I’m finishing my notes when I feel it before I see it: that subtle shift in the air that comes with an alpha presence settling into a space without trying to dominate it.
Coach Phillips appears in the doorway of the PT room, one broad shoulder resting against the frame, coffee cup warm in his hands. He watches me for a moment, eyes thoughtful rather than sharp, almost as though he’s checking his footing before entering someone else’s territory despite the obvious imbalance.
“Emery,” he says. “You got a minute?”
I set my tablet down carefully, aligning it with the edge of the desk the way I always do when my nerves want somewhere to go. I offer him a small, steady smile.
“Yeah,” I say. “Of course.”
He nods once and gestures down the hall toward his office. The walk there feels longer than it should. Not because I’m afraid, but because I know this conversation matters.
I’ve had versions of it before. Different teams, different places, and different men in positions of authority; but never like this. Never with so many layers already in play.
Coach’s office smells like strong coffee, old wood, and ice melt tracked in from the rink. He closes the door behind us and motions for me to sit across from him, waiting until I do before lowering himself into his chair, elbows resting on his knees.
“I’m going to be very clear,” he says, meeting my eyes without flinching. “Because I respect you, and because this affects people I’m responsible for.”
I nod. “Okay.”
“You’ve bonded with Wolfe,” he says. Then, after a beat, “and you were intimate with Connor Madsen.”
I let my breath out slowly, grounding myself before answering.
“Yes,” I say. “Both of those things are true.”
He studies my face.
“Was it consensual?” he asks.
My eyes widen slightly, surprised.
“Yes.”
“Did you want it?”
“Yes.”
The questions are simple, but the way he asks them…isn’t.
Another pause: this one longer. Coach exhales through his nose, shoulders easing just a fraction, like something tight has finally let go.
“Good,” he says quietly. “That’s the line. Everything else is secondary.”
Something warm and unexpected settles behind my ribs at that.
“I need you to understand why I’m asking,” he continues. “This isn’t about policing your personal life. You’re an adult: an omega who knows her instincts and her boundaries.” His gaze sharpens just slightly. “But alphas feel shifts before they know what to do with them.”
“I know,” I say. “I can feel it, too.”
“I figured you could.” A faint smile touches his mouth. “That’s why I hired you.”
He leans back, folding his arms, but his posture stays open.
“There’s a home game this weekend,” he says. “You’ll be on the bench with us.”
“Of course.”
“There’s already tension,” he adds. “And if I were worried aboutyou, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Iamworried about them, though,” he says plainly. “About instincts flaring faster than judgment, and loyalty turning into possession if it isn’t handled right.”
