Noah's POV
"We'll have to move, but that won't be a problem since they plan on paying for the relocation and setting up my accommodation with a local pack," Logan is saying.
"Of course, I won't sign anything yet. Not until we've won Golden Sun. But Dave thinks this is a good move for me," Logan is saying.
"I'll finally be batting with people on my level! This is huge!"
He's pacing the bedroom, fingers raking through his hair, his entire body alive with excitement. Electricity crackles in his voice, in the way his golden eyes gleam under the overhead light. Logan buzzes when he's talking about baseball, when he's thinking about his future. His voice is so full of energy that it's almost infectious. Almost.
I don't say anything.
Because if I open my mouth now, I know what's going to come out won't be soft or understanding or supportive. And I want to be supportive. I want to be the kind of mate who celebrates when his Alpha gets an offer this big.
But Logan is talking and all I hear is, 'Me. I. My.'
All I hear is Logan talking about himself. His career. His success.
Not us.
I'm still standing by the bed, arms crossed over my bare chest, the post-game high dissolving into something uneasy, something cold.
"San Diego isn't Eastvale," I repeat.
Logan's smile falters for the first time. His eyebrows pull together. "Woah, babe. Why are you looking at me like that? I thought you'd be happier for me."
I swallow down the words I want to say—words that feel bitter and selfish and wrong. Instead, I say, quietly, "I am happy for you. But…"
Logan exhales, shaking his head like he already knows where this is going. "But what, Noah? You know I've always wanted to play for a pro league team."
I exhale, my grip tightening around my forearms. "You've always wanted to play for a pro league team."
Logan scoffs, his shoulders stiffening. "Not this again."
The air thickens. The energy between us shifts—sparks, smolders, waiting for a fuse to light. I can feel the storm brewing before it even breaks.
"Yes, Logan. This again."
He tilts his head, jaw tightening. "What, Noah? You don't think I should take the offer?"
"I think you should think about how this affects us in the long run," I say, pointedly. "How it affects me. Y'know, the love of your life."
Logan runs a hand over his face, frustration rolling off him in waves. "I don't understand why 'the love of my life' acting like this is the end of the world."
"Because it fucking is!" My voice is sharp, cutting. "We move to San Diego, and what happens? I leave my team? My life? My career?"
"You could find a new team!" Logan argues. "Or—fuck, Noah, we'd be making more money than we know what to do with! You wouldn't even have to work if you didn't want to—"
"Oh, that's fucking rich," I spit. "You get to chase your dreams, and I just become what—Logan Whittaker's supportive baseball buddy? That's the plan? I just pack up and follow like a good little Omega?
Logan groans, tilting his head back. "You're twisting my words."
"Am I? Because from where I'm standing, it sounds like you've already decided how this is gonna go."
"I haven't! It's just a move, Noah."
"That's easy for you to say." I shake my head, exhaling. "You're not the one who's expected to just follow."
Logan presses his tongue against his cheek, shaking his head before snapping, "Its not like you have to give everything up, Noah. We're just going to be moving forward."
Our ideas of 'moving forward' are two very different things.
"Moving forward to what?" I throw my hands up. "You're asking me to drop my entire life and follow you across the country for a possibility—"
"Not a possibility, Noah. A guarantee."
I scoff. "Oh, right. Because Dave said so."
Logan's eyes flash. "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Act like I don't know what I'm doing. Like I haven't worked my ass off for this."
"I know you have." The fight is draining out of me, but it's not enough to make the ache in my chest go away. "I just… I thought we had a plan."
Logan runs a hand over his face, like he's trying to scrape the frustration off of his skin. "Plans change."
Silence crackles between us like static.
Logan steps closer, his voice dropping. "We could still have our Binding Ceremony here. We could still have a cub."
"When Logan?" I stress. "When you're travelling state to state for games? When you're off at some training or some meeting or some press conference?"
Logan shakes his head, eyes dark with frustration. "Why can't you just be happy for me? Why can't you trust me?"
"I am happy for you, and I do trust you," I can't stress it enough. "But you're asking me to give up everything for you!"
"And what if I am?" Logan yells. "Would that be so fucking awful? To build a life together somewhere new? Don't you want something more?"
The anger drains out of me like water circling a sink. I exhale sharply, my shoulders sagging, my arms dropping from where I'd been holding them tight across my chest. I'm so tired of this. Of fighting. Of fighting for us.
I stare at him, searching his face, looking for something that tells me we're still standing on the same ground.
But I don't see it.
I turn away and my voice is quiet when I say, "How could I want more… when you, the life we've built, is enough for me?"
Logan lets out a long breath, his shoulders dropping slightly. He moves behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, his chest warm against my back. His lips press against the curve of my neck, soft and familiar.
His voice is soft. "I love you, Noah."
Mine is shaky as I say, "We have a good life here."
"I love you," He repeats. "I don't see why starting a family and pursuing my career have to be mutually exclusive." His lips trail lower. "After all, I'll be a celebrity—"
I scoff, even as he nips at my ear. "How do you know that'll happen?"
Logan chuckles against my skin, his breath warm. "Because all cameras want to catch a flash of lightning."
I groan, throwing my head back with a laugh. "Have you been waiting to use that one?"
His hands skate down my sides, fingertips pressing into my hips. "I've been workshopping a few of them."
His mouth finds my neck again, kissing, teasing, his teeth grazing my pulse. His hands slide up, fingertips brushing over my nipples, pinching lightly. A sharp breath shudders out of me.
"Fuck—" My head tips back onto his shoulder, my body leaning into his.
"I'll be a celebrity," Logan hums against my throat, his voice full of easy, playful confidence. "We'll be making more money than we could possibly know what to do with. You can become my perfect little house husband."
My breath stutters.
Not because I want to quit baseball.
But because the thought of waiting for him to come home, getting on my knees the moment he walks through the door, ready to pleasure my Alpha like a devoted little omega—fuck.
I smirk, tilting my head, giving him more access. "And what if I don't want to be a house husband?"
Logan grins against my skin, his teeth scraping lightly down my throat. "Then I'll have to find another way to keep you barefoot and in my bed."
A deep, rumbling growl vibrates against my ear. "And, house husband or not," he breathes, "I can still get you pregnant."
Something in me snaps.
I reach back, threading my fingers through his hair, tugging him closer. "Logan, I'm way too horny for dirty talk right now."
He laughs, the sound low and pleased. Then, suddenly, he lifts me, one arm hooked under my legs, the other wrapped around my back.
I yelp, laughing as he carries me toward the bed. "Logan!"
"Shh." He grins. "Save your energy for your second orgasm."
I roll my eyes even as he drops me onto the mattress, even as he leans over me, his blue eyes full of heat and mischief.
He presses his mouth to mine, kisses me deep, steals my breath.
And even as he makes me forget my own name—makes me gasp, makes me shatter—I know.
This won't last.
Not because the sex isn't good— great. Not because I don't love him.
But because Logan wants the world. And I'm just Noah Bennett.