Page 13 of Scrum Heat

I am not okay; but as I collapse face-down onto the bed, I can't help but think of how at least, for now, I am alone.

Chapter Four

Rory

She’s been in that room for four hours, twenty-three minutes, and seventeen seconds.

Not that I’m counting.

I’m just checking. For safety.

That’s my job, after all. As captain. As the adult in this chaos-soaked testosterone den we call a team house.

Not because I’m unaffected, but because I’m holding the fucking line.

Theo’s been vibrating with mate-energy since the moment she purred, Finn’s already rewritten their love story in his head three times, and Jax is quietly carving a spoon. Meanwhile, I’ve spent the last four hours pacing the hallway like a dad waiting outside a delivery room, except the delivery is a scent-sensitive omega in a nest full of semi-clean gym towels.

I’m not fine.

But I don’tdomessy.

I’ve spent each of my twenty-four years living in Alderbridge, and I swear, I’ve never come this close to losing my composure. I learned early on that the only way to be heard was to shut up and perform, so that’s what I did.

I always loved sport, but nothing ever fit quite right. I was too broad for soccer, too heavy-footed for hockey, and too impatient for anything racket-related. I joined the rugby team at twelve, and by senior year, I was running drills in the rain while other kids were sneaking out to drink and dry-hump in the back of their cars.

By the time I turned twenty, I’d stopped asking what came next and decided I’d make this—this field, this club, and what turned into this goddamnpack—into something that mattered.

I cross my arms over my chest and lean against the hallway wall like it might hold me upright while the rest of me tries not to tear the guest room door off its hinges. Her scent’s leaking out from under it in warm, soft waves—cinnamon and heat andwant—and I can hardly stand it.

She’s not bonded. She’s not part of our pack. She’s not even officially on the club’s payroll yet.

I should be sanitizing my kettlebells and re-reading the Omega Health Code like the emotionally constipated alpha I aspire to be; but I’m still here, breathing her in, and wishing—just for a second—that I could be someone else.

Someone selfish. Someonesoft.

But I’m not.

I’m Rory James, Alderbridge Rugby Club’s team captain, and Ineverwant what I can’t have.

She claims that she’s not going into heat, but I’m not so sure. I’m not exactly an expert when it comes to omegas in this kind of state—that’s always been more Theo’s arena—but even I know this doesn’t look stable. Suppressants or not, something’s off.

And if thatiswhat’s going on, then she should be in a proper nest. Temperature regulated, fully stabilized, and supervised by a certified bond partner who’s trained to handle early-cycle onset. Not curled up with shitty towels, Theo’s hoodie, and a dreamcatcher Finn made out of socks and unmedicated optimism.

If Frankie is in heat, and if the board ever found out, we’d be blacklisted faster than you can sayimproper heat management protocol.Honestly, it’s only Theo’s dad’s political pull that might save our asses if any of this ever comes to light.

Which is rich, considering his son currently smells like gym sex and recklessness.

Speak of the pheromone-fueled devil—

“You checking on her too?” Theo rounds the corner barefoot, grinning. He’s shirtless, obviously, and his gray sweat shorts hang low on his hips.

“No,” I deadpan.

“Just leaning against her door like a wallpaper sample with boundary issues, then?”

I don’t answer.

“Did she just sigh?” he smirks, tilting his head toward the door.

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