Page 174 of Scrum Heat

“You’ve got this,” he says. “We’re all with you.”

I nod, and this time I really feel it—each tether humming under my skin like a heartbeat; a pack-shaped rhythm that moves with me.

I move down the stairs, out of the door and into the car. I don’t turn on the radio, don’t bother putting on one of my playlists, not even an audiobook or the news. I just drive, with only the quiet hum of the engine and the low, steady murmur of my own breath to join me.

I haven’t been back here in months. Not since everything changed. Not since I became…me. This version of me.

The roads are still the same—winding lanes and clean-cut hedgerows, identical picket-fence houses; but it all feels smaller now. As though the town I once bent myself to fit no longer fits me.

I messaged my mother last night to say I’d be calling by this morning, though I didn’t give a reason why I was coming. She didn’t ask, either.

When I turn onto her street, I see it immediately:Nigel’s car. Still that same pretentious silver SUV with the vanity plates andthe smug aura. It’s parked outside his mother’s home like it owns the curb, and the sight of it punches something low in my stomach.

I park at the top of the drive. My hands linger on the steering wheel a second too long, and for a moment, I consider just… not going in. I could drive away, go back to Alderbridge, crawl into bed, and pretend this part of my life doesn’t exist.

But I can feel them through the bond; all four of them with me.

And so I step out of the car.

The front door opens before I even make it up the steps. She’s smiling—too wide, too bright.

“Frankie, sweetheart!” she says, pulling me in for a hug.

I stop on the doormat that readsHome Is Where the Heart Is,and try not to visibly flinch as her arms wrap around me. If she notices, she doesn’t show it. She just beams, then steps back and waves me inside.

The entryway still smells the same—rose air freshener and floor polish. A scent that screams report cards and passive-aggressive compliments.

“Come on in! Sit down, sit down,” she calls, already heading toward the kitchen. “I’ve got lemon cake and those oatmeal cookies you used to love. Nigel’s been here most of the week—he’s been helping with the yard! You should’ve seen it, completely overgrown. We were thinking of hiring someone, but Nigel said he’d handle it himself. So capable.”

I blink.

Nohow’s work,nohow’s the new job,noare you happy.Just cookies and Nigel.

She gestures toward the living room, already setting the cake out on the coffee table like this is a casual visit and not the slow unraveling of an entire relationship. I sit stiffly on the couch, hands clasped in my lap, and glance at the same old photos on the wall. School portraits. Holiday shots. Cousins I haven’t spoken to in years. Me, at fourteen, with braces and a haircut that should’ve triggered legal action.

“You’ve lost weight,” she announces suddenly, narrowing her eyes. “Are you still taking those horrible suppressant things?”

“No,” I lie easily.

“Oh, good.” She pours sweet tea and nods like that settles a debate. “I always thought they made you look a little… drawn. You’re so much prettier when you’re just being yourself, you know.”

I say nothing.

“I ran into Mrs. Gleeson at Trader Joe’s last week. Remember her? Her daughter’s a junior associate at some law firm downtown. Isn’t that great? And she just got engaged to a lovely Beta—just one, of course. None of this… pack business. He’s in finance, I think. Or consulting. Something stable, at least.”

And there it is.

I sip the tea. It’s too sweet. It tastes like judgment and every time she ever saidI’m just worried about your future,when what shereallymeant wasI don’t approve of your choices.

She doesn’t ask how I’m doing. She doesn’t ask about Alderbridge. About Theo or Finn or Jax or Rory. About the job I love. About the life I’ve made.

She just keeps talking. About Nigel, mostly. How successful he is. His new car. His promotion. How he’s thinking of buying a condo just outside the city.

“He still asks after you, you know. Such a sweet boy. Very devoted.”

I place my glass down a little too harshly, and her eyes flick to mine, surprised by the sound.

“Everything alright, dear?”

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