A Change of Plans  

Noah's POV 

Logan doesn't come to practice for the rest of the week. 

I guess it's understandable. The last time I saw him, he was sporting bite and claw marks like some war hero fresh from battle. But werewolf metabolism isn't so weak that wounds like those wouldn't have healed. 

Besides, he swings a bat with a messed-up rotator cuff. I thought he would at least come watch. 

Or… maybe I was hoping he'd come watch. 

I don't know. 

My head's been all messed up since he stood outside my house, shirtless, confident as sin, and declared that he was going to make me his. 

'This changes everything.'

'I will earn your trust. And I will make you mine.'

If I close my eyes, I can still see him in that morning light. Still hear the way he said it— like it was already decided.

And, if I shut out all the noise, I can still feel the way his fingers scratched against my scalp the night before, dragging shivers down my spine. How I had to bite my lip to keep from moaning like some desperate— 

"You okay, dude?" 

A voice pulls me out of my spiraling thoughts. 

I blink, snapping back to reality to find Elliot standing in front of me, brow furrowed in confusion. 

"Yeah." I clear my throat. "All good." 

It's the end of our last training session before the next game and the team is swigging down their water bottles as they put the bats and balls away. 

Elliot wipes sweat from his forehead. "You kinda spaced out there." 

"A lot on my mind, is all." 

That's an understatement. 

Because despite having a whole ass best friend standing in front of me, someone who's been there for me through thick and thin, someone I'd usually run to when something batshit insane happens… 

I haven't told Elliot about Logan. 

Not about what happened after I left the club with him that night. 

Not about the aftermath of the fight in the parking lot. 

Not about the way he held me when I was breaking apart. 

Not about his game plan to win me back. 

It's weird. Elliot is my best friend. We gossip about everything—especially when it comes to romance and dating. But this? 

I keep it to myself. 

And Elliot… hasn't brought it up either. 

Which is even weirder. 

He was there after the fight, he had to have been curious about what happened after Logan took me home. He was the one who filed the police report, the one who made sure the footage of it was erased. He even came by to check on Oliver and me earlier this week—spent two full hours on the floor playing with my kid. 

And yet, he hasn't said a damn thing about Logan. 

Is he worried I'd be mad that he's making moves on my ex? He should know that's not the kind of person I am. 

I'm not mad. 

I just… 

I don't know what I feel. 

Jealousy? 

The thought alone makes me shake my head. 

I don't have time for this. 

"Didn't peg Logan as the type to miss training," Elliot says carefully. 

I pick up my clipboard, feigning indifference. "Well, maybe he has better things to do." 

Elliot hums in thought. "Still…"

Before he can push further, Sven—always a pain in my ass—snorts. 

"I say good riddance," he mutters. "Now we won't get some white-haired savior wannabe running off the field next game." 

My wolf bristles, and before I can say anything, Elliot beats me to it. 

"That's harsh, Sven." 

"It's the truth, though." 

I grit my teeth. I don't want to defend Logan and be seen as a coach who plays favourites. Besides, Logan doesn't need my defense.

"Alright, alright, everyone gather round," I announce, effectively shutting down the conversation.

The team huddles up. I take a deep breath and push everything else to the back of my mind. 

Right now, I'm their coach. 

"Some of you already noticed, but we've been watched all practice." 

I glance toward the bleachers, locking eyes with the woman sitting there. 

"Clio, you can come on down now." 

A tall woman rises from her seat, her wild red curls catching the light like fire as she makes her way toward the dugout. She pushes her sunglasses onto her head, grinning as she approaches. 

"This," I announce, "is your new assistant coach." 

She tilts her chin up, amusement glinting in her gaze. "Clio Vynne. Pleased to make your acquaintances." 

The team mutters various forms of greeting—most of them polite, but of course, someone has to ruin it. 

Sven mutters under his breath, "First, they give us an omega for a coach, and now they send a woman?" 

Before I can shut that bullshit down, Clio beats me to it. 

"I'm a woman," she says, voice dripping with challenge. "And an alpha. And a pro-ball player. And if that doesn't satisfy you, I can also hit better than some pup who can't even speak to me with his full chest." 

The team howls with laughter. 

Sven clicks his tongue and looks away. 

I like her already. 

"Clio will assist me in training starting next practice," I say. "You'll have plenty of time to get acquainted then. In the meantime, get some rest. We play the Thunderbolts next." 

The team disperses, and I finally let out a breath. 

"Like what you've seen so far?" I ask, turning to Clio. 

She scoffs. "You've got work to do." 

"Tell me something I don't know." 

Her lips twitch. "You've really been wrangling these rude-ass kids all by yourself?" 

I chuckle. It's funny how she calls them kids when they're full grown men with chest and back hair. "Well, you know how some alphas feel about taking orders from an omega. It's tough sometimes, but we make it work. Nobody likes to lose." 

"But y'all lose quite often," she points out. 

I physically feel that in my chest. If we don't win The Golden Sun…

"We're looking to change that," I say. 

She nods. "We will." 

I watch as she slips her sunglasses back on. "Alfred wants me to finalize paperwork. I'll see you next practice, Bennett." 

"Likewise, Vynne." 

She lifts two fingers in a casual salute before striding off. 

I exhale, finally ready to go home, pick up Oliver from Mrs. Reilly's house and we can sculpt silly cats out of play dough while we watch cartoons. For all the flack kids cartoons got, they're actually really interesting and I think I'm beginning to enjoy the, more than the literal infant.

It'll be nice. And I can spend the rest of the evening not thinking about Logan Whittaker.

I grab my bag— 

And then an arm sling around my shoulder. 

"You. Me. Fang & Whip. Tonight," Elliot announces. 

I sigh. "I have a two-year-old." 

"That's what you always say. But you're young, you're hot, and you need to start dating again." 

I pause. 

Is Elliot really just looking out for me? Or is this his way of making sure Logan and I are completely over and will not be getting back together under any circumstance? 

Before I can answer, my phone buzzes. 

A text from Kieran. 

K:

Still teaching old dogs new tricks?

Finnian bristles, a low growl curling in the back of my mind. 'No.'

The rejection is immediate, visceral. She paces beneath my skin, tail flicking in irritation. 

I ignore her, dodging Elliot's attempts to peek at my screen and ignoring his playful, "Who's that?" 

I type back: 

Me:

Very funny. I actually just got off work.

Three dots. A pause. Then: 

K:

Freedom at last. 

Then: 

K:

I just got off work too. 

Then: 

K:

I heard freedom tastes better with good food and even better company.

I bite my lip, smiling. 

Kieran has been easy to talk to all week. Attentive. Funny. Interested.

A breath of fresh air from all of Logan's chaos. 

He's not been subtle about the fact that he's interested in me and I like him. He's sweet. He's all grown up now, far removed from the pudgy-faced Little K that used to collect bugs with me even though he thought they were gross, but still sweet and kind and warm.

'Mate wants us back,' Finnian's hackles rise, sharp and demanding. 'Don't betray mate.'

My fingers tighten around my phone. "He betrayed me first," I mutter under my breath. 

I stare at the device for a moment longer. 

Kieran is a good guy. He's stable. He's a doctor, for fuck's sake. Responsible. Mature. 

He's not Logan fucking Whittaker. 

Kieran isn't reckless. He isn't messy. He won't leave me shattered in the middle of the night with no warning, won't break Oliver's heart before he even knows what to call him. 

Kieran is safe.

And I think I could use some safety right now. 

Finnian whines, a sound so heart-wrenching I nearly hesitate. Nearly. 

I shove her down, burying the ache beneath pure, stubborn logic. 

Me:

Pick a place and a time.

K:

Done.

I glance up at Elliot, smirking. 

"On second thought," I say smoothly, tucking my phone away. "I actually have plans tonight."