“Fuck the people.” Beau keeps pace beside us, one hand on my leg, maintaining contact. “Fuck the cameras. Fuck anyone who has a problem with us protecting our Omega.”
Our Omega.
The words settle into my chest, warm and right.
“He said—” My voice cracks. “He said he had a contract. With my father. That I was his by?—”
“No.” Charlie’s voice is steel. “You’re not property, Willa. You never were. Whatever bullshit arrangement your father made, it’s not legal, and it’s not binding. I can guarantee that.”
“And even if he found a court to honor it, you’re fucking ours,” Jake says, voice on fire, and it leaves my skin tingling.
“He sent the video,” I whisper. “To APBRA. He tried to get me fired.”
The growl that rumbles through all three of them is perfectly synchronized, and despite everything, it makes me feel safe.
“We’ll handle it,” Beau promises darkly. “We’ll handle all of it.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, though I’m not sure what I’m apologizing for.
“Don’t.” Jake tilts my face up to his, and his brown eyes are fierce. “Don’t you dare apologize. This isn’t your fault.”
“We should have been there,” Charlie says, guilt heavy in his voice. “We should have?—”
“You were doing your jobs,” I interrupt. “You couldn’t have known.”
“We should have known.” Beau’s hand is still on my face, thumb stroking over my cheekbone. “We should have scented how unstable he was. Should have anticipated?—”
“Stop.” I reach up, covering his hand with mine. “All of you, that wasn’t your fault. It’s mine.”
“Willa—” Jake starts, but I shake my head.
“Look,” I take a breath, trying to center myself, “you all have media obligations. Press interviews, league responsibilities. You need to go do those things.”
“Fuck the press,” Beau growls.
“No,” I say firmly, looking at each of them. “You just publicly claimed me in front of everyone. The least you can do is go out there and own it. Answer their questions. Do your jobs.” I try for a smile, even though my skin feels too tight. “Besides, in a few hours we can all relax back at the hotel room.”
The way I say it—the slight emphasis on “relax”—makes all three of them go very still. The air in the storage room shifts, charged with sudden heat.
“Willa…” Charlie’s voice drops an octave.
“I’m just saying,” I continue, feeling my cheeks flush, “you should go handle your responsibilities now. So you don’t have to worry about them… later.”
Jake’s eyes darken with understanding.
“Later,” Beau repeats slowly, his gaze intense. “And then we’re all back at the hotel.”
“All of us,” I confirm, my heart racing. “No interruptions.”
They exchange looks—some silent pack communication passing between them—and I see the exact moment they all agree.
“Okay,” Jake says. “But you’re coming with us. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
“Actually,” I shift, suddenly feeling too warm, too confined, “I need a minute. The bathroom. I just need to… splash some water on my face. Clear my head.”
“We’ll wait,” Charlie offers.
“No.” It comes out sharper than I intended. I soften my tone. “Really, go do the press thing. I’ll meet you after. I just need a few minutes to myself, you know.”
