Three Alphas who cook for me and catch me when I fall and play card games on the floor of a dorm that was supposed to be temporary and has become the only place on this campus where I do not need to perform the version of myself the world expects.
Now we just have to survive the remaining weeks.
Prove that a team built from two Omegas and a group of Alphas who were never supposed to share a roster can compete against squads with established chemistry and institutional backing and the structural advantages that come from fitting the mold the sport was designed for.
Prove that the first Omega on a professional hockey team is not a novelty but a precedent.
Prove that the captain who abandoned the ice can reclaim it without the shadows that drove him away consuming the light he has found.
Prove that a woman who was told no for fifteen years can convert every rejection into fuel and every closed door into a wall she skates through.
The twins resolve their ADHD-versus-OCD dispute through the diplomatic mechanism of mutual exhaustion and begin gathering the scattered Uno cards from the carpet with the synchronized, coordinated choreography that governs their every shared task.
"New game?" Rowan asks, his amber eyes bright with the resilient optimism of a man whose competitive spirit is not diminished by catastrophe but energized by it.
Ronan nods. "New game. Clean start. No sabotage from captains with emotional regulation issues."
Archie huffs.
I grin.
And we play.
Four people on the floor of a dorm room, dealing cards and trading insults and building the specific, messy, imperfect, irreplaceable chemistry that will carry them onto the ice when the three days end and the real work begins.
Now we just have to survive the remaining weeks to prove we can be a team that breaks boundaries.
CHAPTER 35
After Hours
~SAGE~
"You're taking Miss Holloway to a frat party as a date?"
Jeffrey's voice carries the specific, measured incredulity of a man whose professional composure has been tested by decades of Holloway family chaos and is now confronting a scenario that his butler training did not include in its curriculum. His eyes find mine through the rearview mirror of the Escalade, the reflected gaze carrying the particular blend of concern and resignation that Jeffrey produces when he has identified an outcome he cannot prevent and must therefore manage.
I choke on my own saliva.
The coughing fit erupts before the laughter can organize itself, the two competing for control of my respiratory system in the narrow backseat space between Rowan and Ronan, whose combined shoulder width has converted my seating position into a compression zone that my frame occupies through the specific, wedged geometry of a small woman flanked by large twins. By the time the choking resolves, the laughter takes over,bright and uncontrolled and carrying the specific, full-bodied, tears-in-the-corners hilarity that Jeffrey's tone produces when it achieves the exact pitch of aristocratic bewilderment that makes him sound like a Victorian butler discovering that the manor has been converted into a nightclub.
Archie is driving. His green eyes finding mine through the rearview mirror with the patient, half-amused focus of a man whose date planning has been outsourced to the Archer twins and whose expectations for the evening's sophistication were calibrated accordingly.
Rowan mounts the defense from my left, his amber eyes bright with the conviction of a man whose recreational choices are being questioned and who considers the questioning a personal affront.
"She asked us to take her somewhere where we had the best memories!" His hands gesture with the emphatic choreography of a man presenting evidence to a jury. "And our best memories are frat parties. With all the university people. Getting high and having the time of our lives. Those were peak years, Jeffrey. Peak. The golden era of the Archer experience."
Ronan nods from my right, his cooler cadence providing the supporting testimony.
"Ages nineteen through twenty-one. The formative period during which we discovered our tolerance thresholds, our preferred recreational substances, and the specific volume at which karaoke becomes a public disturbance rather than a performance art."
Archie sighs from the driver's seat. The sound carrying the long-suffering exasperation of a man whose pack has selected a date venue that will require him to function as the responsible adult in an environment designed to eliminate responsible adults.
"You guys are simply embarrassing me."
The twins laugh. In unison. The stereo warmth filling the Escalade with the specific, infectious brightness that their shared amusement produces when directed at a man whose dignity they consider a recreational resource to be depleted for entertainment purposes.
I lean forward between the front seats, directing my appeal at the rearview mirror where Jeffrey's reflected face carries the composed concern of a man calculating the probability of various catastrophic outcomes.
