I let out a humorless laugh.
“You okay?” Rhodes asks.
“Yeah.” Releasing a breath, I get in position. “You ready?”
“Let’s do this.” Vann taps his broom on the ice.
Okay, I’ve got this. My right foot braces against thehack, and I grip the red handle of the curling stone, the weight so familiar in my hand.
Deep breath. Aim. Rock back. Slide forward. Release.
The stone spins away from me. “Hurry, hurrrry, hard!” I yell.
Shit, there’s not enough weight behind the throw. It’s all up to my sweepers now. If they can smooth the ice enough, the stone might carry more. I hold my breath, standing as I watch the rock hurtle down the sheet.
Rhodes and Vann jump into action, the jerky motions of their brooms working overtime. They work as hard as they can, looking up to check in with Orion’s guidance.
“Whoa! Whoa!” he yells.
“Off,” I holler. “Over and off! Over and ooooffff!”
Vann and Rhodes immediately let up, no longer sweeping as they slide down the sheet.
Our stone hits the inner edge of one of their guards, sending it gliding away, and slightly changing our trajectory. Wait, this might work. I hold my breath. We all watch our rock slow, easing toward the center. It hits one of their stones, but the angle is off, it’s not gonna stop. Our stone sails right past the button. The crowd cheers for Austria.
I’m as frozen as the ice beneath me. I can’t believe we lost. And it’s all my fault. Mine, and Raven fucking Novak’s. How could I let myself get distracted by her again? She’s not even here, and she’s still messing with my head.
Orion slides over, using his gripper shoe to stop beside me.
Frustrated, I grab the back of his neck and pull him into a rough kiss right there on the ice. I’m not usually one for public displays of affection, but I needhim. His lips mold to mine just like they always do, and he takes charge, just like he always does. He’s the only one I ever submit to, the only one who can make me let go of the control I cling to so tightly.
“Fuck, I can’t wait to get out of these clothes,” he murmurs against my lips.
My whole body responds, and I have to remind myself we’re in a crowded arena to keep from getting hard. Yeah, that does it. Exhibitionism has never been my thing.
Orion pulls back with a playful smirk. The man knows exactly what he’s doing.
Separating, we slip across the ice, shaking hands with the other team, congratulating them on the win. I wear a smile like a mask, but inside I’m seething, berating myself the way I always do when I fail. That internal voice—the one that sounds so much like my dad—is louder than anything else. He’ll probably call me as soon as we’re off the ice, lecturing me on how we could have done better, but not caring enough to actually be here.
We’ll need to dominate tomorrow’s game if we want to make it back into the running for the semi-finals. We’ll do it, though. I’ll prove to him, and to the world, that our team is something special, that we’re worth the investment. I want my packmates to be able to do what they love full time, and I’m gonna make that happen.
6
FOSTER
In all my years as a bodyguard, I’ve never seen anything that makes my heart race as much as Raven on the ice. She flies around the rink with speed, precision, and grace. Each movement flows effortlessly into the next, calculated and sharp. This is the best part of my day. I think I could watch her practice forever. It’s mesmerizing.
I can’t hear what she’s listening to—she has her earbuds in so as not to disturb the other skaters—but it doesn’t matter, because the emotion she puts into her routine may as well have angels weeping. Who needs music when the art is right in front of you? Now I understand why they call it ice dancing.
Once again, I’ve lost track of time and gotten distracted by the beautiful omega when I’m supposed to be watching out for threats.
Sure, it’s fairly safe in here right now. There’s no crowd of onlookers. Just other athletes and their teams. A few technicians working sound and lighting. A small group of reporters. Everyone's been thoroughly vetted. But Raven’spresence at the Olympics is controversial enough that I need to stay alert. Even the athletes and coaches have opinions about it, and not all of them are supportive.
“Excuse me,” a lean looking man with dark skin and a cautious smile interrupts my musing. The Team Canada logo on his sweatshirt tells me he’s probably an athlete. He stops in front of me. “Are you part of Raven’s team?”
“Yes.” I look him up and down, assessing the threat, and notice a small gift bag in his hand.
“I’m on the Team Canada ski team. I came to see my friend,” he points to one of the skaters practicing on the other side of the rink, “but I was asked to give this to Raven.” He holds out the gift bag.
