Page 99 of Scrum Heat

Theo’s already got contacts digging into IP addresses, and Rory wanted to confront the Vale team manager directly, but Evie shot that right down. Jax said he’ll “handle it” and hasn’t elaborated—which, of course, is terrifying.

So. We obviously are in dire need of a reset. We need something calm, something light, something fun.

We need…a packnic.

Yes: a picnic for the pack. I made the pun, and I’m standing by it.

“I brought hummus,” I announce, unfolding the blanket with a flourish that absolutely no one appreciates.

Theo stares at it like it’s planning a crime. “That’s not a snack. That’s a cry for help.”

“It’s high-protein, omega-safe,andgut-positive.”

“I’mhigh-protein and gut-positive,” Theo mutters, immediately reaching for the chocolate-chip muffins instead. “And I taste better.”

Rory scowls and grips his thermos. “Are we really doing this?”

“We are packnicking,” I say proudly. “It’s a bonding experience. Very emotionally mature of me, actually.”

“Emotionallyconcerning,” Rory mutters.

He sits down so stiffly you’d think the blanket had betrayed him personally as Jax appears behind him, silent as ever and carrying a small Tupperware of cut fruit. I didn’t ask him to bring it—it’s just who he is. Reliable, slightly terrifying, and weirdly gifted at melon.

She’s wearing a white sundress. It’s soft, floaty, and knee-length, with little buttons down the front and a pair of oversized sunglasses perched on her nose. Her honey blond hair is loose around her shoulders, and she’s got a woven tote bag in one hand and a Tupperware container in the other.

Theo sees her first and mutters, “Well,shit.”

Jax straightens slightly, Rory stops talking mid-sentence, and I literally forget how to breathe for a second.

“Hi,” Frankie says, like she hasn’t just derailed all of our higher brain function. “I brought brownies. They’re… average. But they exist.”

She sits down gracefully on the blanket next to me, adjusting the skirt of her dress over her thighs as she side-eyes the hummus, then me.

“You still trying to make people like that?”

“It’s good for you!” I say, scandalized.

“Depression is good for no one, Finn.”

Theo snorts. “You’re being too kind.”

But her tone is light, less sharp-edged than it was even a few weeks back. She snatches some fruit from Jax’s container and leans back on her elbows with a sigh that sounds slightly less full of existential despair than usual.

Progress.

We settle in, passing food back and forth. Rory critiques the thermos coffee despite the fact thathebrought it. I bring out a speaker, and we argue about the playlist for ten full minutes before settling on Frankie’s mix of indie rock, bad pop, and that one ten-minute long song that makes me want to cry in a field.

We eat. We talk.

And we lie to ourselves and each other about how chill we are about… well,everything.

No one mentions the article, or the fact that Frankie’s still getting targeted with anonymous comments under every post—comments that Evie’s now personally tracking with the tenacity of a digital bounty hunter.

Instead, we talk about everything else.

Frankie asks why Theo’s banned from the gas station on the other side of town (answer: “vibes”). Rory complains that the bakery down the street changed their cinnamon roll recipe (“it’s a federal offense”). I challenge Jax to a fruit-carving contest and lose instantly. He doesn’t even gloat—just hands me a perfectly sculpted pineapple rose and goes back to slicing watermelon with the calm focus of a polite serial killer.

I comment on it, and Frankie laughs—a full-body snort-laugh that makes her choke on a strawberry and whack Theo’s chest like it’s his fault—and my heart does that thing where it skips and flails and whispers,Oh no.

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