“Don’t you have a whole family to bother? Stop being annoying.”
Martel grins as Eli Beckford skates up and tosses his arm around his packmate. Must be nice to get along and have already been best friends before they found the Omega of their dreams.
“How’s Sloane?” Eli asks.
“Good,” I lie because I don’t know how she’s doing. She was sleeping for fucking ever, and we were basically told by Coach that if we didn’t show up to practice, we would be benched for the foreseeable future.
“Glad to hear it, and glad to have you back. You’ll need to download a tracker on your phone so you can predict her next heat.”
“Not that it’s ever truly accurate,” Mikael mumbles.
Eli winces and holds up a few fingers and winces. “That will probably put her next heat in late March, early April.”
It could be worse, but around that time is when teams are playing extra hard to clinch a playoff spot.
“That’s a good tip, thank you.”
“Oh,hegets a thank you?” Mikael complains.
“He was helpful. You’ve been a pain in my ass.”
“Well, have fun explaining to Coach just how long you’ve been chasing his Omega daughter around,” he says before skating off.
Eli sighs at his packmate and smacks my shoulder.
“He won’t want to hurt Sloane. You’ll be fine,” he says, and it feels like a lie.
Either way, I’m headed to the locker room and changing. Connery and I are the last ones left and give each other a glance.
We haven’t spoken since our little truce moment.
And to be quite honest, the jealousy filling me over thinking about him with my Omega and Beta is making this truce feel more than far-fetched.
We don’t speak as we both make the tormented walk to Coach’s office.
His door is open, and we both walk in and take our respective seats across from his desk. His hands are steepled with his fingertips pressed against his lips.
It’s a terse silence before Coach breathes through his nose and rests back into his chair.
“You two have put me in a really shitty fucking position,” he says.
Neither of us speaks. I think talking right now would piss him off more.
“I’m not deluded enough to think my daughter isn’t the main instigator of all of this?—”
“I’m her scent match,” Connery interrupts.
I think at that moment both the coach and I want to punch him in the throat.
“Did I ask you to speak? No. I don’t think I did,” Coach says, not giving a shit about Connery being his daughter’s scent match. I can’t help it when my lips tilt. “The fuck are you smiling about, Nilsen?”
“Nothing, sir.”
Coach scrubs his hands down his face and taps on his desk.
“You’ll need to get your current contracts amended and file for a pack contract,” he says.
“Sir, we’re not bonded,” Connery says.
