Ethan and I look at each other, clearly the both of us clueless as hell when it comes to packs.
“What’s wrong with a pre-established pack?” I ask.
She rests her chin against the palm of her hand.
“Nothing. There’s just something romantic about the idea of me being the reason my packmates love each other. I’m not really sure how to explain it.”
Ethan tosses his arm behind her in the booth as he smiles down at her.
“It makes sense to me. You’re the Omega, so the pack centers on you,” he says.
“Does that make me sound like a spoiled brat?”
“No, it sounds like you know your worth,” Ethan says.
It’s at that moment I realize I’m not worthy of either of them, not their friendship or this attraction I’m trying to shove down. But I’m going to try not only to become a valued team member, but a true friend to the two kind-hearted people across from me.
Your younger brother being your coach is honestly the worst experience of my life, and that’s saying something.
“Your left side is weak. You’ve gotta practice more,” he says, and I think about taking off my skate and slitting my own throat.
It’s very melodramatic, but I remember I have two friends to live for now. Not to mention I’m fueled by competitiveness and to prove to my little brother that I’m just as good as he is.
So instead of talking back, I’m silent, going through drills and doing what I’ve been doing for the last five years.
Coach Applegate blows the whistle, announcing we’re going to run a scrimmage. The backup goalie, Gagnon, is on the other side, and I’m stuck with Nilsen, Boucher, and Ahonen on defense.
“Try not to fuck this up and make us all look like shit,” Nilsen says in a sharp tone, and I take a deep breath.
I honestly have no fucking clue what his issue is with me. It’s like he decided he hated me our rookie year and just never let it go. Whatever his deal is, I wish he would move the fuck on and stop being such a monumental prick.
“Nilsen, let it go man,” Boucher says, being the sweet Canadian prince he is.
The dickhead defenseman doesn’t give him any shit as he just skates away, and I try to refocus on the scrimmage at hand.
I don’t let any goals in, and my team scores two, which has me feeling a little better about my position on the team.
“Still need to work on that left side,” my brother says as I skate off the ice.
Again, I just nod and hold my tongue as we funnel into the locker room, despite how much I want to tell him to leave me the fuck alone and to please get another job. When I was traded, I didn’t know my baby brother was going to be coaching the goalies. At least I’ll get a break from him on away games.
I just need to lie low, do a good job, and get a more permanent contract. Or get traded to another fucking team.
But even the thought of going somewhere else sours my stomach. I don’t want to start over. I like the weather and getting closer to Owen, even if he is a dick right now. But most of all, there’s something more with Sloane and Ethan. They might be the people I’ve gotten closest to since I joined the NHL, which is so pathetic. But last night meant something to me.
It might have been a meeting over basic diner food for Ethan and Sloane, but for me, it’s the first time in a long time I’ve felt like me again. I smile to myself as I think about the three of us laughing and talking over pie last night.
The Foxes are going to be my team, and if dealing with Nilsen’s surly attitude is part of that, then so be it.
CHAPTER 9
Hell exists, and it’s currently nestled in the quaint town of New Haven inside of my family’s home.
My dad, Henderson, looks like he wants to smoke a cigarette. My mom, Willow, looks like she wants to cry. My other mother, Rosemary, looks ready to kill someone. Then my big former hockey player father looks like he wants to crawl in a hole and die.
“Willow is still in her forties. She could easily have another child,” my Mormor says, and I watch as my mother Rosemary grips her fork hard enough to bend the damn thing.
“Sloane’s birth was incredibly hard on Willow, so we decided to not have any more children,” she replies.
