Page 14 of Scrum Heat

“She’sbreathing,” I snap. “That’s what matters.”

Theo laughs, then stretches his arms behind his head. His abs do a thing, and I stare at a framed photo of our 2018 championship team. The radiator.Anything.

I grit my teeth. “Go to bed, Theo.”

“You know what I think?” he asks, ignoring me completely. “I think someone’s got it bad.”

“I know you’re not talking about me.”

“Of course not,” he nods. “Youdefinitelydidn’t growl at Finn for offering her water.”

“That was a tactical vocalization.”

“That was a tantrum with base notes of possessive dysfunction.”

“I will kill you.”

Theo smirks. “Maybe. But first you’d have to stop sniffing her door like a teenage alpha who just found his dad’s stash of vintage Omega Heat mags.”

I give him a look so sharp it should qualify as an edged weapon, but he just laughs, bold and loud and unbothered.

“It’s always the repressed ones. You know that, right? The ones who read the Health Code for fun and then accidentally imprint while installing scent blockers.”

“Fuck.Off.”

“Alright, alright.” He backs away, hands up. “But if you’re gonna keep standing there, at least moisturize. You’re two hours away from full grumpy alpha in a suppressants commercial.”

He laughs to himself again as he disappears to his room. My hand stays braced against the doorframe, my knuckles white as I watch the door close behind him.

*

It’s hours later when I hear the soft pad of feet down the hall—quiet and careful, like someone trying not to wake a feral cat (or, in this case, a dangerously repressed alpha having an emotional breakdown in a hallway). Finn appears around the corner, hoodie-clad and glowing with that particular brand of cinnamon-scented, chamomile-steeped sincerity that makes you want to both hug him and shove him in a cupboard.

He’s holding a thermos in one hand and what appears to be a… knitted…lizard?

Finn follows my gaze. “It’s a stress gecko,” he explains. “I made it for her.”

Of course he did.

“I can take over,” he says gently. “Let you get some sleep.”

Every instinct in me tells me to stay, but I can’t deny it: Iamtired. Besides, Finn’s calm in a way I can’t be right now.

I nod as I step back, and he gives me a small, understanding look—the kind that saysI know you’re hanging on by a thread, and that thread is currently wrapped around her—and settles himself cross-legged by the door.

I watch as he unscrews the thermos. Steam curls upward, and his scent rises too—clean, comforting, vaguely like oat biscuits and weighted blankets.

And underneath it all?

Her.

That same warm, aching thread of temptation that’s been leaking under the door for hours now; soft and syrupy, sharp enough to make my canines ache. I watch Finn sip his tea beforehe pulls his hood up and tucks the gecko under one arm, and I turn and I walk away, making it one step at a time.

Down the hall.

Through the scent. Through the ache.

Trying not to look back. Trying not to go feral.

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