Because I was running hot tonight.
Overclocked. Wired.
The tight bun I’d worn to keep things professional was already coming loose. My blazer had come off after the second period when the temperature in the suite climbed with the energy of the crowd. There was a crackle in my blood, like static, and every breath I took had to be slow and deliberate. I wasn’t in heat, not even close, but I wasn’tnotfeeling something.
I caught one of the league execs watching me out of the corner of his eye.
Not the time, buddy.
A hard whistle pulled my focus back to the ice just in time to see Rhett stop a breakaway cold and kick the rebound to Jay, who swung it to Roan. He shot across the blue line like a missile. The goal was dirty — scrappy and wild, with two defenders on him and one clinging to his jersey — but it counted.
2–1, Howlers.
The crowd lost its mind.
I didn’t cheer.
Ibreathed.
They were back on the ice less than a minute later.
Still fighting. Still leading.
And I couldn’t stop watching the way his shoulder moved.
When the buzzer finally blared and the game ended with a narrow win, my heart was hammering. We had the victory — barely — and as the team moved toward the handshake line, I pulled out my phone.
Texted one word to the group thread that had become a quiet lifeline:
Status?
Roan responded first.
Roan:
Functional. Mostly pissed.
Jay:
No dislocations. No new bruises. No sense of self-preservation. So, same.
Rhett:
Can confirm. Would still hit.
My snort surprised the people near me.
I smiled anyway. Let them wonder.
Because my boys weren’t broken.
Tomorrow, we’d fight again.
I’d thoughtI knew what tension felt like.
I’d walked through scandal, through the storm of Rylan’s bullshit, fielded reporters like landmines, turned press releases into weapons, and spun narratives with a smile. I’d held my own in boardrooms full of alphas and billionaires. I’d even walked into heat with three of the most powerful men I’d ever known and come out the other side still standing.
But this?
