Knowing that he isn’t feeling well eats away at me. I just want to make everything better. I guess that’s the story of this pack, me wanting to fix everything all the time. But sometimes there are things I can’t make better, and I need to learn to get over it.
Mikael skates next to me, leaving a wave of ice behind him as he breaks. “Your boy all set?”
I’m not sure what Charlotte’s pack knows, but we don’t vocalize it. Even if they know Owen’s designation like their Omega does, they haven’t said anything.
“Yeah, he’s good.”
“We’re up by two, so if we don’t win this game, we’ll still be okay,” Mikael says, and I narrow my eyes at him.
“Did you hit your head?”
“No, I’m just being nice.”
“Well, it’s fucking weird. Stop it.”
Mikael shakes his head. “When I’m mean, I get yelled at, and now I’m too nice, and I’m weird. Can’t win.”
“I prefer you being an asshole. So bring that Martel out for the game, yeah?”
He rolls his eyes and skates away. Shoving Nilsen as he skates. Nilsen just grins and pushes him back against the boards.
I take a deep exhale, and as weird as Mikael’s words were, they ring true. Of course I’d like the series to end now, take the Cup, and move on. But if we don’t win tonight, we have a home game for game six. As long as we don’t fuck it up, it’s going to be hard for the Sharks to come back at all in this series.
We just need no injuries, and I need to make sure that Owen is healthy and can handle the pressure. We can do this.
* * *
We lost miserably. Owen played his worst game yet. It was so bad that coach pulled him and put Johannson in his place, which didn’t help much. We lost four nothing and the whole team is feeling it.
There's still optimism rippling through the team, but the tension riding Owen is high. I keep quiet on the plane ride home, but I make sure to touch and reassure him in every non-verbal way possible. He doesn’t shrug off my touch, which I’m grateful for, but he doesn’t seem eager to talk either.
Thankfully, the tension falls away as he falls asleep the rest of the ride home. The rest of the team doesn’t take the loss hard. We had a three game winning streak, and this is all a part of being a professional athlete and making it to this level.
No one blames Owen, and I’m thankful. Mostly because if anyone decided to talk shit about my Omega, I would probably find myself in jail or at least suspended from the NHL.
I thought at one point I’d get into a physical fight with Owen’s brother, but the other Alpha seems different than I thought.
The man is definitely an asshole, but when it comes to Owen, he almost seems… sad. There wasn’t a brawl like last time, and they didn’t even speak during the game. But there’s definitely still some major strain there.
I want to make it better.
I’m tired of Owen and Piper hurting and it being out of my control. It feels like the end of the season marks the end of all of our problems, and I’m yearning for it. I’ve worked so hard, beaten my body to shit, haven’t had a solid relationship in nearly two decades. I’m so fucking ready to sail for this next phase of my life.
Owen wakes up enough to walk himself to my car, where he promptly passes out again. Once we get home, he doesn’t stir when I carry him back to the house. While I can carry him over my shoulder, the man isn’t light, and when I think about carrying him up to the nest—I give up, instead carrying him to Piper's room. She’s sitting on her bed with her laptop when I lay him down and tuck him under the sheets.
Immediately, her hands are on his forehead, checking his temperature.
“He didn’t look good out there,” she says softly.
I shake my head and sigh. “I don’t know what’s going on.”
She looks me over and tilts her head. “What about you?”
“What about me?” I say, shrugging my shoulders and sitting by her feet on the bed.
“You look tired too.”
“It’s part of the job.”
