Page 27 of My Defiant Mate
"Good," Wes says. "And if the board gives you any shit, you call me. The university doesn't like it when their star quarterback starts asking pointed questions about Title IX compliance and potential discrimination suits. I'll make a few calls. Remind them how bad that looks for fundraising."
A jolt goes through me—not just from the information, but from the backup. The unspoken promise.You are not alone in this fight.
"Thanks," I manage to say.
"Don't thank me," he grunts. "Just handle your shit. Protect your mate."
The phone is handed back. "Sorry about him," Braiden says, his voice soft again. "He gets... territorial. Even for other people."
"It's fine," I say, and for the first time, it feels true. "Braiden. Thank you. Seriously."
"Of course," he says, his voice warm with genuine empathy. "He's one of us now. You both are. Just get your omega back."
He hangs up.
Get your omega back.
The words echo in my head, a command and a promise. I dive back into the website, following Braiden's directions. Student Accommodations. It takes me less than twenty minutes. Buried deep in a sub-menu no one's probably clicked on since the nineties, I find it.
Section 7.3 of the Westbridge University Housing Policy: "Accommodations for Bonded Pairs."
"In accordance with federal guidelines, Westbridge University recognizes the unique nature of alpha/omega bonded pairs and will make reasonable accommodations to ensure the wellbeing of such pairs, including but not limited to housing reassignments… and, where applicable, modifications to professional responsibilities that might otherwise create a conflict of interest..."
I read the words again. A third time. It's real. Black and white. A lifeline.
Henderson can't force Toby to choose. It's against their own fucking rules. It's against the law. He played his hand, and I just found the ace up my sleeve.
I print the page, the printer spitting it out with a satisfying whir. I keep digging, finding precedents, other cases, anything that can bolster my argument. Each new piece of information is another weapon. Another reason for Toby to believe that we can have everything.
By the time the sun is fully up, cutting harsh lines of light across the disaster of my room, I have a plan. I should be dead on my feet after being up all night, riding a roller coaster from rock bottom to maybe, just maybe, having a shot. But I've never been more awake. More sure.
So this is what it's like. Fighting for something real.
I pull out my phone. 7:36 AM. The housing board meets at 10. Just enough time.
My hands are shaking, but not from caffeine anymore. It's adrenaline. Fear. A terrifying, exhilarating certainty. For the first time in my life, I know exactly what I'm doing.
This is it. Not the guitar in my hands, or the next party, or the next fight. Him. Us. This is what I was made for.
I pull up Toby's contact, my thumb hovering over the screen. I type out the message, each word a vow. I hit send. The single word Delivered appears underneath. I shove my phone in mypocket without waiting for a reply and pull the one decent shirt I own from the back of my closet.
Time to go to war.
Toby
Iread Jionni's message three times before it sinks in.
Disaster:I'm not giving up on us. Meeting with housing board at 10 AM. Be there or don't, but I'm fighting for you either way.
I stare at the message until the screen dims, then goes black, my fingers cramping from how tightly I'm gripping the phone. The darkness is a relief. I don't deserve his fight. I don't deserve his certainty.
My room feels like a tomb. Half-packed boxes surround me—my surrendered life, disassembled piece by piece. The RA handbook sits on top of the nearest box, its laminated cover gleaming under my desk lamp. I've memorized every single rule, built my days around them, even recited them to myself when I couldn't sleep.
And for what?
I check the time. 9:32 AM. If I leave now, I could make it. I could be there.
But then what? Watch Jionni throw himself against the system for me? Watch him get crushed because I was a coward? I can't. I just can't bear it.
