“For what?”
I gesture vaguely. “The league. Publicity. You know how it is.”
None of them believe me, but thankfully they don’t push. They know that whoever my dad is, he funds the team.
Cheese is still eyeing them, lips pursed. “They got names, or should we just call them your keepers?”
I sigh, already knowing this is never going to die. “Fine. The serious one is Graham. The broody one is Hunter. And the one who doesn’t shut up—” I point at Carson, who grins as though I just handed him a trophy, “—is Carson.”
Carson winks. “Pleasure, ladies.”
Twinkle tilts her head, considering. “If this is a PR stunt, does that mean we get bodyguards of our own?”
“No,” I say firmly.
Cheese waves a hand toward Carson. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind one of those.”
Carson looks far too pleased with himself. “I’m flattered.”
Hunter sighs, completely over this job. Graham’s jaw ticks.
Knox—who is the least interested in gossip—finally rolls her shoulders and mutters, “Whatever. Let’s just get back to work.”
With that, the conversation mercifully shifts, my teammates shaking off their curiosity as they skate back onto the track. But I catch the way Daisy is still watching me, a knowing little smirk playing on her lips.
She’s going to push for answers later.
I’ll have to be ready.
CHAPTER 4
Finn
I watch her.
She doesn’t see me, but that’s the way it’s always been. Willow moves through the world like a firework, bright and blinding, too wild to be contained. People look at her, admire her, but they don’t see her. I do. I always have.
She’s at the rink now, weaving through her teammates, her body electric with movement. She’s sharp, focused, but I can see the way her frustration lingers just beneath the surface. It’s those new alphas trailing her.
Mine.
They think they’re protecting her. They think they have a right to be near her, to watch over her, to pretend she belongs to them.
They’re wrong.
She doesn’t belong to them.
She belongs to me.
I keep to the shadows, to the spaces just outside her world, watching as she practices, pushing herself harder than she needs to. I can tell by the set of her jaw that she’s trying to skate off whatever irritation is simmering inside her. I wonderif she’s thinking about me. I wonder if she is remembering the other night when I was closer than I should have been. My name on her lips, the memory still makes me shiver with pleasure.
She felt me—saw me. She had no choice.
I locked the door. Let the reality of us settle around her, thick and inescapable. I watched the way her breath caught, the way her pulse ticked wildly at her throat. I watched the way she waited—waited to see what I would do, how far I would go.
And when I lifted my camera, she didn’t move. She just stared, wide-eyed, her scent spiking, confused and shaken, but not entirely afraid.
That moment is frozen in time, saved in my phone for my eyes only. I pull it up now, scrolling until I see her face. That night, she knew what it meant for me to be that close. Knew that I could have taken so much more.
