Alpha Gray by C.J. Primer
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Fallon
It scares me a little bit how quickly my world has started to revolve around Gray. The weekend feels dull without him. My friends and I hit the bar in Goldenleaf on Saturday night, but he isn’t at his usual table in the corner with the other alphas. I still drink and dance and have fun with my friends, but the night is decidedly less exciting without the prospect of ending it with him. What I wouldn’t give for a repeat of last Saturday.
Sundays are our day off, and I spend mine with Brooke. After being together basically every day for eighteen years, it feels strange to have to resort to weekly catch-ups to stay current on the events in on each other’s lives. I feign interest in her IT mumbo-jumbo, while she pretends to care about the new defensive maneuvers I’ve learned. If we were strangers, we’d have nothing in common- but she’s my twin, my closest friend and confidant. It feels so good just to be with her, talk to her.
By the time Monday morning rolls around, I’m feeling great. I’m refreshed, I’m back on top of my game, I’m looking forward to tonight, and nothing can bring me down. That is, until I see the rankings.
In a surprise twist, the whiteboard isn’t turned to display the partner list this week when we jog out onto the field, but the rankings. I’m hoping that my performance during one-on-ones has pushed me somewhere toward the middle, but as I draw closer and frantically scan the list for my name, my heart sinks.
I’m not at the top, where I want to be, and I’m not in the middle, where I expect to be. There are 25 of us left, and my name is way down at the bottom, written next to the number 21. It’s so humiliating that I might as well be ranked in dead last.
“Everyone get a good look?” Jax asks, grasping one side of the giant whiteboard.
I’m waiting for him to flip it because I don’t want to look at it anymore. How could I have fallen so far? I know I had a rough week, but 21? Reflected in the number on the whiteboard, I can see my dream of making the squad slipping away. I don’t know what I’ll do if I don’t make it- I don’t have a plan B. I’ve pinned everything on the belief that I’d be in, devote my life to being a warrior for the six-pack.
I look around for Gray, seeking some form of comfort- but he’s not on the field this morning- only Jax, Theo, and Brock. I feel a lump form in my throat, feel the sharp sting of tears behind my eyes.
Sensing my distress, Boyd slips an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side. His warmth soothes me and my tears recede. “Don’t worry about it,” he whispers, peering down into my eyes. “We’ve still got two weeks left. Plenty of time to make it up.”
“Yeah,” I croak. I try to force a smile, but the rankings are a major wake-up call. Based upon where I’m sitting, there’s a huge risk of being cut next week. I can’t- I won’t- let that happen.
The hinge on the whiteboard creaks as Jax flips it over, and I’m immediately puzzled at what’s written on the other side.
All of our names are listed, but we aren’t paired up- instead, they’re scrawled on the board in two columns. A dull murmur rises amongst the crowd as the other recruits take notice of the departure from the norm.
“This week is all about teamwork,” Brock states matter-of-factly, tucking his long hair behind his ears and folding his huge arms across his chest. “Instead of pairs, you’ll be working in teams all week.”
I skim the whiteboard for my name. I’m listed in the left column, and Boyd and Shay are both on my team. Boyd’s arm is still slung around my shoulders and he gives me a little squeeze, like he’s just noticed we’re teammates, too.
I keep scanning the list, seeing Judd and Carter’s names in our column as well. Looks like our team will be solid. I start to get really excited, until my eyes land on the last name. Hannah.
Fucking great.
“Being on the squad isn’t just about being a strong fighter,” Brock continues. “It’s about working as part of a cohesive unit, always having each other’s backs.”
I snort. Suuuure, Hannah will have my back. To stab a knife in it.
Brock darts me an annoyed glance at my interruption, then goes on. “This is perhaps the most important week of training,” he says. “You can be the best fighter on the field, but you won’t make the squad unless you prove you can be a team player.”
I give a compulsory nod, though a knot starts to form in the pit of my stomach. I’ve really got to prove myself this week, and of all the exercises to throw at us, they’re focusing on teamwork. And I’m teamed up with Hannah. What could possibly go wrong?
Jax steps forward beside Brock, running a hand through his beachy blonde hair. “We’re talking team drills, war games, group matchups. Work hard, but have fun with it. Learn each other’s strengths and weaknesses, use those in your strategies this week.”
“Alright, they get it,” Theo sighs, pushing in front of Brock and Jax. I swear the guy has ADD or something, he’s always so eager to just get to it. “Find your teammates, let’s get started!” He claps his hands together a few times and the recruits start to scramble.
I stay close to Boyd as we find our other teammates. There are twelve of us and the other team has thirteen. I maintain my distance from Hannah in our little grouping, keeping true to my word to stay out of her way.
“Let’s start with a good old-fashioned rumble,” Theo calls out, grinning and rubbing his palms together as Jax drags over two crates of mesh scrimmage tanks. He drops the crate with gold tanks in front of my team and we scurry to put them on over our clothes while the other team dons the black tanks.
“Gold, you take defense. Black, offense.” Theo points to a white line spray-painted across the practice field. “Gold, think of this as your border to your pack. The black team’s invading, and you have to keep them from crossing it. They’ll get a point for every player that crosses.”
We all nod enthusiastically. This drill sounds really fun- and has a practical application. As my team takes our position along the white line, I picture the treeline on the edge of the six-pack territory where I ran patrols with Brock, Vienna and Casey. I imagine the space ahead as the clearing, the black team on the other side of the arena as the opposite treeline. I bend my knees slightly, ready to pounce, grinding the ball of one of my feet into the dirt as I wait for the signal to begin.
When Brock yells “Go!”, I spring forward, sprinting with my team in the direction of our opponents. They’re running toward us, too, and when we collide, chaos ensues.
Maxwell’s the first opponent that I run into, and I duck low at the last second so his body goes rolling over mine, crashing into the dirt. Just as I spring back up, I’m met with Connor, and I grab one of his shoulders, bringing up a knee to jab him in the abdomen. As he doubles over, I spin around and there’s Shay. I almost go for her, instinctively, but she’s on my team- she shouts for me to move. I jump out of the way just as Bex is leaping toward me and Shay takes her down with a one-two punch.
I look around for a second, catching my breath, taking in the total madness playing out on the practice field. It’s like a rugby scrum- there are bodies colliding into each other everywhere, hitting the dirt, springing back up. I see Davis take down Judd, trying to break away from the group, make a run for our line.
Not on my watch. I dart in his direction, leaping over Boyd and Maxwell wrestling on the ground, tackling Davis.
We’re doing a great job of defending, but two of their players have already gotten away and crossed our line. As I struggle with Davis in the dirt, one of his teammates grabs me, scooping under my armpits to pull me off. I struggle against their hold, kicking my feet out, but Davis manages to scoot back, scramble to his feet, and take off to cross over the line.
As the black team’s numbers diminish, they’re easier for us to hold back. Boyd and I work together to keep Maxwell at bay, while I can see out of the corner of my eye that Shay and Judd are teaming up against someone else. By the time Jax whistles for the drill to end, we’re all panting and sweaty, sporting dirt-caked cuts and scrapes from our efforts.
I hold out an arm to help Maxwell to his feet, breathing heavily and wiping at my brow with my other arm.
“Come on, circle up!” Jax calls, waving us over to where he’s standing with Theo and Brock on the side of the field.
I start to walk in their direction, glancing sideways to count how many of the black team’s players made it across our line. It looks like only five of them succeeded- that’s pretty good, right?
Suddenly someone shoves me- hard- and I stumble sideways, almost tripping onto the ground. I manage to recover my footing before I hit the dirt, straightening and wheeling around.
“Watch where you’re going,” Hannah spits, her mean little eyes narrowed under her furrowed brow. Another girl named Mara snickers beside her.
I feel my face heat, anger rising as my wolf rears up, ready to tear through. I’m done playing nice with this bitch. Instead of taking a beat to think it over, I start stomping in her direction, ready to tear her a new one.
I only make it three steps when something stops me- someone stops me.
Boyd grabs my arm, spinning me around. “You alright?” he asks, looking down at me with wide eyes. His expression conveys a silent warning and his interception distracts me, gives me a moment to actually focus and consider.
I swallow hard, nodding, shoving my wolf back down. She whines in resentment.
“Yeah,” I mutter.
Boyd still has a hold on my arm and he urges me forward, toward the rest of the recruits circling up in front of the alphas.
“Just don’t engage,” he says under his breath as we approach.
Easier said than done. I’m thankful that Boyd intervened before I did something really stupid, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let Hannah keep getting away with her shit.
The alphas tell us to switch sides and go again, but the whole time we’re lining up, I’m trying to think of ways to get back at Hannah, give her a taste of her own medicine.
Boyd must be reading my mind, because he turns to me, giving me that look again.
“Let it go, Fallon. She’s not worth it.”
Fuck. As much as I crave retribution, I know he’s right. I need to be focusing on training, not on anyone or anything else. Not on Hannah, not even on Gray for that matter. These next two weeks need to be about me. I’m so damn close to the finish line, so close to making the squad.
Jax whistles for us to begin, and I spring forward, sprinting toward the other players, my feet pounding against the dirt.
Fuck Hannah. Success is the best revenge. She’s definitely not a team player, and it’ll be her downfall. This week, I’ll get back at her the best way I can- by proving that I am.
