Page 82 of Scrum Heat

That’s the thing about small towns—everyone thinks they know you. Or worse, they act like they do, based on whispers and headlines and who they think youshouldbe. You breathe wrong, and someone’s aunt’s book club has already dissected it by dinnertime.

I’ve been here five minutes and they’ve decided I’m either a gold-digging omega or the second coming of Kardashian-level social climbing.

It’sexhausting.

I didn’t come here for a scandal—I came here for a job. For a fresh start. For the chance to build something real.

And apparently, that’s threatening enough to make the front page.

The house comes into view, and I spot Jax immediately.

He’s sitting on the top step, hunched over something small in his hands. His carving knife glints in the afternoon sun as he works a piece of wood into something unrecognizable. It’s quiet—just the sound of birdsong and the scrape of blade on timber.

He doesn’t look up until I’m halfway up the path.

Then he does—and immediately stills.

His brows pull together, gaze sweeping across my face like he’s assessing damage. And maybe I’m doing a good job of hiding it, but apparently not from him.

He drops the carving as he moves to stands, and I don’t think. I don’t speak, either.

I just…go to him.

And when I get close enough, when his height and heat and presence hit me, I fold.

My arms wrap around his middle, my face presses to his chest, and Ibreak.

No sobbing. No tears. Just this deep, exhausted ache that swells in my chest and melts out of me, bone-deep and soul-tired.

Jax stiffens—

But only for a second.

Then I feel it—his arms. One across my back, one settling around my waist. It’s not perfect, not practiced, but it’sreal.

He breathes, slow and deep, like he’s syncing with me on purpose.

“You’re home,” he says, voice low.

I nod against his shirt.

“Good.”

I have no idea how long we stay like that. Time seems completely irrelevant as I remain wrapped around the quietest alpha in Alderbridge; his chin resting on my head, his heartbeat steady against my ear. Eventually, he nudges me gently toward the door.

Inside, the living room is quiet. The others are waiting. Rory’s standing by the window, his arms folded across his chest. Theo’s pacing again, hands on his hips. Finn’s sat forward on the couch, elbows on his knees, expression unreadable.

They all look up when I walk in.

Theo takes one look at my face and stops pacing. Rory straightens.

“She saw it,” Jax says, voice still even as he closes the door behind us.

No one says anything for a beat, then Rory gestures to the couch. “Sit.”

I do. Wordlessly. Finn offers me a bottle of water, and I take it without thinking.

Rory speaks first.

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