The tension in my shoulders and back eases slightly. It's not much, but it's something. More than what I usually get out of him, anyway.
To anyone else, it would seem dismissive. But I know my brother well. "Yes" means he's safe. "Yes" means he needs time but he's coming back. "Yes" meanstrust me. The way he trusted me when I taught him hockey could be therapy instead of a new, creative way to terrorize him.
The security guard at the entrance nods as I swipe my badge. "Early today, Captain."
"Big day," I grunt, shouldering my way through the door.
The familiar smell of ice and steel fills my lungs as I make my way into the arena. Despite everything, there's something comforting about being here. This is my domain. My territory. The place where I can control at least some of what happens.
Or so I thought.
What the hell are you up to, brother?
"BELMONT!"
Coach's voice booms down the hallway, shattering my contemplation. I turn to see him storming toward me, face already an alarming shade of red. Great. Just what I needed.
"Where's Wraith?" he demands without preamble, closing the distance between us in quick, angry strides. "That psycho better not be pulling another one of his stunts. Bad enough I have to make up shit about why he won't take off his mask—now I've got to explain why he's AWOL?"
Every muscle in my body tenses. The alpha in me roars to life, demanding I defend my pack, my family. My nails bite into my palms as I fight back the urge to grab Coach by his throat and slam him into the nearest wall.
But I can't.
I'm the captain. The leader. The one who has to keep it together when everything else is falling apart.
So I take a deep breath, forcing my voice to remain steady. "He's taking a personal day."
Coach's face gets even redder, if that's possible. "A personal day? Apersonal day? This isn't some corporate nine-to-five bullshit, Belmont! This is professional hockey! We don't get personal days!"
"He cleared it with management," I lie smoothly. It's not entirely false—management has learned to give Wraith a wide berth when he needs space. They might not like it, but they've seen what happens when they push him too hard.
"Management can kiss my ass!" Coach spits. "I've got a reporter from Blade Magazine coming to evaluate our lines, see how we work together as a team. How the hell am I supposed to show that when our biggest power forward isn't even here?"
I resist the urge to point out that Wraith's absence might actually make the journalist more comfortable. Instead, I keep my voice level. "Have the non-core players run defense drills. Show us our depth."
"People want to see the Ghosts, Belmont! The core! The four horsemen of the fucking apocalypse. They want to see the chemistry between you, Plague, Whiskey, and Wraith. You wantme to show one of the biggest names in sports journalism our 'depth' by running drills without the player that stands out the most the moment he steps onto the fucking ice? The day before we debut ournew winger? A new player you'll be meeting pretty damn soon, by the way."
He's not wrong about that. The timing couldn't be worse. Valek's incoming arrival is already causing ripples throughout the league. Having Wraith disappear right before he shows up sends all kinds of messages we don't need right now. Especially if he's not here for tomorrow's press conference.
"If Wraith doesn't show up for practice," Coach continues, jabbing a finger into my chest, "he's benched for the next game. I don't care how good he is or how much the fans love his feral monster act. No one is bigger than the team. Not even your foster brother."
Each of Coach's words stokes the burning flames of rage building in my chest.
"Mybrother." The words come out as a low growl, my lip curling and control slipping. "Notmy 'foster' brother."
Coach takes a half-step back, some buried instinct finally warning him that he's pushed too far. But he recovers quickly, puffing up his chest like he's trying to match my size. "You know what I mean. The mask. The growling. It's great for marketing, gets the crowd going?—"
"Stop."
My alpha bark cuts through the air like a blade. Coach may be an alpha himself, but his mouth still snaps shut, his eyes widening slightly as he registers the dangerous edge in my voice.
I take a step forward, using every inch of my height to loom over him. "You don't know what you're talking about. You haveno ideawhat my brother has been through, what he deals with every single day. So don't you dare stand there and reduce his pain to some kind ofmarketing gimmick."
"Now listen here—" Coach starts, but I'm not finished.
"No,youlisten." Another step forward. Coach's back hits the wall. "Wraith isn't here because he needs space. Because something triggered him badly enough that he had to disappear for a while. And you know what? I support that decision. Because the alternative is him showing up and potentiallylosing controlduring practice. Is that what you want? I'm sure that would look fuckinggreatin the magazine."
Coach's face has gone from red to slightly pale and chalky. Good. Maybe some of this is finally getting through his thick skull.
