"Belmont." Coach's gruff voice comes through tinny and stressed. "We need to talk about Valek."
I close my eyes for a moment, mentally preparing for whatever fresh hell this conversation will bring. "What about him?"
"The doctors are releasing him tomorrow morning. Management's decided he should recover at the pack house where you can all keep an eye on him."
I freeze, staring at the couch that's currently split in half. "I'm sorry, what?"
"Valek. Pack house. Tomorrow," Coach repeats slowly, as if I'm a particularly dense child. "Management wants to make sure he feels welcome after the...incident. Show some team unity. Do you have any fucking idea how close management came to suspending your brother? Alphas brawl, but Wraith's feral bullshit has everyone on edge as it is."
"Coach, I don't think?—"
"It's not up for debate, Belmont," he cuts me off. "The suits are bitching about potential legal issues if we don't bend over backwards for him. You know how many goddamn strings they pulled to get a player of his caliber in the first place."
Another loud thump and cry from upstairs, this one so loud it actually shakes dust from the ceiling. I look up in horror, praying Coach didn't hear it.
"Was that a fucking earthquake?" Coach asks.
"Renovations," I lie, shooting Whiskey a death glare as he doubles over silently laughing. "We're... doing some work on the house."
"Well, finish it by tomorrow at noon. Valek needs a calm environment to recuperate in."
I look around at the demolition zone that used to be our living room. The smashed TV lying face-down on the floor. The stuffing from couch cushions still gently floating through the air beneath the spinning ceiling fans like apocalyptic snow. The holes punched in the drywall.
A calm environment.
Fucking hilarious.
And now we have our scent match here, too. The scent match who's the very reason our newest winger and Wraith beat the shit out of each other in the first place.
"Coach, this really isn't a good time," I say, desperation creeping into my voice. "The house is a mess, and?—"
"Then fix it," Coach says, like it's that simple. "Hire cleaners. Call a contractor. I don't care how you do it, just make it happen."
"But—"
"Belmont." His voice drops lower, into the danger zone. "This isn't a request. Make. It. Happen."
The line goes dead.
I stare at my phone for a long moment, then look up at Whiskey and Plague, who've stopped cleaning to watch me.
"Let me guess," Plague says, his expression schooled into neutrality. "We're getting company."
"Valek," I confirm, shoving my phone back in my pocket. "Tomorrow."
Whiskey's grin vanishes. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me."
"Wish I was." I gesture at the wreckage around us. "We're supposed to have this place ready for him to 'recuperate in a calm environment.'"
As if on cue, a particularly loud growl and cry echo from above.
"Super calm," Whiskey mutters. "Very zen. Total spa vibes."
"This is a nightmare," I groan, sinking onto the half of the couch that's still standing. "Valek already suspects there's an omega here. If he comes tomorrow and catches her scent..."
"Or hears them," Whiskey adds helpfully. "Because holy shit, they areloud."
I shoot him a look that could melt steel. "Yes, thank you for that observation."
