PROLOGUE
There’s nothing like the excitement of a hockey game. I grew up at practices, watching players run drills, and loving the thrill that runs through my blood when gloves are thrown down and fights break out.
My lips curl up into a smile as I tug on the end of my braid, watching behind the glass as McCreuger flies past, checking an opponent into it. My body jumps as I gasp, and his dark green eyes move toward me for a moment before he returns to beating the hell out of the opposition.
Swallowing hard, my eyes move to my father standing in front of the bench as he yells, his face turning red. His slightly lighter red hair stands up as he coaches, and a whistle blows as the fight is broken up.
He looks so different from me in that my hair is almost black. Dad sometimes gets a far away look in his eyes when he looks at me, telling me that he sees my mom instead of his daughter. There aren’t any photos of her, a testament of how hard he’s tried to scrub her existence away.
I don’t understand why I’m getting dirty looks from players as they skate across the ice, but I’m not responsible for their shit playing tonight. Dad is going to have them running drills tomorrow during practice until their legs beg for mercy. And then he’s going to keep going.
They’ll deserve every ache and pain.
There are consequences for everyone’s actions, and that’s something I’ve learned first hand from my father. I’m about to graduate high school at eighteen years old, a semester early due to my hard work, and then I plan to take a gap semester before going to college near my best friend. They aren’t world changing decisions, but they feel like they are to me.
Everything is going to be so different soon.
There are things that I’m worried about tonight, and it’s making it difficult for me to concentrate on the game. I pick at an imaginary piece of lint on my jersey and shift uncomfortably as I sit in my jeans and stew in my head. I presented as an omega yesterday, and while I know all the details of what that means after a very awkward conversation with my father, I worry about what comes next.
I’m going away to college soon and don’t know if I’ll apply for the heat program that’s offered there or not. My father told me it’s completely my decision, and his only concerns are my safety and happiness. It’s been just the two of us since my mom left us when I was three years old.
A part of me can’t help but worry that I might have been the reason that she decided she couldn’t hack life with us. I was a really curious and hyper kid. Dad never remarried, insisting that he was married to the job. He put me on the ice at an early age to work out my excess energy, and I played on a kids hockey league until I was twelve.
Outside of the team, his priority is me. Sometimes I want to tell him that it’s okay for him to be happy too. The problem is, he’s stubborn and I doubt he’d listen.
“Hey, why are you here if you’re not even paying attention?” one of the players yells as he flies by on the ice. I can’t tell who it is, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s Miles giving me shit for my inattention.
Blinking hard, I shake my head. There are a ton of people in the stadium, why does anyone care what I’m doing?
“Maybe you should focus on playing better!” I sass back.
His lips twitch underneath his safety gear, or at least I think they do as he takes control of the puck and skates hard before passing it. Dad doesn’t like it when players pay too much attention to me, so I never encourage it.
I’m here to support him and the team. I’m supposed to be invisible. He hates leaving me home alone, which leads to why I’m at every game and practice. Too many bad things can happen, he says, and I know he’s right. I’ve done so much homework on the bench while half watching practices that it’s ridiculous.
If it gives him peace of mind, then it’s the least that I can do.
There are groans around the stadium as someone from our team shoots his shot and misses. I’m unfortunately one of them as I catch a glimpse of it.
“Come on,” I mutter under my breath. I won’t catcall because that’s rude, but I know my dad has to be losing his mind.
There’s no reason for them to be playing so shitty. Uncrossing my legs, I lean forward with my arms on my thighs as I glare at the ice. Unless they hustle, they’re not going to be able to turn this around.
When the final buzzer sounds at the end of the game, I shake my head in disgust.
“This was awful,” I sigh, standing.
The other family members near me nod sympathetically, their faces mirroring what mine is saying. I follow them as I walk out of the seating area and down to the bench like I usually do, prepared to witness the team’s anger and disappointment.
I refuse to say anything though as I step into the players area and hang back to wait for my dad to finish up here.
“I don’t think you should have her at games anymore,” McCreuger complains, pointing at me.
I don’t understand why he’s fucking picking on me tonight, and stand tall, ready to defend myself if necessary.
Another team member’s nostril’s flare, and he gazes hungrily at me, freaking me out even more. Oh fuck, can he smell me? I didn’t think about that when I came here. Dad didn’t say anything, which means he didn’t think about it either.
“Hey. Hey! None of that,” Dad growls, stepping in front of me. “She just presented as an omega last night. You’re fucking adults, act like it! Caelia is a child. I’ll have her wear scent blockers if you all can’t concentrate enough to play. I suppose this is my fault for thinking you all were professionals.”
