traffic.

I’m supposed to be filming pre-game content—wholesome, sponsor-friendly stuff. Think: #TryMe, not #TryMeBitch.

Instead, I’m crouched behind a training dummy, clutching my phone like it’s a cross between a shield and a panic button and trying not to hyperventilate while Rory and Jax stare down a forward from the opposing team like they’re trying to set him on fire with their minds.

It started with a dumb joke—some comment from their winger, a bulky slab of Axe body spray and testosterone, about howgenerousAlderbridge RFC must be to let the whole front line share an omega.

Then he winked.

At me.

“Big mistake,” Finn growls.

“Dead man walking,” Theo adds. “Should we livestream the funeral?”

If I’d only been watching them—the loud ones, the showmen—I’d miss it. The slight shift of movement, the way Jax inches forward with barely a breath of warning.

It’s subtle. Easy to overlook if you don’t know to look for it.

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? This is why they work, why this whole chaotic, growly, ridiculous setup somehow holds together. Theo and Finn make noise, Jax moves in silence, and Rory anchors it all without saying much of anything.

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