We gather in a corner that's marginally more private than the main lobby. The trophy sits on the coffee table between us, gleaming like the golden elephant in the room. Everyone keeps stealing glances at Reese, then looking away like they've been caught staring at porn.
Real smooth, guys.
"Coach Bennett and Coach Wilder left early with the equipment," Gray begins, slipping into captain mode. "They expect us back by three for debrief and trophy presentation."
"Does Coach know?" Beckett asks, leaving the obvious unfinished.
Gray's expression tightens. "About Callahan's designation? No."
"He's going to figure it out," Jackson says quietly. His first words of the morning, delivered with the grim certainty of someone who's hypersensitive to these things.
"Her scent is controlled right now," Bo interjects, and there's an edge of protectiveness in his voice that makes me want to roll my eyes. Down, boy.
"For how long?" I ask, because someone needs to address the practical reality here. "Standard Omega heat cycles run three to five days. You managed one night, Strickland. What's the plan for the rest? Because if you try to handle this solo, you're going to end up in the ER for acute dehydration."
All eyes turn to Reese, who squares her shoulders under the scrutiny. She looks tired but composed, maintaining her dignity despite the fact that we're literally discussing her biological functions like a weather report.
"I should be fine for the bus ride," she says calmly. "But by tonight..."
She doesn't need to finish. We all know what happens tonight. Our coxswain is going to need another Alpha to fuck her senseless, and we're all sitting here pretending this is a normal team logistics meeting instead of secretly hoping we're the one she picks.
"We need a strategy," I say, because apparently I'm the only one willing to state the obvious. "Both short and long-term."
"I'm working on it," Gray responds, running a hand through his hair. The usually perfect strands stick up at odd angles.
"Are you?" Cameron speaks up from his spot against the wall, voice quiet but carrying weight. "Because Strickland can't handle this alone."
The implication hangs in the air like smoke. Bo shifts closer to Reese, a movement so subtle most people would miss it. I don't.
"I've got it covered," Bo says firmly.
"Do you?" Gray challenges, and I can practically see the Alpha posturing beginning. "Heat cycles last days. You have class. We all have training."
This is where it gets interesting. Gray, our undisputed pack leader, suddenly facing competition from Bo, who's usually content to be second fiddle. The hierarchy is shifting, and everyone can feel it.
Jackson's jaw clenches beside me. He's probably reliving his last team, watching for the first signs that we're about to implode the way Hampton Hills did. Poor bastard.
"Maybe," Zane interjects with unusual wisdom, "we should let Reese weigh in on her own situation?"
Revolutionary concept. Let the Omega have agency over her own body. Who would have thought?
Reese shoots Zane a grateful look before turning to address us all. "Look, I appreciate the concern, but this is still my body, my choice. I didn't plan for my suppressants to fail during Riverside, but here we are."
She takes a breath, and I can see her gathering herself. "Bo helped me last night, and I'm grateful. But we need to get back to campus and figure out something sustainable. My new prescription should arrive Friday."
"Five more days," Tyler calculates aloud, because of course he does. "Approximately 120 hours of active symptoms."
"Which is why," Gray cuts in, his captain voice fully engaged, "we need arrangements that don't burn out any single team member." His eyes meet Reese's. "Unless you object to... alternative solutions."
Jesus Christ, Gray. Could you be any more awkward? "Alternative solutions." Like he's proposing a new training regimen instead of a fuck schedule.
Reese's face flushes, but she doesn't look away. "I'm open to discussing options. Once we're back on campus."
The collective relief in the room is palpable. My teammates, these ridiculous, competitive Alphas, all mentally volunteering to "help" our Omega coxswain through her heat. Because that's totally not going to complicate everything.
I catch Jackson's eye and see my own skepticism reflected there. This is going to be a clusterfuck of epic proportions.
"Great," Zane says, slapping his hands down on the table with false enthusiasm. "So we have concepts of a plan. Can we eat now? I'm starving."
