“Listen. I don’t know shit about scent matches. All I know is Sloane went to the stadium to drop your letter off, not expecting you all to arrive for a few hours.”
“We left ahead of schedule,” I reply, and Ethan nods.
“Right, and she went and hid in the side room. She wasn’t wearing any deodorizers because she wasn’t expecting to run into anyone. I guess Max wasn’t covering his scent either. So when he scented her and found her in the room, they both went a little feral.”
“Why is Sloane not here telling me this?”
“Well, because she’s in heat, and she’s locked herself in the bathroom, crying over you and the fact that her dad is threatening to kill Max and myself.”
“She’s in heat?” I say with shock.
She’s in heat, and she’s crying and upset.
I glance back down at the letter. She didn’t mean for this to happen. Fate took her life into its hands and caused this mess.
But the idea of watching Max withmywoman makes my chest ache.
“She really didn’t mean to?” I ask, the letter tight in my hands.
“I was there when she wrote the letter. She’s been sick over the thought of losing you.”
“And Connery?”
“She didn’t seem worried about how he would react, mostly worried about upsetting or losing you. You and I both know there is no one better than Sloane. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. So are you going to be a petty bitch about it, or are you gonna pack your shit and get in my shitty truck and drive over to her place and take care of her when she needs us most?”
It’s like the Beta has slapped me across the face with the cold-hearted truth.
No one will ever live up to Sloane. I’m obsessed with her. I’m in love with her.
“How am I supposed to be around him for days on end?” I ask Ethan.
“I’ll be your glorified Beta buffer. Let’s get her through her heat, and then we can worry about the other shit later.”
I nod and sigh.
“Coach knows?”
“Oh yeah. Coach knows.”
“Fuck,” I hiss as I turn around and grab a few things out of my bag. “Give me five minutes, and we’ll head over there.”
Ethan sighs with relief, but all I’m filled with is tension.
This is not going to be the vision of what I thought Sloane’s heat was going to look like.
When we pull up to Sloane’s driveway, parking over by her apartment, Coach Applegate is pacing, kicking clunks of snowwhile he mutters under his breath. His Omega, who I’ve met at a few team events, is trying to console him.
“There you motherfuckers are,” he says, and I can see his breath from the bitter cold. “What fucking part of treat her like your own daughter didn’t you get, Nilsen?”
“Kristoff, enough. The one upstairs is her scent match, and she chose these two.”
Coach Applegate rolls his eyes. “Some fucking choices. She’s in there crying over your ass,” he says, pointing a finger against my chest.
“You know it’s more complicated than that,” his Omega says.
“Willow, for the love of God, please stop being rational right now. I just found out my goalie, my most tenured defensemen, and the fucking mascot are here to be in our daughter’s heat. I think I have the right to be a little pissed.”
His Omega sighs, rolling her eyes. “Why did you think she wanted to work there so badly? The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
