Chapter 29
Milton
Practice was a fucking shitshow. It was bad enough having to be here at five this morning, but then Coach opened his fucking mouth, and that was it. I’ve never really hated anyone until him. If he were to get run over by an opposing team’s bus, I’d be the first to throw the celebration party.
I swear, being traded to another team would be a godsend for me and Korbin.
Not all of our teammates are unbearable, but a good chunk are.
The coaches and owners, other than my direct goalie coach, are fucking dickheads.
They wouldn’t know how to keep up a team’s morale or showcase their strengths if it was handed to them on a silver platter.
The second Korbin and I step into the locker room, we know something’s up. Some of our team mates are clustered in a corner, looking at something on a phone. I don’t even process who it is. Just that they’re laughing and pointing at Korbin.
It’s the assistant captain who steps forward first, opening his mouth.
“If I’d have known your brother was so pathetic, I would’ve thrown an omega at him sooner. But damn, man, he’s low. Taking his ass to our opponents.”
I immediately take hold of Korbin’s shoulders, holding him back even though I want to deck the fucker myself.
“Ignore his ass,” I growl in Korbin’s ear. “He’s just a worthless dick full of lies.”
“Am I?” he asks confidently, turning his phone, holding it out so we can see, showing us a video on social media.
Kraken omega slumming it with Brooks’ brother.
“Guess she wanted a low-class alpha. I mean, if she wanted a Brooks brother, she should’ve tried for you,” he gloats.
Korbin breaks free from my hold, his arm pulled back, hand fisted and ready to punch the fucker. I should let him. But I need to remember our end game, and no team in the league wants a troublemaker who can’t get along with his teammates.
“Not the place, Korbin.” My voice deepens as I pull him out of the locker room.
“What the hell, Milton?” he snaps at me when I get him out into the hallway. “He was talking about my brother. About her.” He adds the last part softer.
“I know, man, and trust me, I want to rearrange his face as well, but now is not the time or place. If you get in a fight with him, our teammate, it’s going to fuck our plans. Go to the truck and calm your ass down. I’ll get our shit.”
Korbin stands rigid, staring past me, his jaw ticking. Then, with a frustrated sound, he yanks off his pads, ripping them over his head and tossing them hard onto the bench like he cannot stand another second in them.
“Korbin, please. We need to keep our heads clear. Getting into a fight is what that asshole wants. Don’t give it to him. Be the bigger man.”
“Fine,” he snarls before turning and heading toward the exit,not even acting like he gives a shit what’s going to happen to his blades.
I take a deep breath, letting my head fall backward for a second.
Of the two of us, Korbin is more hotheaded.
Doesn’t mean I liked any of the shit that Philips was spewing.
Lincoln’s a proud man and couldn’t care less what people say.
It’s Bayleigh, I’m worried about. Hearing how the fucker talked about her pisses me off.
No man should talk about a woman like that, not one as sweet as her, anyway.
When I step back into the locker room, Philips and his little butt-buddies are throwing cheap shots, but it’s when one of them says her name again.
“Bayleigh Lennox.”
My jaw tightens. “Enough.” My alpha bark erupts. “Not one more fucking word. Lincoln went on a date. Big fucking whoop. Her brother’s a Kraken. She’s not. So shut the fuck up.”
“Didn’t know you cared, Goalie,” Philips adds.
“I don’t,” I growl, slamming Korbin’s locker. “But she doesn’t deserve the shit you’re saying. You don’t even know her.”
I stalk to my own locker, the anger boiling too hot to slow down.
I shove gear into my bag without bothering to strip down properly.
My pads are suffocating me, the weight of the day pressing on my chest, so I rip them off—chest protector first, then shoulder pads, yanking each piece like it personally offended me.
They hit the bench with a heavy thud. Everything else stays on except my skates, which I unlace fast, swapping them for my boots.
“So, are you Brooks’ bitch now, too?? He too scared to come back in here and fight his own battles??”
Of course, the fuckhead had to get the final word. If the attention isn’t on him, he has to find a way to shine.
“No, he’s not here because I’m saving your useless excuse of a life.
He’s ready to fucking kill you, and I’d be more than happy to sit by and watch him do it.
” I step closer to him. “I’d take joy in watching you curled up in a ball on the floor, crying like a baby as he whoops your ass.
But I’m thinking about the team, something you don’t do.
Without him or me, you won’t win the next game. ”
I turn, pick up mine and Korbin’s bags, our sticks, and head outside to the truck. He’s sitting in the passenger seat, on his phone. I hesitate for a minute, wondering how he got into the truck, before remembering the magnetic box we keep inside the bumper.
I drop the bags and sticks in the truck bed and head around to the driver’s side.
Korbin looks over at me when I slide into the driver’s seat, his gaze cold, as if he’s looking right through me as I start the engine.
The entire ride home is full of silence.
After getting some breakfast and then showering and changing, I sit down on my bed with my phone. Korbin went straight to his room when we got home, and I could hear him talking on his phone when I went upstairs. From what I could hear, I knew the conversation was with Lincoln.
When I open my phone, I see a message waiting from Lincoln. Not a personal one, or even in the thread he has with me and Korbin. It's the one he made with Bayleigh. It’s just one new message. She hasn’t responded.
I can only imagine how bad this is for her. What’s her brother doing? Saying?
Lincoln: How you holding up? The team giving you guys shit about me and Bayleigh?
Me: I’m good.
Me: But yeah. Mainly Philips. But he and most of the guys are assholes. I handled it. Korbin not so much. I stepped in so he wouldn’t have to deal with them. I’m not going to stand for them talking shit about her or my brothers.
Lincoln: I figured. He told me you kicked him out of the locker room. Thank you for that. He doesn’t need to get into a fight.
Lincoln: And thank you for having my girl’s back.
I stare at the screen; his girl. Lincoln called her his girl.
But could she be mine too? How bad is this shitshow for her?
Before I can talk myself out of it, I pull up Bayleigh’s contact, and I start a message thread between just the two of us.
My thumbs hover, one last chance to rethink what I’m doing before I start typing.
Me: Hey. I’m sorry about all the crap online. Don’t listen to it. You didn’t do anything wrong.
Me: It’s Milton btw.
I won’t lie, I looked at some of the photos and comments, but I had to stop.
The more I saw, the angrier I got. The comments about her infuriated me.
She was being made into a villain, and there was nothing being said about Lincoln.
I mean, not that I wanted to see any shit about my brother, but it still feels a bit unfair in the scheme of things.
It’s not like Bayleigh was on a date with an actual Scorpion.
Like me. But it’s still surprising that the comments don’t mention Linc anywhere.
Worry festers inside of me and I flip back over to the group chat, noting she hasn’t responded.
I see she’s read the messages, but there is nothing.
No text or emojii or any sort of response to clue me into how she’s feeling.
Then I switch to the one with just me and her.
Same thing. Read, but no response. No bubbles dancing, showing she’s even typing.
Should I not have messaged? Am I being too forward? I start to panic.
Then a reply pops up.
Bayleigh: Thanks. I saw from the other message that they’re giving you and Korbin trouble. I’m sorry. I never meant for our date to become what the media is making it out to be.
Me: Nothing I can’t handle. Trust me, being a hockey player, there’s always something bad. Especially with the team I’m on.
Bayleigh: Still, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause problems for you or Korbin. I know how hard it must be for him with Lincoln and I going on a date. I know how Benton feels about it.
Me: Don’t apologize. You didn’t cause the problem. They did. The tabloids need to learn that we’re real people, and not to publish false shit for the headlines. And well, my team can kick rocks.
There’s a long pause before her next message.
Bayleigh: You’re nice, Milton. Most people wouldn’t stick their neck out like you are. Or even message me to see if I’m okay. I really appreciate that.
I can’t help but smile at the screen. Scooting further up the bed, I lean back against the headboard and pull my knees up.
A pillow comes with me, and I drag it into my lap, resting my hands on it as I respond.
Before typing back, I swipe through a few more notifications, scrolling past the bullshit comments about Bayleigh and Lincoln.
Every time I see someone dragging her name or twisting what happened, I shut it down, replying with the truth and correcting the assholes who think they know anything.
It feels good to defend them both, especially her, and it makes the smile on my face settle in even deeper as I finally start typing my message.
Me: You just don’t know me well enough yet. I’m anything but nice.
The second I hit send, my stomach tightens.
It’s stupid, but I’m already overthinking it.
People online paint me as this cold asshole, and part of me’s terrified she’ll believe the same thing.
My thumb hovers over the screen like I might undo it, like I might explain the joke before she gets the wrong idea.
Then she sends a laughing emoji.
I let out a long breath. Relief hits harder than I expect. I wasn’t sure how she’d take that, if it’d push her away or make her think I’m warning her about myself.
Bayleigh: Hmm. I doubt that. If you weren’t nice, you wouldn’t have been at the charity event.
A humorless snort slips out. If only she knew how much PR shoved me into that.
Me: The PR team made me do it.
Bayleigh: That may be so, but I saw you with those kids. I may not be able to hear, but my eyes work. And when that punk teenager hit your wrist, you didn’t react. You blew it off. There’s good inside of you, Milton, whether you believe it or not.
Her message sits heavy in my chest. I drag a hand down my face, trying to hide the way her words get to me. She doesn’t know how many people think the exact opposite. Reporters. Fans. Even some of the guys on the team. But she saw something different. Something I barely believe is there.
Me: Meh. I was a kid once. I know what it’s like to want to show off. Especially when there’s beautiful omegas around.
My thumb hesitates over the screen. This feels like crossing a line, but she’s still talking to me. She’s choosing to. And maybe I want her to know I see her differently. That she’s not just “some omega” to me.
After a heartbeat, I send it.
Me: Like you.
Heat crawls up my neck immediately. I rake a hand through my hair, ready to backtrack if she freaks out. God, I want her to like me.
The bubbles pop up, then disappear. Fuck. That was too far. I don’t want to scare her away. Not before I get a chance to know her, like Lincoln. Then maybe I can approach him again about a pack. Joining me and Korbin. About Bayleigh being our omega.
The only issue if he agrees is Korbin. I need to find a way for him to get his head out of his ass and put this shit with Gina where it belongs. In the past. Once and for all.
Bayleigh: See, that was sweet.
Me: Okay, maybe I can be sweet sometimes.
Bayleigh: I’d have to know you better to be sure ;)
Me: That could be arranged.
Bayleigh: I need to go. But I’d love to talk to you again.
Me: Me too.
I can’t help but smile. She wants to chat with me again. It could be what we need to make us a pack. Her being our omega. Something inside me just knows she’s the one to bring us together as a unit.
All of a sudden, something hits me upside the face.When I look down, it’s a towel. My eyes immediately dart to my door where Korbin’s standing.
“You done flirting?”
I just grin at him. “Maybe.”
“I’ve been standing here for five minutes and your ass didn’t even notice.”
“And? Not my fault someone more entertaining was holding my attention.”
Korbin rolls his eyes and mutters something about lunatics and omegas as he turns and leaves the room. I catch the edge in his tone—the kind that sounds a lot like curiosity mixed with annoyance and a little bit of jealousy, or maybe pissiness.
And for the first time, I wonder if Korbin’s encounter with the sweet little omega might have affected him more than he cares to admit.