Page 23 of Knot Your Pucking Secret

There are murmurings around the room, quiet whispers. They must have sold the team then. I can’t even pretend to be surprised. The Cardinals have been bleeding for months. Sponsors pulling back. Rumors circling every sports network. The board scrambled to clean up a mess I played a part in. This was always where it was going to end.

Truth be told, I shouldn’t even be here.

My head hasn’t been in it these days. Sasha and Holden have offers sitting unanswered on our kitchen bench, and they just keep piling up. Better contracts. Better cities. A fresh start with our names written all over it. Only, none of us can bring ourselves to take the leap. One, it doesn’t seem fair. We played a part in the team’s downfall which is the fucking opposite of what me or their captain and star forward should have done. We all should have put the team first. While Sasha’s intentions when he was first signed to the Cardinals were to always take Patrick, the fuckhead he was, down, we had all developed a brotherhood with the players I certainly hadn’t anticipated. And we cost them their futures. The safety of their careers was blurred because we couldn’t get our shit together. It was a domino effect. Maybe we should take the hit and run. Maybe it’s time to accept that the Cardinals died the moment Lennon walked out on them.On us.

She isn’t coming back.

And despite knowing this, leaving feels like we’d be betraying her all over again. This place was her home, regardless of what went down and I guess we’re all hanging onto the ghost of her, even still, all these months later.

“In the past few weeks, the Cardinals have found themselves a new owner.”

Something burns in my chest, the pain of knowing that that person won’t be Lennon. That her job has been given to someone else. Someone unworthy of the title because no one—not one single fucking soul—can hold a candle to her. Sasha and Holden would never admit it, but they were better players with her here as their coach, and the reality of that happening again with everything hanging over their heads is that it won’t ever be the case again. At least not while we’re still here. The place that made them.

Made us.

The place where we met our scent match. Our Omega. The woman fate reminds us of constantly, and punishes us because she’s not here. Where she should be. Can’t blame her though. No one deserves what we or this fucking club put her through. She’s better than any of us by fucking miles.

Clive smiles slightly, the corners of his lips upturning. “We are very pleased to welcome back the new owner and head coach, Lennon Welsh.”

The words don’t register. They bounce around inside my skull without meaning, swallowed by the sudden roar of blood rushing through my ears.

I feel my face completely drain of color. My head begins to spin, reality distorting around the edges until the only thing left in focus is the woman stepping through the doorway. Every conversation dies. Every chair scraping against the floor by curious staff disappears. Every heartbeat in the room is drowned out by my own.

Her.

She’s here.

Fuck.

She looks good. No. Good isn’t the right word.

She looks untouchable. Confident. Composed. Powerful as ever. An angel sent from the pits of hell to wreak havoc on my life. And fuck if I wouldn’t let her. The woman walking toward us isn’t the broken Omega who walked out of our lives months ago. She walks with her shoulders back, chin held high, her expensive heels striking the polished timber with a measured confidence that’s fuck-hot. She doesn’t falter once.

She’s walking into the Garden of Eden like Lilith herself, ready to make the devil fall to his knees and beg at her feet.

She owns the room like she always has, only this time, it’s different. I can sense it.

Fuck, I’d get on my knees right now if she wanted me to. I would do anything for her. Crawl to the edges of the earth if it would please her. Crawl across broken glass if she asked me to. I’d spend the rest of my life making up for what we’d done. If she’d let me.

No amount of forgiveness she could give us would ever be enough. The time for that is long gone. I know that the only thing that would be even remotely accepted is if I was to grovel for her. Which is what I will do. That's all I can do. That’s if she will even hear me out. Which I don’t think she will. My girl is far too proud. We beat her down. She won’t let us come back up for air easily.

Nor should she.

Her smile is wide across her face and so fucking breathtaking it physically hurts to look at, as she glances around the room. People smile back without thinking. A few even laugh. It’s effortless. She’s always had that effect on people. Like the sun deciding to break through after weeks of rain.

That is, until she finds me.

I feel something fracture in my heart as I watch the way her face drops. Her smile doesn’t fade slowly. It disappears completely. I see the raw pain in her eyes that she masks asquickly as I’d noticed. I see the wounds that haven’t yet had time to heal. The hurt etched into every rigid line of her expression even though she does a good fucking job of trying to hide it. For half a heartbeat, I swear I see the woman who used to smile at me like I hung the fucking moon, however brief that time may have been.

I put that look there.

I did that.

I pushed her to the limits. Fuck, I went straight over that motherfucking line without a single care for the consequences. Now, I am paying for it. My pack is paying for it.

Her gaze only remains on mine for a moment before it moves on, finding the next of her tormentors.

Holden.