Coach raises his brows, looking somewhat amused.
“You’ll fit in just fine, then. Moose don’t have time forpampered. Beta, alpha, omega—it doesn’t matter here. Everyone pulls their weight.”
“Good,” I say, wiping my hands on a napkin. “Because I’m all out of patience for guys who pull a hamstring and act like it’s a near-death experience.”
He gives a low chuckle, then finally stands and zips his jacket.
“Then you're in perfect company, Emery. Now: finish your food, go get your keys, get some rest, and be ready to hit the ground running.”
I'm stuffed, not able to eat another bite anyway, so I reach for my coat.
“Speaking of keys—the place I’m renting is on the other side of town. I was told they left them at Wolf’s Hardware?”
“Yep.” Coach nods as he tugs on one glove. “Just head down Main, hang a right at the post office, and it’s three blocks down on the left. Big faded sign. You can’t miss it.”
“Right at the post office, then three blocks down on the left,” I echo, shoving my arms into my sleeves.
“That’s right. It’s a family business,” he says. He hesitates, as if he's unsure whether to clarify, before he speaks again. “It's actually Beau’s dad who runs it.”
I freeze mid-button.
My omega instincts do a weird little static-hiss at the name.
“Ah. So Wolf as in…Wolfe.”
“The very same.”
Coach’s expression doesn’t shift, showing that he’s not giving away more than necessary.
“Ken Wolfe’s… got a presence. Bit of a throwback, and old-school alpha mindset. Just… don’t mention anything that plugs in. Or beeps.”
“So I should avoid saying words likeWi-Fiorergonomic?”
“Unless you want a lecture about how real tools don’t require software updates, yeah.”
“Fantastic,” I mutter, slinging my bag over my shoulder. “Day one and I’m already on the Wolfe radar. Love that for me.”
Coach claps a firm hand on my shoulder before pulling the door open, and the cold air hits immediately.
“Just remember,” he says, his voice a notch quieter. “You’re here to help.”
A beat passes.
Then, dry as dust:
“And god help us… they’re gonna need it.”
Chapter Three
Emery
You don’t realize how much junk you’ve accumulated until it’s all packed into the back of your car like a very personal, very chaotic game of Tetris.
Clothes. Books. A yoga mat I haven’t unrolled in eight months. A sad-looking fern I rescued from a breakup and named Kevin. Shoe bags. Coffee mugs.
My entire life has now been reduced toa number of overstuffed duffel bags, a plastic laundry basket, and an emergency snack bag that I'd been picking through since hour two of the drive.
Somehow, it all fits.
