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I reach for her hand on instinct, bringing it to my lips. She pulls away before I can get my mouth on my mark, clucking at me, “Declan and Theo are trying to concentrate.”
Pops snorts and sends me a knowing wink. His packmate—the father Theo calls “Daddio”—sits on his other time. Ironically, “Daddio” is the more serious of the two. He shoots me a worried look. “How are our boys?”
They all consider Declan their son. I know that same care extends to me now, too, but I’m still processing it.
I can’t feel the guys the way Meg can, but they’re both quiet. Which, for Theo, is either a very good sign or utter catastrophe. For Declan, it simply means he’s walling us out at the moment.
I look to our omega, and she smiles. “They’ve got this.”
We all settle in and watch as the Ospreys charge onto the field, led our new coach—Dean White.
Ronan promoted the offensive coordinator after he fired Henshaw. The move was a great success. Dean, Theo, and Declan became fast friends, collaborating on strategies that spoke for themselves. The team went 13-3 in the regular season and absolutely crushed the playoffs.
The team looks great tonight. I feel a pang at watching them spread along the sidelines. Part of me wishes I could be down in the action like I usually am. But I know all the guys are as healthy as could be, and I want to be here for Meg and Ronan.
My oldest packmate and I end up side-by-side with our girl on both our laps. She bounces in place when she spots Theo and Declan, squealing. We all cheer and wave when they turn and look for us among the Lucite boxes lining the club level.
Meg presses her hands to the window, one for each of them. Theo thumps his fist over his heart, grinning. Declan’s face stays serious, but he points right at her. Whatever he sends through their bond makes her eyes water.
“They’re ready,” she says, settling back with a brilliant smile. “I know it.”
I wrap my arm around her waist.
How could they not be? I ask her, whispering through our tether. They have you.
Across an entire stadium of rabid fans, my eyes lock with Meg’s. Our blues meld together. She gives a burst of pride and shows me the solid certainty sitting in the center of her.
Careful not to distract me, she only sends one other thought.
You’re going to win, Vanilla.
If I do, it’s because of her. Every good thing I am… it’s all because of Meg.
So, I point right at her, letting every spectator, camera—the entire world—see her claim on my arm and the person I’m pointing to. I send her one thought back.
I already did, baby.
Theo catches my eye across the huddle. He’s panting, drenched in sweat.
They’re giving us hell.
We knew it would be like this. Their defensive is the best in the League—a proper match for our unsurpassed offense.
But, damn, I want this.
The score looms behind Theo. 23-27. We trail by four with less than two minutes on the clock. It’s third-and-goal. If I fuck up this pass…
Coach White is in my ear, muttering through the speaker in my helmet. He suggests a few different options, and I pick the one I think is best. It’s another running route for Theo, but he’ll have to make it look like a block. I need him to really sell it if we’re going to fake this defense out.
He hears the play and nods, meeting my eyes.
You good?
I’ve blocked my pack out for the entire game, trying to keep my head clear and spare them the inner turmoil that comes with stakes this high. For part of a second, I let him past my wall. He sees what’s there, and I feel him reach for Meg as the huddle breaks.
One minute, fourteen seconds.
Thirteen.
