"Is that why you couldn't concentrate enough to wear a towel in the locker room?" The corner of his mouth twitches. "Cornering her like she's property instead of, I don't know, a human being who walked into the wrong room?"
Rafe whips around, pointing an accusatory finger at him.
"That's OUR territory. The men's locker room. She shouldn't have been there to begin with! There are rules about these things, Cal. Boundaries. Sacred spaces that shouldn't be violated by random Omegas who smell like..."
He trails off, his nostrils flaring like he's reliving the scent memory.
Interesting. Very interesting.
"Smell like what?" Cal finally looks up, one eyebrow raised. "Please, continue. I'd love to hear you describe exactly how the Omega you were supposedly so annoyed by smelled."
"Shut up."
"Was it nice? I bet it was nice. Is that why you went full caveman? Because your big Alpha brain short-circuited from a pleasant scent?"
"I said shut up."
I lean against the kitchen doorframe, arms crossed, watching this unfold with the detached interest of someone who's learned that getting between Rafe and his temper is a losing game. My position gives me a clear view of both of them, Cal's lazy amusement contrasting sharply with Rafe's barely contained agitation.
"Well," I say, keeping my voice neutral, "she had to get her bag. And remember, Coach mentioned the new students would need access to the equipment area? They probably didn't realize the timing would overlap with our post-game cool-down."
It's a reasonable point. A logical explanation for what was clearly just an unfortunate accident.
Rafe's gray eyes snap to me, narrowing into slits.
"I don't give a damn about what Coach said." His voice drops into that dangerous register that usually precedes someone getting checked into the boards hard enough to see stars. "And you don't even know her like we do."
The words land like a slap.
You don't even know her like we do.
I keep my expression blank, a skill I've perfected over years of practice. But inside, I feel that familiar sting. The one that whispers that no matter how long I've been part of this pack, I'll always be the outsider.The replacement.The one who filled a slot that was never meant for him.
Cal looks up from his phone now, his amber eyes flickering between us with concern.
The teasing tone disappears from his voice, replaced by genuine reproach.
"That was mean, Rafe." He sits up straighter, his broad shoulders tensing. "It's not his fault he wasn't part of our crew back in sixth grade. We were assholes. Complete and total assholes. That's on us, not him."
Rafe huffs, crossing his arms over his bare chest. The muscles in his jaw work like he's chewing on words he doesn't want to spit out. His Cedar smoke scent has soured with frustration, filling the room with an edge that makes my own Alpha instincts prickle.
"Whatever."
I push off from the doorframe, the movement slow and deliberate.
"If you liked my brother better, just say that."
The silence that follows is thick enough to choke on.
Rafe's face does that complicated thing where he wants to argue but knows he can't. His mouth opens, then closes. His hands flex at his sides like he's resisting the urge to punch something.
Because we all know what I'm really saying.
We all know who used to occupy this space in their pack. Who used to be the third point in their triangle before scholarships and fresh starts and a chance to leave the past behind.
Bastien.
My older brother. The louder Laurent. The meaner one. The one who fit so perfectly into Rafe and Cal's dynamic back when they were kids, terrorizing anyone weaker than them.
