Chapter 4

Jaxon

Adjusting my cufflinks in the hallway outside the media conference room, trying to get this interview over with as quickly as possible, I watch as my assistant Liza approaches.

She’s clutching her tablet with that look she gets when she thinks she needs to sell me on something.

“I really think you should know that today's journalist isn't like the others. She's doing an in-depth championship series, focusing on each player rather than the whole team,” Liza continues to explain.

Believe it or not, I’ve heard this exact pitch from her mouth before, and as I straighten my tie, my mind starts cataloging the clipped responses I'll give.

This is just another journalist looking for the angle that'll set off their career, or probably hoping I'll slip up and give them something personal to exploit.

After years of interviews, I’ve learned how to maneuver my way through them.

"She won't be asking any invasive personal questions," I state more than ask, meeting Liza's eyes with the look that usually ends these conversations.

"Absolutely not," Liza insists, following me as I start walking toward the conference room. "She's incredibly professional. Her work speaks for itself. She's done a f*e acclaimed pieces with several high-profile athletes. Her reputation for cutting straight to the point is the reason why NSN chose her to lead. You might know her, actually. Her name is…"

"Yo, J!" Jake Morrison's voice booms down the hallway, cutting off whatever Liza was about to say.

Our wide receiver jogs up with that shit-eating grin he wears when he thinks he's about to make my day.

He’s one of the four humans on the Dallas Titans, and the only guy who doesn’t address me with authority as his captain.

"Dude, you hit the lottery getting the first interview. The reporter they sent? She's like the next Megan Fox. I swear to God, she’s a total smoke show."

I adjust the small microphone clipped to the lapel of my jacket, Jake's comments not improving my already sour mood about this entire shitshow.

"And knowing you, old man, you probably wouldn't even notice the difference since you're too busy thinking about playbooks and protein shakes in your free time," Jake continues, laughing at his own joke.

I give Jake the look that usually shuts him up, but he's too caught up in his own amusement to notice. I turn to Liza.

"Everything’s set?"

"Yes, sir, everything's ready," she confirms.

"All right, go charm the pants off her, J," Jake calls out as I push toward the conference room doors.

When I cross the door into the media room, I expect the stifling environment that comes with reporters who’ll twist my words for a sound bite.

I expect to find cameras ready to start flashing my way.

What I don't expect is for my wolf’s howl of recognition to hit me like a goddamn freight train.

That familiar scent—lavender mixed with something uniquely her—is one that I'd recognize in a crowd of thousands. It reaches me first, like it’s lulling me into its trap.

The bond that I've spent five years trying to bury suddenly pulls at my chest in a grip that has pain and ache dancing like two devils inside me.

My eyes scan the room immediately, and it doesn’t take more than a second for me to spot her.

Mate.

My wolf roars in my chest like he’s finally been put out of his misery after years of torture.

And before I can stop myself, my lips part and I whisper in fucking disbelief, “Freckles?”

She is the reporter?