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Then the announcer clears his throat.

"Hold up, Beasley boys."

The movement in the arena stalls immediately. I have to bite the inside of my cheek.

Three familiar heads turn toward the microphone.

"We aren't done with you, yet."

Beside me, Gidge slowly turns her head and her eyes narrow.

I keep my face carefully neutral. She studies me for about half a second before realization starts creeping across her expression.

"Scrappy."

My lips twitch.

"Oh my God." She smiles like a loon.

The laugh bubbling in my chest is becoming increasingly difficult to contain.

My alphas look very confused, and are looking around like someone might jump out and yell ‘GOTCHA!’ any minute.

The announcer reaches beneath the podium and pulls out three envelopes. The entire arena seems to pause. One envelope is handed to Clint, one to Tripp, and one to Briggs. The guys exchange looks. Even from where I'm standing, I can tell they're trying to figure out what competition they accidentally entered without knowing about it.

Around us, the crowd starts murmuring, nobody knowing what's happening. Which makes this even better.

I kiss Gidge on the cheek and hurry towards the center of the arena, trying to keep my face neutral while pretending I’m just there to record whatever is happening. Once I’m in position, I nod to the announcer and he winks.

"Go ahead," he says, stepping back from the microphone with a grin.

The envelopes remain unopened for one second, then another. Three grown men who regularly throw themselves onto angry livestock suddenly look nervous. And that, more than anything, nearly makes me laugh.

"Open it," Gidge yells from the stands.

A ripple of laughter moves through the arena.

Tripp is the first one to tear into his envelope. Clint follows a second later, while Briggs studies his like it might be some kind of trap.

The paper slides free, and everything stops. I see it happen, the exact moment confusion becomes realization.

Tripp's mouth falls open, Clint blinks once, and Briggs doesn't move at all. The crowd has no idea what's happening, yet. People are still talking, still laughing, and trying to figure out what the surprise is.

In the middle of the arena, three grown men stare down at identical black-and-white photographs like the entire world just shifted beneath their feet.

My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my throat. For months, I've been carrying this secret around. Doctor appointments, morning sickness, it was nearly an impossible task of hiding it from three men who notice everything.

But I wanted this moment.

The announcer steps back toward the microphone.

"You boys figure it out, yet?"

Tripp makes a sound. Not a word, just a sound.

The crowd laughs.

Clint finally lifts his eyes from the picture and looks directly at me, and the expression on his face nearly wrecks me.