“Done! That sandwich was really good, Mom. Honestly. Deli quality. Maybe you should think about getting a job cooking somewhere.” He brings his fingers to his lips, chef’s kiss, and I reach back to ruffle his floppy red hair.
“I don’t have any training for that, but I’m glad you liked it. Ready to head in?” He swallows hard, playing with the wadded-up paper towel his sandwich was wrapped in. Asher opens hismouth, then closes it a few times—a nervous habit he has when he wants to tell me something important. Knowing him inside and out, I just wait calmly.
“I’m going to work real hard, Mom. I know how tough it was for you to send me here. I’ll learn everything I can so I can win the scholarship.” His earnestness makes me tear up. My poor kiddo has so much weight on his shoulders, and it’s all my fault.
“Baby, get the scholarship out of your head. Yes, we both know this has cost a lot of money, but the experience isn’t worth anything unless you enjoy it. You have nothing to prove. No one could possibly question how committed you are to hockey. I never have to push you to get to practice or remind you about your games. Your drive is clear for everyone to see, especially me. I’m already so proud of the man you’re becoming. So, please, don’t put extra pressure on yourself. If you win, that’s great; if you don’t, I’m still proud as hell of you.” I wish there weren’t a barrier between us so I could pull my kiddo in for a much-needed hug.
“Mom.” His voice cracks, and I reach back again, squeezing his hand. Emotions clog his throat, and I don’t need his words of appreciation. I can see it shining in his eyes.
“I know, baby, I know. Now, let’s get you inside before we end up being late.” Asher’s eyes widen, and he wolfs down the last bite of his sandwich before jumping out of the car as fast as lightning. The back door opens with a bang, and he snatches his hockey equipment bag. Hustling a few steps behind, I close both doors before following him.
It’s not too far to get to the rink from the parking lot, but the early morning chill makes me pull my arms around my body. My thin jacket not quite providing enough warmth. The doors loom before us, and Asher points to the open one excitedly. We quickly step through it. Asher’s coach is already there, smiling at my son in a way that’s almost fatherly. It tugs at my heart, but Iswallow it down, knowing Asher is better off without his sperm donor.
“I’m so glad you’re here, Ash,” Coach says with a wide grin. “With your talent, it’s going to be a great learning experience. I just got news that you have one of the best mentors on the entire team.” Asher glows with excitement that’s barely contained in his eleven-year-old body. I can see how badly he wants to fist pump and jump up and down, but he reins it in and gives his coach a serious nod.
The happy beta finally glances my way, and I give him a quick smile. “What do you need from me, Coach?”
“Good morning. Ms. Alton. I’ve got it from here. He’s gonna go straight into the locker room, which is the open door behind me, and then we’ll be on the ice for the next two hours.” He points down the hallway and I smile, feeling a little weird that my boy is just going to head into the changing room without me. The stadium is so much bigger than our usual ice-skating rink, and I usually help him get changed into his pads and gear. My eyes search for my son, but his back is to me as he walks away without a care in the world.
“Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll be fine,” Asher shouts, giving me a finger wave before disappearing through the open doorway.
As if sensing my hesitation, Coach Ray offers me some reassurance. “Coach Tal is already in there, and he’ll help the boys with anything they need. Their mentors are waiting on the ice. Everything is good. You can either head that way,” he points behind me to the staircase, “and watch, or come back in a bit to pick him up.”
Swallowing hard at the dismissal in his tone, I decide to trudge into the stands. Although I need to submit some applications for a new job, I’d like to catch the beginning and end of practice at the very least.
My footsteps echo on the staircase as I walk toward the rink and grab a seat by the glass. There are already a few men on the ice, skating around and joking. Narrowing my eyes, I try to figure out if I recognize any of the players. They aren’t wearing their jerseys or numbers, so it’s exceedingly hard to figure out.
Not to mention you don’t have a clue what most of them look like anyway… except for Julius Keene. Asshole.
My body flushes at the reminder, equally horrified and angry at that man for his behavior.
The skaters get closer to my side of the rink, and the mouthwatering scent of chocolate-hazelnut wafts my way, making my stomach rumble. It’s strong enough that I twist in my seat, looking around to see if there’s a food vendor open. I don’t have any extra money to spend on it, but the craving is impossibly strong. The desire to take a bite is overwhelming, and I’m suddenly willing to take out a loan for a taste. My eyes dance from place to place, seeing nothing besides a few other parents mulling around the stands. There are certainly no food vendors around, and my abdomen clenches with disappointment.
The scent lingers, growing stronger as the skaters get closer. A sudden flash of uneasiness sours my stomach, causing my scent to bloom. Horrified, I realize that in my extreme haste to get Asher here on time, I didn’t use any Alpha-pheromone-blocking nasal spray.
Not only that, but since I’ve started working mainly online, I haven’t had to use it, so my olfactory senses are firing at full blast. The intoxicating aroma continues to get stronger, and I’m drawn in by the enticing fragrance. Chocolate-hazelnut on toast is one of my all-time favorite meals. Even though it’s so simple, nothing else hits quite the same.
Holy shit, if there’s an Alpha who smells that good, I don’t even know what I’ll do.
Mate. Mate. Mate.The word chants in my brain. But, no. It can’t be.
Scent-matches are for good omegas. Not useless women like me…
My raspberry perfume bursts all around me in acknowledgment of the compatible scent, and embarrassment flushes my cheeks. I know there’s nothing wrong with perfuming in public; it happens all the time, but it doesn’t happen to me. Most Alphas smell like dirt or something more vile: raw meat, for example. I’ve rarely met any that were even borderline tempting. As soon as my scent fills the enclosed space, a player’s head shoots up, moving back and forth frantically searching.
Searching for me…
Under his helmet, I can’t see much, but as he gets closer and closer, our eyes lock, and my lips open in surprise as I recognize the man. He’s a bit of a legend in our house.
Number 88 himself… Vonn Keene.
Which means his packmate is none other than that job-ruining asshole
This can’t be happening…
Chapter Ten
Julius
