Whatever. I need to focus.
Coach scans the group, her expression unreadable before she finally says, “For Nationals, I wanted to bring in an independent roller derby consultant to help fine-tune our strategy. Someone with experience, someone who knows how to push a team to the next level.”
I barely register the words—until she drops the bomb.
“He played in high school, some in college, went to nationals more than once, and now he’s agreed to work with us for the next few weeks.”
Something cold twists in my gut. A hint of fresh laundry reaches me. It can’t be.
Oh no. Oh fucking no.
No, no, no…
“Reaper, everyone!” Coach says, and I feel him behind me.
The air in my lungs evaporates as his musk wraps around me. Reminding me of exactly why I asked him to bite me. Because these stupid pheromones got in my head and made me really stupid, obviously.
I hold my breath, fighting the urge to breathe deeply.
I resist it.
Because I know where that road leads.
And yet…my body betrays me. It remembers what it felt like in his arms. My chest tightens. My stomach flips. And when I finally drag my gaze up, he’s there. Watching me.
Still my scent match. Still the biggest mistake I ever made.
I knew he was probably still in New York. I just didn’t expect him to show up here.
Landon. Standing in the middle ofmyrink.Myspace. Owning it, as if he belongs, as if he has any right to crash into one of the few places he hasn’t already ruined. He said he played a little derby—not that he went to freaking Nationals.
My stomach knots, and my pulse jumps; if I could skate off this rink and never look back, I would, but this is about my team and nationals…not my bruised heart.
His blue eyes catch mine, warm and aching in a way that makes me want to scream. His jaw flexes, like he’s fighting it too. I swallow hard, forcing myself to breathe shallowly.
Daisy nudges me, her voice low. “Well… fuck. That’s one alpha I’d love to get horizontal with.”
I almost laugh hysterically. Instead, I square my shoulders, refusing to let my scent react, refusing to acknowledge that my pulse just spiked.
“Hey,” Landon says, taking one single gliding steptowards me.
I ignore it. Ignore him. Ignore the way my whole body is suddenly vibrating.
“Reaper has experience playing and coaching, and I’ve asked him to run a few sessions with us,” Coach says, completely oblivious to the way I’m currently dying inside. “Let’s get started.”
A chorus of agreement ripples through the team. I barely hear it. Because Landon won’t stop looking at me, and my traitorous body won’t stop reacting.
I glance toward the side of the rink at the guys.
All three of them are watching. They know who he is. And I’m almost positive that if they had to choose between Finn and Landon, they’d choose Finn.
Landon starts talking about strategy, footwork, and team dynamics.
I try to focus as we move around the rink, following instructions. I really, really do.
But then he skates up next to me, his voice dips into a quiet murmur meant only for me. “I really do regret it,” he says. “Every day. Every night. Since I hurt you. I wish I could take it back.”
I clench my jaw, my teeth grinding.
