1
AXEL
I woke up to Stan’s phone buzzing on his nightstand for the third time in ten minutes. My roommate groaned and rolled over. One arm flopped over the side of his narrow bed in our cramped dorm room.
“Stan, answer it or mute it,” I bellowed.
“It’s probably my mom.” His voice was muffled by the pillow. “She gets confused by time zones.”
His mother lived on the east coast, not halfway around the world, but I zipped my mouth. It wasn’t his fault she called him at all hours.
But after checking the time, I had to get up anyway. I heaved myself out of bed and studied the whiteboard above my desk where my schedule was jotted down in neat rows and columns.
As today was Saturday, I had an early practice followed by film review where the team would study an upcoming opponent’s recent match. After that, I had to get to conditioning which was basically the off-ice training to keep us in shape.
I glanced at Stan’s side of the room which looked as though a tornado had swept through it. Textbooks, dirty and clean laundry, and empty disposable coffee cups littered every surface.
“What time do you have to be at the rink?” Stan sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Do you want me to pick up breakfast for you on the way to the library?”
I had to be at practice in twenty minutes. “No time, but thanks. I’ll grab a protein smoothie on the way.”
It was kinda our routine that he’d get food or coffee for me and have it waiting when I came in exhausted after practice. Stan would also fill me in on whatever drama had occurred that day as he’d been researching for his biology major.
We’d been roommates since freshman year when I’d arrived with a full ride and my five-year plan in place. I’d won a hockey scholarship and crushed division play. Both of those were checked off my list. Going pro was next, but I’d made team captain as a sophomore which was the youngest in my school’s history. Everything was falling into place as I’d planned it.
But there was one thing that wasn’t part of the plan, though I’d like it to be, and that was to do with Stan. Like me, he was a shifter, though being surrounded by humans on campus, that part of our life we sorta kept to ourselves.
He was so different from me. He was a night owl and loved trying snacks from different countries, often with disastrous results. He was messy and had never met a scheduling app that could unravel the chaos in his life.
But Stan was my mate. My wolf and I recognized him the moment we met, but he didn’t. And at eighteen years of age andjust starting college, it was early to mark one another. Neither of us had experienced life, so I never said anything.
Sometimes shifters were able to scent their one and only, while others had to shift with their mate before the bond made itself known. Foxes were like that. They had to shift before they recognized their mate. That was how I consoled myself that Stan wasn’t aware he was my mate. Though there was niggling thought which never went away. What if he wasn’t my one and only? And which was worse, having him as my roommate and best friend or knowing for certain he’d never be mine? I didn’t have an answer, which sucked.
“I’ll have coffee waiting when you get back.” He scrolled a website on his phone. “And maybe some spicy, mind-blowing, mouth-numbing cashews.”
I informed my wolf and belly to be prepared, and my beast hunkered down, saying he could take the heat.
“Are you nervous about the big game on Friday?”
“Nope.”
“Liar.” He pulled on a hoodie. “I can tell ‘cause you’re quiet.”
My mind was on his scent and how I wished we could shift together, but I nodded because it was easier. “I’m focused is all.”
But the nagging in my brain began again. As close as we were, we’d never shifted together. Stan always had an excuse, and my mind went to a place I didn’t want it to. Somehow he knew we weren’t mates and he’d picked up on my feelings. He was being a good friend by sparing me the pain of being rejected..
Stan grabbed his backpack. “Try not to break anything at practice.”
“I’ll do my best.” I grabbed my gear from where I’d left it last night and headed out.
Practice went well. The ice was where I could channel my frustration and energy and do something productive. Coach ran us through drills, and I pushed myself because I was the captain and that was what captains did.
I executed a perfect slapshot, and Coach yelled, “Looking good, Chartris. Keep that up for regionals and we’re solid.”
When I finally made it back to the room, Stan was in study mode, surrounded by books and a pile of papers. He’d bought me my favorite sandwich, but the coffee was cold because I was later than usual.
I was emerging from the shower ready to demolish my sandwich when my phone buzzed. And again. And a third time.
