Page 128 of False Catch

Everything I don't want for myself.

I close the laptop and stare at the ceiling, trying not to think about how empty the room feels without Reese in it. Trying not to wonder what she meant by being glad she got to know us all.

Trying not to feel like I just made the biggest mistake of my life.

But the growing dread in my stomach tells me it might already be too late to fix it.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Reese

I arrive at the administration building twenty minutes early. The hallway outside the conference room is empty, morning light streaming through tall windows. My reflection in the glass looks composed, professional. Navy blazer, pressed slacks, hair pulled back in a tight bun. No one would guess I spent the night staring at my ceiling, replaying Gray's face when he couldn't claim me.

The door to Conference Room B is closed, but I can hear voices inside. Dean Morrison. Coach Bennett. Someone else I don't recognize. They're setting up for my execution.

Good.

I straighten my shoulders and knock.

"Come in," Morrison calls.

The room is smaller than I expected. A long table dominates the space, five chairs on one side, nine on the other. They've set up for the full team, at least. The five seats are occupied: Dean Morrison, Coach Bennett, Dr. Patricia Harmon from Student Affairs, Professor Whitfield from the Ethics Committee, and Assistant Director Carmine from Athletics.

"Ms. Callahan." Morrison's voice is cold. "You're early."

"I wanted to speak with you before the others arrive."

Harmon and Whitfield exchange glances. Carmine makes a note on her clipboard.

"That's highly irregular," Morrison says.

"Please." I move to the center of the room, hands clasped in front of me. "There's something you need to know."

Bennett leans back in his chair, arms crossed. His expression is unreadable, but there's something in his eyes. Disappointment, maybe. Or resignation.

"Five minutes," Morrison concedes.

I take a breath. "The situation with the team is entirely my fault. I pursued them. I manipulated the dynamics. I hid my designation and when they discovered it, I used my biology to—"

"Stop."

The voice comes from behind me. I spin to find Bo in the doorway, the rest of the team filing in behind him. They're all in dress shirts and slacks, looking like they're headed to a formal dinner rather than a disciplinary hearing.

"She's lying," Bo continues, moving into the room. "Whatever she just told you is bullshit."

"Language, Mr. Strickland," Morrison warns. “Let her speak.”

"No." Gray steps forward, and my heart stops. He looks exhausted, shadows under his eyes like he didn't sleep either. "We're not doing this. Not letting her fall on her sword for us."

"Gentlemen, you're early as well," Harmon observes. "We asked you to arrive at nine."

"We came together," Jackson says quietly. It's the first time he's spoken in a group setting in weeks. "As a team."

They arrange themselves behind me, a wall of Alpha presence. I can feel the heat of them, smell their combined scents. Pine and cedar, ocean salt and copper, cinnamon and rain and something uniquely Tyler that reminds me of graphite and clean paper.

"Sit," Morrison commands.

No one moves.