Chapter Thirteen
Julius
Mine.
That omega and her son are mine. But every single fucker seems hell bent on keeping me away from them.
Anger rages inside me, leaving me brimming with the need to knock some skulls in. I can’t help how I slam my pads around in the locker room, or that my helmet seems to get kicked across the floor.
“Jeez, Captain. Is everything okay?” Chase asks, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. With the aggression rolling off me, most of my teammates won’t even consider getting close. And that’s just the way I like it.
“Fucking peachy,” I snap, going back to all my banging and clanging. “Mind your own fucking business and send me my packmate when you see him.” Like the smart Alpha he is, Chase grabs his shit and hustles away, heading straight for his friends. Good, I want to be alone.
A loud whistle cracks through the locker room, and we all turn as Coach Wallace walks in for his pregame speech.
“All right, Scorpions, we’ve seen a lot of improvement over the last few weeks. The league is noticing, so let’s keep that shit up and keep ourselves together. This is our last one on the road for a while, so let’s knock it out and get back home.”
Short and to the point, just like the man, he stomps into his makeshift office. The chatter and clatter of the locker room goes back to its usual dull roar volume.
As captain, I’ll play a good portion of the game tonight, and I’m glad because the electricity zipping through me needs a productive outlet.
“You were asking for me?” Vonn appears by my side, already fully dressed, even though he’ll be sitting on the bench yet again. I really wish the team would give him a shot. He’s got serious talent, just lacks confidence, which he can only gain by playing.
“Yeah, I wanted to know if the omega has sent you any information about Asher’s sizes yet?
” I’ve been hounding Vonn for a week since our run-in at the Junior Scorpions program.
I know he got our scent-match’s number, but he hasn’t been willing to share it with me.
We’ve almost come to blows about it several times.
Coach Ray wouldn’t give me their address or any information about them either. Absolute fuckers.
Our bratty little omega is already causing drama.
Seriously, the whole thing is too damn dramatic.
Insisting I stop mentoring Asher, refusing to speak to me.
When she finally gives in, and she will give in, her ass is going to be so tender she won’t be able to sit for a week.
The thought of my handprint on her rounded cheeks finally brings a little levity to my mood.
Her raspberry and poppy scent still lingers in my nose, making it hard to think about anything other than rectifying the mistakes I’ve made.
First, getting her fired, then insulting her parenting.
Though in my defense, her kid’s got crap equipment.
She should do better. If she would just let me, I would do better for her.
But now everyone’s telling me to back off and be professional.
What the hell is ‘professional’ when it comes to scent-matches?
“You’re sure there’s no man in the picture? No baby daddy, we need to deal with?” I ask Vonn for the thousandth time.
“Dude, I love you, but we both know my answer’s not going to change. I have no fucking clue whether Asher has a dad in his life or if his mom has a boyfriend or baby daddy. I don’t even know her name. And it’s killing me.”
Right after we met our mate and her son—soon-to-be our son—the team left on a weeklong grouping of away games. It’s been ten days since we’ve seen them, and we won’t get back to Nashville until late tomorrow.
“Did you at least ask if we can see them when we get home?” But I already know the answer. The omega asked Vonn to keep communication professional, and he has been steadfast in his resolve to do just that. And I’m over it. So fucking over it.
“You know I didn’t. We need to prove that we can respect her boundaries.
I made her a promise, and I’m gonna keep it,” he says, shaking his head and sliding his phone onto the shelf of his locker.
“I’m gonna run into the bathroom. Warm-up skate’s starting, so get your shit on. Let’s do this thing and get home.”
He turns around and walks away from me, and although I know I absolutely shouldn’t. I quickly grab his phone, type in the code, and search his text messages for her information.
Since Vonn isn’t an overly chatty guy, it’s quick and easy to spot.
‘Asher’s Mom’ glimmers on the screen. Glancing up, I double-check no one is watching, quickly send myself her number, then delete the message.
My too-honorable packmate has sent only three texts to our scent-match.
One message confirming that I would no longer be Asher’s mentor.
Another asking for her name. And a third, letting her know when the next mentor-mentee skate is.
Totally fucking lame.
This shit ends tonight.
But first, I have some Ohio Wraiths to crush.
Tuning out the roar of the arena, I skate toward the center line to await the puck drop. The Ohio crowd absolutely hates us, and the boos are deafening. Genuinely not sure why they care so much. This state is a frozen hellscape, and I can’t wait to get the fuck out of here and back to Tennessee.
I allow their vitriol to fuel my anger, to push my game. The black-and-white striped referee skates up, and I assume the position, crouching and tapping my stick to the ice. The captain of the Wraiths glares at me, and I wait for the smack talk to start.
“Gonna make you cry for your mama,” he hisses with a pathetic attempt to get under my skin.
Amateur.
“Gonna make you shit yourself in front of your home crowd.” His eyes bulge, and he mutters an angry “fuck you” around his mouth guard.
The puck drops, and my stick snaps out, grabbing the puck in the blink of an eye, and sending it back toward Malcolm, my teammate.
First face-off won. That’s why I’m the Captain.
The excitement of being on the ice never grows old.
Playing the game I love in an arena filled with a roaring crowd, regardless of their allegiance, always fills me with gratitude.
I never thought I’d get to spend my life playing hockey, but here I am.
Working my skates, I shoot up the ice, tapping my stick on the ground, searching for the puck.
The Wraith’s goalie is flat-footed in the crease, a well-known issue for him, and I know I can sink the puck right between his legs.
His five-hole is his weakness—and my strength.
Tap, tap, tap, tap. Axel sends me the puck, putting it right where I need it. It thumps against my stick, and without hesitation, I sling my arm back, letting loose a slap shot that’s quick and sharp. Hell, yeah! The light above the goal swirls, red and enchanting.
There’s a sudden press of bodies around me. Excited smiling and shouting. Axel claps my back.
“Great break, away, Cap.”
“Great assist!” My recognition of his hard work transforms his expression, and I wonder if maybe Vonn’s been right all along.
These guys could use more praise from me rather than condemnation.
The goal within the first few minutes of the game sets the tone.
Excitement swells, building momentum for the team.
Let’s get this done…
Then, little mate, I’m coming for you.