Noah's POV
Did I know Logan Whitaker, the man who got me pregnant, broke my heart, and left me alone with his baby and a PR shitstorm to deal with, would be in Eastvale today?
Yeah. Of course I did.
I've known for months. Ever since Alfred Pena, the Eastvale Coyotes' team manager, started gushing about the opportunity to recruit a star player into the team, I knew exactly who he was talking about. Alfred didn't know how to keep his mouth shut and Logan was an Eastvale legend.
But, of course, Logan had no idea I'd be his coach. That wasn't surprising. That's so on brand for him it hurts. Sure, I've only been head coach for six months, but Logan wouldn't have bothered to look that up either way. He probably didn't even glance at the staff roster before signing his contract.
Alpha Logan Whitaker: confident to the point of selfishness, single-minded to the point of arrogance.
That was Logan. As long as he was good, he was happy. The rest of us just had to bend ourselves into shapes that fit his life or get out of his way.
It was why it had been so easy for him to walk out on me all those years ago.
It's why, when the media firestorm around my so-called "doping scandal" started circling and my career began to crumble, his response wasn't "I love you" or "I believe you" or "You're my mate, we'll get through this together."
No, his response had been: 'Look. It doesn't matter if you did it or not. Your actions affect my reputation, and I don't really need that right now.'
I grit my teeth, feeling my wolf, Finnian, stir.
She doesn't like thinking about that memory any more than I do.
But unlike Finnian, I'm not here to whine or whimper about how things could've gone differently. I've already shed my tears and licked my wounds. I've reminded myself—and my wolf—over and over again that no amount of pining is going to change the fact that Logan Whitaker is a selfish, heartless coward.
And the best way to deal with him is through cold, rugged professionalism.
Which is exactly why, when he stands in front of me now with that stupid, shocked look on his face, I say, "Noah Bennett, head coach of the Eastvale Coyotes. I look forward to working with you."
Logan blinks like I just slapped him.
Honestly? His expression almost makes all those sleepless nights leading up to today worth it.
He reaches out gingerly to take my hand, his grip awkward, hesitant. "Logan Whitaker. We've met before."
Met before? My wolf lets out a sarcastic huff. We've done more than met. I've had your dick in my ass.
I don't say that, obviously. Instead, I pull my hand away and give him my most polite smile. "Yes, I believe we have."
Since he got here, the air has shifted— like someone cranked the sunlight up a notch.
I hate it.
I hate how good he looks, standing there with that stupid silver hair glinting in the sun like some kind of goddamn beacon. His shoulders are just as broad as I remember, his body still lean and strong, and those piercing blue eyes of his are as arresting as ever.
For a second—just a split second—I let myself remember what it was like to have those eyes on me. To feel the heat of his hands on my skin, the roughness of his stubble against my neck, the way he used to whisper my name like it was some kind of prayer.
And then I remember how those same hands let me go. How those same lips told me I wasn't worth the fight.
The memory feels like a bucket of cold water, and I force myself to straighten my back.
This isn't the time for nostalgia—or thirst. Logan Whitaker might look like an Adonis, but I know the selfish man underneath all that charm. And I won't let myself forget it.
"It's nice to see you again," I lie easily.
Logan looks like he wants to sink into the ground. His usual cocky alpha confidence is nowhere to be found, and there's something deeply satisfying about seeing him squirm in his own skin.
He clears his throat and asks, "Did you…know I was going to be coming?"
"Of course," I reply, keeping my tone professional. "I reviewed your transfer forms and medical records. I've also written up a training regimen for you. We'll need to consult with a dietitian about your meals, and you've got a lot of work to do if you're going to catch up with the rest of the tea—"
"Listen, Noah…" he cuts me off.
And just like that, I feel my jaw tighten. I know that tone.
It's the 'let's talk' tone. The 'let me explain' tone. The 'I'm going to give you some bullshit excuse about why I left, wrap it up in a half-assed apology, and act like it's enough to earn your forgiveness' tone.
Finnian growls low in my head, and I can feel my own anger bubbling up, hot and fierce. But I keep my voice even as I cut him off.
"Respectfully, Lo, shut up."
His eyebrow twitches. Oh, he didn't like that. Good.
I continue, my voice cool and controlled. "I'm not here to hear whatever dumb excuse you've cooked up. I'm not here to reminisce about the past, and I'm certainly not here to give you an update on my life. I'm here to enjoy a nice afternoon out with my son and meet the Eastvale Coyotes' new star recruit, who I'll be training for the foreseeable future. And you're here to meet your new coach."
I take a step closer, lowering my voice just enough to make him pay attention. "So, if I were you, I'd think long and hard about my next words, because if you don't want to be running laps until your tail falls off, I suggest you keep them professional. Am I understood, Mr. Whittaker?"
Logan's eyes flash, and I see the flames behind them, that raw alpha hunger to dominate. He doesn't like being spoken to like this, especially not by me, an omega he once thought he had complete control over.
But judging by the low growl rumbling from his throat, he knows as well as I do that he doesn't have a claim on me anymore. He can't do shit to me.
"Yes, Coach," he says through gritted teeth.
I smirk. "Good boy."
Logan's hands curl into fists at his sides, but he doesn't say anything else. I can't help feeling a small spark of triumph.
"Will you be staying with your pack while you're here?" I ask.
"No," he replies stiffly. "I'll be visiting them, but I'll stay in a hotel for the most part."
Good, I don't need his mother to start dropping 'you were such a good couple' bombs.
I nod. "Training starts tomorrow at six a.m. sharp. Don't be late. Afterward, you'll meet the rest of the team, and we'll finalize your transfer paperwork with Alfred. Then we'll schedule a consultation with the dietitian."
Logan's jaw tightens, but he nods. "Got it."
"Welcome to the Eastvale Coyotes," I say, giving him a pointed smile before turning on my heel and walking away.
My heart is pounding in my chest, adrenaline coursing through me. Talking to Logan like that—keeping him in line—felt good. It felt powerful.
But it also felt terrifying.
Holy shit, I talked to Logan like that. I think my legs are going to give out underneath me.
I reach Oliver, who's standing on the diamond with his bottom lip stuck out and his little arms crossed over his chest. "Papa no look!" he says, stamping one tiny foot for emphasis.
My heart softens, and I crouch down to his level. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. You have Papa's full attention now."
Oliver's pout vanishes as he beams at me. It hurts sometimes how much my beautiful boy looks like his asshole of a father, especially when he gets all pouty. But Oliver is my miracle and all my love is for him.
I watch as he grips the bat tighter in his hands, his gaze shifting past my shoulder. He points with a chubby finger toward Logan's retreating form. "Who dat?" he asks, his words more babble than clear speech.
I glance over my shoulder, watching as Logan disappears into the distance.
"Just some guy," I say.
And I hope to god that's all he stays.