Marked by two Alpha's

NOVA

I thought my sophomore year in high school was bad enough. But junior year? It's on a different level. Only God knows how senior year will be.

My backpack slides off my shoulder as I kick the door shut behind me. Classes has been brutal enough already... three quizzes, one failed interview attempt with the lacrosse captain, and Mia Thompson hovering around the media room like a vulture waiting for my weakness.

Which, unfortunately for me, she'd probably find soon.

Because tomorrow morning's publication deadline is hanging over my head, and I still don't have a story strong enough to stay ahead of her. I blow out a breath, rubbing my temple as I walk toward the living room.

Maybe I could ask Noah for something. Not willingly, obviously.

My older brother treats hockey secrets like classified government information, but if I caught him in the right mood... or half asleep... maybe I could squeeze something useful out of him.

A fight during practice. A rivalry. Recruitment news. Anything. Anything before Mia gets her claws into another story and steals the spotlight again.

I round the corner into the living room... and stop.

Enzo Moretti is sprawled across our couch like he pays rent here. Actually, correction. He practically does live here.

One arm is stretched across the back of the couch while the other lazily flips through channels with the remote. He's shirtless, blonde hair still damp like he just showered after practice. I know about that all too well.

The TV throws shadows across the sharp, sharp lines of his face.

I stand there for a second longer than necessary. Okay, maybe several seconds longer than necessary.

Because this is normal.

Enzo has been in my house for as long as I can remember. Him and Noah became friends in middle school, and after Enzo’s parents started traveling constantly for work, he just… stayed.

Family dinners. Movie nights. Holiday mornings. Enzo was always there. He’s basically another older brother. A very annoying older brother.

My eyes drift over the tattoos lining his arm before I can stop them.

“Enjoying the view?”

I nearly jump. His lips twitch without him even looking away from the TV. Heat crawls up my neck instantly. I roll my eyes, tossing my bag onto the armchair. “You wish.”

That finally gets his attention. Enzo turns his head slowly, dark eyes dragging over me with lazy amusement.

“Sweetheart,” he says, voice rough from sleep or practice or both, “you’ve been standing there staring at me for, like, thirty seconds.”

I roll my eyes.

“Mhm.” he probes. He's not going to let it go.

“I was thinking." I say absentmindedly.

“That explains the creepy staring.”

I grab one of the couch pillows and throw it at his face. He catches it easily, not even bothering to look away from the TV.

“Someone ever tell you you're so damn annoying?" I mutter.

“And yet you keep coming back.”

“This is my house.”

I narrow my eyes at him while he grins, completely at home in our living room. Honestly, I’m pretty sure Enzo spends more time here than in his actual house.

Mom already treats him like her third child. Dad asks about his games more than Noah’s sometimes. And Noah?

Noah would probably cry if Enzo ever moved out.

Deep down in my head, I would pay real money to see that day.

Although I think it's almost impossible for him to officially move out. Why? I'd say because the two of them have been inseparable since they were twelve. Sleepovers turned into weekend visits, weekend visits turned into random weekdays, and eventually Enzo just became… permanent.

Like a tattoo nobody regretted getting. Unfortunately.

“You look stressed,” Enzo says after a moment.

“I’m fine.”

“Mhm.”

I hate when he does that. That low little hum like he can see right through me. Sometimes I think he can.

I move toward the kitchen instead, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. “Mia posted another exclusive before I could.” I complain.

Enzo groans immediately. “You people take school media way too seriously.”

I nod. “It matters.”

“It’s just gossip. Fucking gossip."

“It’s journalism,” I correct.

“No, you wish it was journalism. It's teenagers ruining each other’s lives for attention.”

I blink at him. Well, that was unnecessarily aggressive. I know he and Noah hates what I do at school, but he's never been this mad and upfront about his dislike for my stuff.

He finally glances over at me, expression unreadable now. “What?” he asks.

“You really hate my job that much?”

“I hate how obsessed you get with it.” He tosses the remote onto the couch cushion beside him. “You act like getting the next big story is life or death.”

Easy for him to say. He’s already the story. Star captain. Future draft pick. Campus golden boy. People practically trip over themselves to talk about Enzo Moretti.

Meanwhile I’m fighting for relevance against girls like Mia Thompson who somehow always know everything first.

“I just don’t want to lose my spot,” I mumble.

His expression softens for half a second before footsteps thunder upstairs.

“Noah!” I yell. “Your boyfriend’s downstairs!”

“Shut up!” my brother shouts back.

Enzo snorts.

Noah finally comes downstairs wearing sweats and carrying a bowl of cereal.

“You ate my food again?” he asks Enzo.

“Your mom made it.”

“Still my food.”

I tune them out halfway through the argument, checking my phone again. Mia’s article already has over three hundred shares.

Three fucking hundred.

I swear she sold her soul to get information this fast. I turn around, grabbing my backpack with a frown still on my face. I make it halfway upstairs before realizing I left my water bottle in the kitchen. With a sigh, I turn around quietly.

Voices drift from the living room before I fully step back in.

“…she’s serious, Enzo.”

That's Noah’s voice. I pause because something about his tone sounds off.

“She can’t keep springing this on me now,” Enzo says.

My brows pull together. Springing what the hell exactly?

“She’s pregnant,” Noah snaps. “That’s not exactly something small.”

The world stops. I freeze halfway down the staircase. Pregnant? My heart starts pounding immediately. Questions are running through my head. Who is pregnant? Is it someone I know?

“Noah, keep your voice down.” Enzo says in a hushed whisper.

“She told you she was late weeks ago!” Noah obviously doesn't care.

“I know that.”

“Then why the hell are you acting surprised?”

“I can’t have a kid right now.”

Every muscle in my body locks. So basically, a girl is pregnant, and it's Enzo's baby? Amazing.

“I’m about to get drafted,” he continues. “My entire future’s riding on this season.”

“So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying she needs to get rid of it.”

I stop breathing.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do.”

There’s no hesitation in Enzo’s voice. None.

“She’s freaking out,” Noah says. “And instead of helping her, you’re talking about the baby like it’s some problem you can erase.”

“What do you want me to do?” Enzo fires back. “Throw away my career? My life?”

My fingers tighten instinctively around my phone.

“She said she’d handle it,” Enzo mutters more quietly now. “She just wanted money.”

Something ugly twists in my stomach. Money. God. That's such a mean thing to say.

“She’s terrified,” Noah says.

“And so am I!”

I don’t even realize I’ve opened the voice recorder app until I see the timer moving. 00:12. 00:13. 00:14.

This... This is huge. I'm not even kidding. It's not high school gossip huge. It's career-ending huge. The golden captain of Ridgeview Hockey caught in a pregnancy scandal before draft season?

My brain is already spinning. The Headlines. The Clicks. The Public reaction. The media room exploding tomorrow morning.

And then another thought crashes into me immediately after.

It's Enzo. Downstairs isn’t just some random hockey player. It’s Enzo. He's the boy who taught me how to ride a bike. Who stayed at my bedside when I had the flu at thirteen. Who calls my mom “Ma” without thinking about it.

He's family.

Or… almost family, it doesn't matter.

I stare at the timer on my screen.

00:31.

I should stop recording. I know I should. Instead, I stay completely still and keep listening.