The banging starts and stops. Following a pattern, but you can hear it’s not mechanical or electrical.
Opening the front door, I walk face first into the back of somebody. The black suit, irrespective of the time of day, gives him away.
“Shit, sorry,” the male voice answers before the man swings around and backs up a bit, explaining who he is. “Rhodes, ma’am.”
“I figured. You don’t have to stay out in the cold, Rhodes. Please knock next time, and never call me ma’am again. It’s Raney.”
He nods but doesn’t make a move to shake hands. I’ve met a few of Koz’s bodyguards, I know the type. I also know it’s fruitless to try to get them to change their ways, or the rules of their employment. Koz’s thing about people touching me is included in all his staff. It’s pretty funny really. Anyway, if Rhodes and I are going to be together, I want him comfortable and us on friendly terms.
“Any idea what the noise is?” I ask, looking out into the yard, hoping for a clue so I can figure it out and go back to bed.
He nods before pointing over towards the old shed where King stores his shit.
“Anything I need to worry about?”
“No, ma’… Raney,” he says with another nod of his head.
“Cool. Want to put the coffee machine on? I’ll be with you in a few minutes and we can…”
“I should come with you,” he interrupts.
I stop, hold his gaze, because even though he’s an alpha, he’s not in the same parallel universe as the one I’m used to talking to. Holding his stare while I talk to him is easy. “I’m not being a cow, okay, but you just told me everything was fine. We’re at the Fallen compound, and I suspect you know a lot about me, which also means you know I grew up here.” I don’t wait for an acknowledgement because he’d be interrupting if I was wrong. “If you really perceive I’m walking into trouble, then yes, by all means, come with me but otherwise, make yourself some breakfast. I’ll have a macchiato if you’re doing coffee, please.”
That’s the other thing about Koz, he’s a little coffee obsessed and everyone who works with him has to know how to make a good, proper coffee.
Leaving Rhodes there to decide his move, I take my time walking towards one of the older buildings on the property. King banned me from coming over here years ago, I can’t remember the exact reason why. As I round the corner, I guess I figure out the reason.
The whole place has been set up like a shooting alley. Except it’s not guns that’s being fired off, it’s pucks. I only know one person in the world who plays and right now he’s off in his own world. He’s also wearing nothing but a pair of athletic shorts, the logo of the local ice hockey team, the Wolverines, stretched around his thick thigh, which should be criminal.
The visual brings a similar response to my body like watching porn does. I get all warm and tingly. Puck is worthy of my instant reaction. He is utter, delicious perfection. The muscles on his back bunch up and his arm swings back as he batters his stick. For a person his size, he moves with speed and dexterity that is both impressive but insanely hot too. I shouldn’t sexualise him… but fuck that, I do. Every part of me gets overly sensitive the longer I watch too.
He lines up shot after shot and doesn’t miss a single one. The sweat drips off him, making all the peaks and troughs of his sculptured body stand out in the low light. Even before the last one hits the barrier, he’s off racing after them and to collect all the fallen ones. And watching his ass fill his shorts as he squats down, I need either Koz for some relief or another box of suppressants stat, because honestly, I don’t just tingle anymore, I burn.
I swear I don’t make a noise, but when he turns, his eyes instantly find me. And maybe I’m foolishly imagining or wanting everything to be the way it used to be between us, but I’m sure I see nothing but deep, deep need in his eyes. I stay stock still—I’m not sure I could move away even if I wanted to. I’m under his spell.
Everything drops to the ground, and then he’s in front of me so close I can count the beads of sweat on his chest. Or lick them.
“Raney,” he whispers my name. He pulls my attention off his chest, and what I see in his eyes is as real as what I imagined.
Something in my chest lets go. How fucking desperate is that? My ego and broken heart was pining to know that he hadn’t forgotten me and still wanted me after all this time.
Not looking away, because like I said, Jesus-fucking-Christ, Puck is all alpha now. I swim in his deep cerulean blue eyes as he smiles at me with a confidence that could set panties on fire around the world. I get completely lost watching him and miss when he starts slowly trailing a finger over the scar on my cheek.
It’s hard not to flinch. And that’s not because of his touch, because that feels like heaven. It took a long time for me to accept the fact I was left scarred, physically, and spiritually. I was pretty fucking bitter and angry for a long time. Shallow minded or conceited were labels I often used to describe myself because the reality was my ego had been blown to bits. I thought no one would ever consider or call me pretty again. I’d say for anyone, that’s a really fucking hard path to walk, when you go from being attractive to being marred. But Koz changed all that, and he keeps making sure I remember my beauty isn’t defined by the scars I wear on my face. Puck, in one touch, makes me believe it too.
“Raney…” His voice is so calm and quiet. The pain he leaks as he touches my face is the complete opposite. It’s impossible not to feel how hurt he is.
Grabbing his hand, I hold his fingers against my face. “You didn’t do it. I never blamed you,” I say.
“I’ve done nothing but cause you pain,” he says, his eyes falling away as he gets sucked up by the guilt that holds us all hostage.
I shake my head. And take a step away. Because otherwise, I’ll be climbing up his thick thighs, reassuring him how fucking perfect he is, and always has been. I might be there physically, but… I’m an omega, on the downward spiral to a heat spike or an all-out heat. My wants are a little skewed by my needs.
“Come have breakfast,” I say, stepping away further, holding my hand out.
He hasn’t moved an inch. And in a way that’s okay. I know I’m pushing hard. But he eventually takes a step. In the wrong direction, and I berate myself for being so demanding as I turn to walk away. Rejection once again nipping at my heels. And I fucking hate how small it makes me feel: desperate and lonely too.
I keep my eye locked on the path back to King’s.
