“Foxes, of course.” She gives me a small smile and nods. She’s tiny, probably about the same size as Charlotte, and I’m wondering why the hell Applegate would let his Omega daughter in a locker room full of Alphas.
She goes over to Owen, and he answers before pulling her over to the side. Standing next to my Omega, she looks tiny in comparison. I watch their conversation; Sloane is nodding, and Owen's voice is soft. She smiles up at him and taps his shoulder padding before making her way around the locker room, asking everyone the same question.
Owen comes and stands next to me, and I lean down casually. “What did you say to her?”
“That her scent is strong as fuck, and she needs to tone it down,” he says.
“What did she say?”
“She said thanks for the concern, but she isn’t changing anything about herself,” Owen says with his eyebrows furrowed.
I sigh and bump my shoulder with his. “You’re perfect the way you are too. Now let’s go destroy your brother’s team.”
He inhales deeply and exhales. “Yeah, let’s go do this.” He heads to his locker room, and I see him take something before taking a swig of water.
* * *
The stadium is loud, and it’s been made apparent that it’s brother versus brother. Apparently Owen’s mom is here, and he had no idea. She’s cut two jerseys in half, one for the Foxes and one for the Sharks with Connery on the back.
Owen seems jittery on the ice, but he’s performing well. I’m thankful that his brother is on the other side of the ice and that they won’t have any actual confrontation—at least I fucking hope.
The game starts tame. We don’t really have any beef with the Sharks, well, besides Max Connery. I’m not sure what Nilsen’s deal is with him, but every time we play them, he somehow gets a penalty.
I’m on the bench and watch as Owen has a fantastic save. But he shakes his head back and forth like he’s trying to realign his focus. It’s not one of his typical behaviors, and I can’t help but watch him more attentively. It must just be the fact that he’s playing against his brother and he doesn’t know the outcome.
I’m on the ice with Nilsen and Mikael, and I know we're about to do damage. The three of us are a formidable force. None of us give a shit about getting physical, and we prove that as we get in formation and head toward the Sharks’ goal. Mikael passes to me after he takes a hit to the shoulder. I can slap shot, or I can pass to Nilsen who is by the post. I pass to him, and he tips the puck in.
The buzzer goes off, and the crowd goes wild. My arm is up in the air, and I’m about to approach Nilsen for a celebration when Max Connery grabs Nilsen by the jersey. Nilsen gives him a shit-eating grin, and they start getting into it. It’s absolute fucking chaos after that. Nilsen knows touching the goalie is a sure fire way to start an all out brawl, but apparently the Dutch dick doesn’t give a shit.
I’ve got my hands on a Sharks jersey, tugging them off. The refs are blowing whistles, tugging men away like they’re feral toddlers. But Max and Nilsen are still going at it. Both of their helmets are gone, and Max’s lip is bleeding.
I’m expecting it to get broken up and squashed. But then I see Owen’s frame skating down the ice and shucking off his gloves.
“Oh, fuck no.”
I’m about to skate over to him and push him back to his goal when another player pushes me up against the glass. We’re in our own battle of wills when Nilsen lets go of Max and the opposing goalie sees his brother.
I can barely make out what they’re saying.
“Go back to your side of the rink, Owen,” Max says.
“Fuck you,” Owen replies, and he swings, hitting his brother right in the jaw.
Max rubs his face and glares at his brother. “I’m not fucking hitting you.”
Owen pushes against his brother's chest, and I’m trying to get this asshole to let go of my jersey to diffuse the situation. “Fucking hit me!” Owen says, pushing his brother again.
“Owen.” His brother shakes his head. Owen hits his brother again, and it must make him snap. Because Max rears his fist back and hits Owen.
I’ve seen Owen take some hits, he’s strong. But nothing will make your heart sink into your ass more than seeing your Omega hurt. I finally push the bastard who had a hold of my jersey off and skate over to Owen, who collapses on the ice.
His cheek is already turning a purple shade from the hit. But that’s not the concerning part. It’s the way he’s clutching his fist against his chest and breathing heavily.
“Owen?” his brother shouts and gets down on his knees and shakes him slightly. “Owen?”
The fight stops around us as medical skates on. Owen's bright blue eyes are wide, and he looks at me. He grips my jersey tightly with his fist and drags my ear to his mouth. “They can’t find out,” he whispers. His breathing is thick, and it’s terrifying.
“You’re going to be alright. You hear me?” I tell him.
