Logan's POV
I thought about the optics of chasing after Noah with my bare ass out.
Thought about it…
And did it anyway.
"Noah! Wait—!"
I take off down the hallway, still dripping wet, still half-naked, and very much not thinking about the consequences of my actions. My towel is clenched in my hand, barely covering my dick, instead of being around my waist, which is an unfortunate afterthought.
Behind me, my teammates lose their goddamn minds.
"Oi, look! A full moon!" someone hoots.
"I didn't know it was time for the Melee already!"
"Yo, Moon-man! Pray to the goddess for us!"
Laughter echoes through the locker room, and I know—I know—whatever little respect I clawed back after my performance on the field on Friday just went straight down the drain.
But fuck the optics—Noah is storming off, and I need to stop him.
I yank the towel around my waist as I run, knotting it hastily. My bare feet slap against the cold tile, my wet hair dripping into my eyes as I dodge a trainer and almost slam into Clio on my way out.
"What the fuck, Whitaker!?" She yelps.
"Sorry!" I call over my shoulder as I keep running.
Fenrir groans in my head. 'You are embarrassing.'
'And you're not helping,' I snap back.
'If mate ends up hating us, I will step in a bushel the next time you shift.'
I nearly stumble. 'The fuck is a bushel?'
'Sharp, painful sticks. You will regret it.'
I will regret a lot more than that if I don't catch Noah!
I cut a corner, my shoulder slamming into the wall to keep balance, and finally—finally—grab his wrist.
"Noah, wait—"
He whirls around so fast I almost let go.
His hazel eyes are bright. Burning with a mixed yellow-red hue.
Finnian.
His wolf is pissed.
Fenrir, my big, proud, cocky Alpha wolf, flinches at the sight of her and internally cowers like he's looking at the goddess herself.
It's always been like this. Finnian is the only thing that makes him weak.
Just like Noah makes me weak.
The air is thick with tension, our breathing shallow. I can feel my pulse hammering. Not from the chase. Not from exertion.
But from him.
Noah's voice is razor-sharp when he speaks. "Yes, Logan?"
I open my mouth. Words fail me.
"What you saw in there—" I stumble, "I— It wasn't—"
Noah snorts. "Let me guess. It wasn't what I thought I saw, right?"
I frown. "That's not what I said."
"No, it's fine," he scoffs, his lips pulling into a thin smile. "I definitely didn't just see you almost mold tongues with my best friend. I thought I did but—" he shrugs lazily— "must've been hallucinating. Silly Omega Noah, probably on that dope again."
"Noah—" My voice dips low, warning.
I can take any insult from him but I won't stand here and listen to him talk like that about himself.
His lips part at the Alpha weight in my tone, his body reacting instinctively, but his eyes—those fucking eyes that carry all his emotion—are still blazing with anger.
His breath stutters. Just for a second. Just long enough for my wolf to thrill in the control we still have over him— before he crushes it down and glares at me like he'd rather gut me than see him weaver.
"I don't care, Logan," he says, voice steady, but I hear the waver underneath. "You're a grown-ass man. You didn't need to stop your little locker room fuck on my account."
I bristle. "It wasn't a locker room fuck. Elliot and I were talking, and things just—"
He lifts a hand, cutting me off. "Like I said, I don't care. We haven't been together in years. You're seeing other people. I'm seeing other people. This is what's best for us."
I snap.
I shove him against the wall—not hard, not enough to hurt—but enough to make him look at me.
"You say you don't care," I grit out, "but you look at me like you hate me."
Noah's lashes flutter, his breath catching for just a second. Then his expression darkens.
"I do hate you," he murmurs, voice like cut glass. "But not for this. I don't care if you have a thing going on with Elliot. You have my blessing, be fruitful and multiply or whatever. I just find it a bit hypocritical how you stood behind my house and swore before the goddess and my wolf that you'd win me back, only for you to—"
"I will win you back," I interrupt, voice low, firm.
Noah lets out a breathless, bitter laugh. "Shower sex with my best friend isn't how you get to me."
I growl, annoyed now. "It wasn't shower sex, and whatever you think Elliot and I have between us is nonexistent. I was distracted."
His voice is ice. "I'm not the one you run to when you're done being distracted."
I rake my fingers through my hair in frustration. He doesn't get it. Why doesn't he get it? I love him, I want him but—
"Noah, this thing we're doing, it's a game. That… was just a detour."
Wrong move.
The moment the words leave my mouth, I know I fucked up. I should have said anything, anything but that.
Noah's expression shifts. The heat, the hurt—gone.
"This thing you're doing," He shoves past me, his voice detached. "I was happy, I was living my life. You came back with this bright idea to derail it. We had a deal, Logan. Win our games, save the Coyotes and stay the hell away from me."
"And I told you that last one isn't going to work," I reach for him and he snatches his arm away like my touch is poison.
"Then play your stupid game," he hisses. "Although, the last time I checked, games don't have detours. They have cheats."
I open my mouth to speak but I've been stunned into silence. Not that Noah seems to care. He doesn't even look at me as he adds:
"Alfred wants to see you."
Then he's gone, leaving me alone with nothing but the echo of my own stupidity.
---
The manager's office is still small, still a cluttered mess of papers, old trophies, and the smell of stale coffee. Still meat-locker cold.
Alfred sits behind his desk, rubbing his temple like I've personally caused him a headache just by existing.
"You've got interviews with the press coming up," he starts, shuffling through his notes. "You're contractually obligated to participate."
I nod, barely listening. My head is still full of Noah. I've never chased down my ex before, I don't think I've even had exes worth chasing before. It's always been him, I've always been for him.
And now I'm so confused. What does one do to ask forgiveness for the unforgivable?
Alfred, who decidedly doesn't care about my emotional crisis, levels a look at me. "I know you're not dumb enough to miss those so that's not what I actually called you here to talk about."
I blink at him.
He sighs. "The fight, Logan."
My back stiffens.
Alfred taps a pen against the desk. "Those rogues. Outside the stadium. You nearly put the three of them in the ground."
My jaw tightens. "They deserved it."
"You could've killed three men, Logan," he stresses. "Three. Hell! You fought them off without even shifting. How did you even manage that?"
Like hell I'd ever be beaten by bozos like that. "They went after Noah. I wasn't about to let them touch him or h the kid."
Alfred exhales through his nose. "Good thing Elliot took initiative and alerted me. Had security delete the footage before the police got hold of it."
I say nothing.
"If they had, Logan, you'd have been fucked." He leans forward. "Paranormal Athletes are registered. If the police had seen what you did, they'd revoke your license. And once your license is revoked and word gets out that you're dangerous, they'll get a court order to suppress you. Not that they'll need it."
Back then, I wasn't worried about the consequences of that fight because my one goal was to protect my mate and cub. Now, I simply don't care.
I roll my eyes. "I'd have paid them off or something. I have money. Law enforcement is corrupt. Everyone knows that."
Alfred slams his palm on the desk, making me jolt.
"Listen, boy. Times are changing." Alfred's voice is low, measured. "You're young. You don't fully understand how much The Treaty of Mutual Understanding fucked us over. You don't know how much has been taken from our kind. Paranormals, Non-Humans, Supernaturals, whatever the fuck they want to call us. We're werewolves. And we can't trust Fragiles."
I bite my tongue.
I don't like his tone. I don't like being treated like I don't know how the world works.
But the truth is…
The world has never really affected me.
I'm a celebrity. Humans don't hate me—they love me. The treaty established the Paranormal Athletic Committee. I make the committee money through my games with their leagues. I help keep everyone happy and talking about baseball instead of how much we should all hate each other.
I'm a fucking star.
Rowan mocked me for it once. Called me a pet when I first signed with the PAC. A prized horse to be bet over. But it was hard to keep laughing when the guy you were mocking was richer than you.
Besides, even he understands that, for all the flaws of the treaty, it's kept us at peace with humans and other non-humans.
"I'll be fine," I growl.
Alfred's eyes are tired. "You're not the only one you have to worry about."
Fenrir snaps, 'Our people. Our pack. Our mate. Our pup.'
I didn't work as hard as I did and get as rich as I did to watch me and mine suffer. Times can change all they want, I'll protect the ones closest to me.
Alfred sighs, shaking his head as he mutters something about 'damned pups'. He pulls out a box of CDs from beneath his desk and slides it toward me.
"Security doesn't label the ones they delete. Find the footage of your fight. Bring the rest back."
I pick up the box. It's heavier than I expect.
"Thanks," I murmur.
"And Logan," Alfred calls after me as I leave the office. "Werewolves move in packs."
I suppose it's a reminder of something but I honestly can't be bothered with the basic science lesson right now. I know my priorities and I've made my decision.
We're catching that damn ox.