Roan’s gaze flicked to me, steel-gray eyes unreadable, while Rhett leaned back, eyebrows lifting. Jay’s dark gaze narrowed in a mix of curiosity and anticipation.
“Marchand?” I answered, lifting the phone.
“Wren!” His voice was sharp, electric, laced with anger—but also that gleeful undertone that always made my teeth grit with excitement. “I don’t even knowhowthe game went into overtime! And now the league decides after the fact?”
I could practically see him pacing. “It’s gone all the way to the Vultures. Can you believe it? The audacity.”
And then that undertone, that almost feral thrill he always had when there was a chance to annihilate a rival team—well, it slithered through the phone line like liquid fire. “I want the fans whipped into a frenzy. I want the Howlershowlingwhile I’m speaking. You’re on press duty—now.”
I inhaled, steadying my voice as my fingers tapped out notes in the air. “Understood. I’ll get the messaging out.”
Marchand let out a bark of approval. “Good. Don’t waste a second. The next ten days are going to be vicious unless the Howlers lock down four wins immediately—best of seven. I don’t want excuses, Wren.”
I exhaled into the phone. “No excuses here.”
As I spoke, I felt their eyes on me, the three men in my dining room. Every so often, one of their phones buzzed. Likely Coach. Jay’s lips pressed into a thin line as he read whatever popped up. Rhett’s dimples flickered with restrained amusement at a text, and Roan’s calm demeanor didn’t falter, but I knew he had already scanned the alert before I even noticed.
The air was charged already from the warmth of breakfast, the sunlight, and the feel of their bodies pressing into mine. But that same air now went electric as it pulsed with strategy, stakes, and the knowledge that the next ten days weren’t going to be gentle.
“Alright, Marchand,” I said, my tone tight and professional now, though my body hummed from breakfast and themorning’s playfulness. “Fans are about to getveryexcited. And you’ll have the Howlers behind you all the way.”
“Good,” he growled, and the line went dead.
I set my phone down, letting out a slow breath. The playful chaos of our morning hadn’t vanished, just… shifted. Now the work was about to hit, full force. I had three very patient, very aware men here to keep me grounded, entertained, and maybe a little dangerously distracted.
I set my coffee down, finally letting myself acknowledge the truth I’d been skirting all morning. They couldn’t be a distraction for me, and I didn’t need to be one for them. Not now. Not with the Vultures breathing down our necks. Especially Rylan. That bastard had an axe to grind, and the rest of his team wasn’t far behind.
Roan sighed softly, just once, but it was enough to make me glance at him. He wasn’t tense, at least not outwardly. Yet the quiet weight in his shoulders told me he had already begun bracing himself. Rhett scowled at my words, muttering creatively about every slight Rylan had ever inflicted, and even Jay, usually sharp with his humor, gave a slow, deliberate nod. The pain around his eyes had eased, but he was still fragile. I knew him well enough to recognize the subtle twitch of restraint he used to keep from moving too soon. But if he sensed even a hint of weakness in the team, he’d be on the ice.
And they needed Roan focused. I could see him already steeling himself, setting aside his personal wants, his desires. The captain the Howlers needed, not the man I wanted to press against in moments like these. That ability to hold himself apart from his own urges. It was one of the things I loved most about him. Despite Rhett’s bitching, which was relentless, loud, and increasingly creative about Rylan and the rest of the Vultures, no doubt existed within me that he would back Roan’s plays every step of the way.
Jay’s voice broke through my thoughts, quiet but firm. “Your work starts now.”
I offered him a small smile, the warmth softening the tension. “Yes,” I said, “but you can still stay here…”
Both Roan and Rhett raised their brows, amused, incredulous, maybe even slightly scandalized. I grinned. “All of you can.”
They knew, though. Once the finals started, this cozy, messy, sunlight-filled breakfast, this teasing and laughing and leaning on each other, would have to be put on hold. Their focus would need to be absolute. I wouldn’t pressure them, wouldn’t pull at them. I’d be there to support however I could, quiet and steadfast, from wherever they needed me to be.
Roan’s clear steel gray-eyed gaze found mine, unwavering and serious. “When the finals are done—we talk.”
There was no question in that statement. None of the others intervened. I didn’t fight it, didn’t push. None of them had asked about the suppressants, and I hadn’t volunteered a word.
“Yes.” My voice was simple. Clear. Certain.
Win or lose, when the finals were done, we would figure out our pack.
Chapter
Thirty-Seven
ROAN
PRE-GAME
The locker room smelled like sweat, leather, and raw adrenaline, and I thrived in it. The Howlers were fired up, bouncing on the balls of their feet, sticks tapping against benches and floors like they were trying to drum the arena itself awake. I moved down the line, clapping hands, bumping shoulders, letting my voice cut over the roar before the game even started.
“Listen up!” I said, forcing calm over the surge of energy. “This isn’t just any series. This is ours. The Vultures think they can push us around. They think Rylan’s antics intimidate anyone here. They’re wrong. Every hit, every check, every shot—we take it to them.”
