"What? I'm not judging. I'm supporting. Big difference."
"Whiskey," I growl, a warning.
"For fuck's sake," Plague mutters, turning away. "I'll be in the car." He strides toward the door, shoulders and back rigid.
Whiskey just grins. "I'm ready, bro! I was waiting for you!" He bounds after Plague like an oversized puppy, pausing only to shoot me a look over his shoulder.
A look that clearly saysget rid of him.
The front door closes behind them with a slam and a click, leaving me alone with Valek.
Valek is the first to break the silence. "He still has my passport."
Some of the tension bleeds out of my shoulders. Not all of it, but some. I blow a puff of air through my nose and sink back onto the couch, trying not to wince as my ribs protest. "Hope you don't need it anytime soon. Whiskey would lose his own ass if it wasn't attached to his legs."
"Your teammates are quite the characters," Valek observes, his posture loosening slightly now that it's just the two of us. He moves to sit in the armchair across from me, crossing one long leg over the other. "I sense not everyone is thrilled with the new member of the pack house."
"It's nothing personal," I say, sighing. "We're a close-knit group. Takes time to integrate anyone new."
"And Wraith? Will he be integrating me as well, or should I expect another concussion the next time we cross paths?"
"Wraith will keep his distance," I say, then add pointedly, "As long as you keep yours."
Valek studies me for a long moment, his silver eyes unreadable. "You're very protective of him."
"He's my brother."
"Not by blood."
"That doesn't matter," I say sharply, then regret letting him get under my skin again. I take a deep breath, then immediately regret that too as pain lances through my ribcage. "Family is more than blood."
Something flickers across Valek's face then. A shadow, a glimpse of emotion quickly masked. "Yes," he says quietly. "I suppose it is."
The sudden shift in his tone catches me off guard. There's a weight to his words, a strange heaviness that seems at odds with the predatory aura from moments before.
"You have family?" I ask before I can stop myself. It's not what I meant to say, but something about that brief flash of emotion has thrown me off.
Valek is silent for a moment, his gaze drifting to the window. "Yes. Adoptive." His voice has gentled, lost its edge. "In Canada."
"You were adopted?" I ask, not sure why I'm pursuing this line of conversation when I should be keeping him at arm's length. "Wraith was my foster brother?—"
"I keep my worlds separate, if you don't mind," he says, cutting me off. And just like that, any vulnerability is gone, locked away.
"Why hockey?" I ask, partly to keep him talking, partly because I'm genuinely curious. There's nothing in his file about prior experience with the sport, no junior leagues, no college play. He appeared out of nowhere with skills that had scouts salivating.
Valek's mouth curves into that now-familiar sardonic smirk, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Why not? It's a violent sport played on knife shoes. What's not to love?"
"Most people don't pick up a professional-level sport on a whim."
"I'm not most people," he replies smoothly. "And who said it was a whim?"
I watch him carefully, trying to read between the lines. "Your file is... thin."
"That bothers you." It's not a question. "The captain needs to know everything about his team. Control every variable."
"It's not about control," I counter. "It's about trust."
"Ah, trust." He leans back in the chair, something dark flashing in his eyes. "A concept I've found to be vastly overrated."
