This is work.She’swork, even.
But instinct doesn’t give a damn about that.
Marco skates past during a warmup lap and slaps the glass in front of us.
“Wolfe! Good to see you’re locked in.”
I flip him off, and he laughs heartily.
The whistle blows once, and warmups come to an end. The lights dim as spotlights flare, and the announcer’s voice booms through the arena speakers.
“WELCOME… TO THE RED RIVER ICE ARENA!”
The crowd erupts as the teams line up across the ice. Their captain nods at Theo, then glares at Dylan. One of their defensemen mouths a threat at Gordo, who blows him a kiss, and Coach glares over at the guys, his arms crossed and his expression stone-hard.
“Eyes up,” he orders. “We play our game. Not theirs.”
The starters crouch, ready to launch over the boards, and I sit still, waiting and watching.
The puck drops, and the roar of the crowd swallows the rink whole as the game begins.
Still, even with all of the action going on, my focus keeps drifting sideways to where Emery sits with her bag at her feet and her pen in hand, scanning the ice as though she’s dissecting every stride.
She’s not supposed to behere. Trainers handle injuries, and medics handle emergencies. As a PT, she’s optional support at best, but Coach has a plan, and I…
Well.
Let’s just say: I don’thateit.
Chapter Fifteen
Theo
We take the opening faceoff, and the Reapers come out hard. They’ve always been mouthy as hell, and their center chirps me off the draw.
“You're slow as shit, big boy.”
I lift one brow, win the faceoff clean, and leave him eating ice shavings.
The game blurs after that. Not in a messy way; just in that hyper-focused, instinct-driven tunnel vision that snaps into place the moment the adrenaline hits.
Shift, skate, pivot.
Hit, recover, read the ice.
Repeat.
Emery’s scent lingers faintly from the bench area, even across the rink.
There are other omegas in the building—I know that. Staff, partners, and no doubt some of the fans tucked up in the stands, too. Their scents thread through as well, but in the usualmuted way, softened by blockers and distance, blending into the background noise of bodies and adrenaline.
But Emery’s keeps drifting back to me.
It shouldn’t. Not like this. Not across open ice and layered scents and the sharp bite of alphas in full drive. I don’t know why I notice it more than the others, or why it pulls, low and persistent, when I try to ignore it.
I know there’s something between her and Beau. Anyone with a functioning nose does. He’s captain, which makes him our center of gravity, the quiet spine of this team, and unofficial pack leader—whether he likes the title or not.
Part of me wonders if that matters. If his claim over the ice, overus, has somehow changed the way her presence settles into the space.
