We all take a moment to make our coffees just right. I hit mine with two packs of sugar and take a sip. I’ve never been a mocha-choco-latte-frappe kind of guy, and this is dark and bitter and the perfect cup.
“Thanks for meeting on short notice,” I say, wrapping my hands around the mug. “I appreciate the discretion.”
“Of course, though I’m curious about the urgency. These are busy days.” Marilyn’s eyes flick to Estelle, then back to me. And I’ll admit, having the waitress join us is probably a bit odd.
I take a deliberate breath. No point dancing around it. “The omega you arranged for Beckett to date,” I begin, watching their expressions carefully, “it turns out she’s scent matched to my other packmate.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Coffee sloshes as Marilyn’s hand jerks.
“Pierce?” Chantel’s eyes widen. “That’s… unexpected.”
“Unexpected is one word for it,” I agree dryly.
Marilyn recovers quickly, setting down her mug with deliberate care. “Well. That’s… I mean, a scent match is rare. We’ve been going with the ‘Hansen has a girlfriend’ angle. We could pivot—”
“That’s not why we’re here,” I cut her off, perhaps more sharply than intended. I soften my tone. “There’s more you need to know before we discuss any PR angles.”
I reach into my jacket and extract the folded police report, placing it on the table between us. Estelle efficiently rearranges cups to make room.
“A few days ago, Ash was involved in a violent confrontation with her father,” I say, keeping my voice neutral. “It ended with him taking his own life in front of her.”
Marilyn gasps and puts her hand to her chest. Chantel’s expression doesn’t change. She’ll hear it all out before reacting.
“The official report,” I tap the paper with one finger, “states that he had been exhibiting increasingly erratic behavior. That he threatened his daughter with a firearm before turning it on himself. That’s the sanitized version.”
“Jesus,” Chantel murmurs.
“As Ash’s friend and coworker, I can tell you the reality is significantly worse.” Estelle looks at me, silently asking permission to continue. I nod once. We debated for a long time yesterday about how much information we should share to get the results we want.
“Ash has been living in an abusive environment her entire life,” Estelle continues, her fingers curling around her mug until her knuckles whiten. “After her brother died years ago, her father isolated her completely. Dropped her from school. Cut her off from friends. When she presented as an omega, he…” She pauses, jaw working. “He started selling her heats.”
“Selling her…?” Marilyn echoes faintly. If she was an omega, she’d be tipping into “oh the poor sweet child.” Seeing as she’s an alpha, the anger behind her eyes is completely relatable.
“Trafficking,” I clarify. I don’t want to give them gory details, but I need this to land hard. “He was trafficking his own daughter. Had been for years. Recently, he’d arranged to sell her upcoming heat to settle gambling debts.”
Chantel’s professional facade cracks, her eyes skimming the police report. “She’s what? Nineteen? Twenty?”
I nod. Her age is irrelevant to this conversation.
“We were working on an exit strategy.”
“Estelle was helping Ash pack her things to get away from her father. He came home unexpectedly. Things escalated. It was messy.”
Marilyn looks physically ill. “And she witnessed…”
“Everything,” I confirm. “She’s traumatized, understandably. She’s safe now, but fragile.”
“Why are you telling us this?” Chantel asks, though her expression suggests she already knows.
“Because we’re headed into the playoffs,” I say. “And with that comes increased media attention. Beckett can’t hide a relationship forever.”
“The ‘Hot Omegas On Ice’ piece, delightful by the way, brings attention Ash can’t handle,” Estelle adds.
“They’ll find the police report,” Chantel counters. “And from there…”
“I’m going to be blunt here. Her father was a dirt bag. And a criminal. The precinct isn’t even going to put it in the police blotter. But if you go looking hard for it, you will find it. We just don’t want to give the podcast bros easy bait.”
“She’s not equipped for that kind of scrutiny,” Estelle says firmly. “Not now. Maybe not ever.”
