Chapter 57
Korbin
Practice finally ends, and the second I step off the ice, Milton smells her on me. He was giving me the side-eye behind his goalie mask during practice, but now that we’re side by side, he can smell her on my uniform from rubbing on me in the PT room.
I don’t even have time to pull my gloves off before his head snaps my way. His eyes darken, not angry or competitive, but sharp and feral in a way that means he’s already cataloging every place her scent clings to me. And I let him.
Let him smell her on me, because it means she’s safe, means she wanted my hands on her, means she walked away from me calm and smiling.
He exhales slowly through his nose.
“Well,” he drawls. “Really?”
I smirk, tugging my helmet free. “She needed me.”
And that truth settles deep in my chest. She chose me in that moment, and I’ll never forget it.
Milton’s mouth curves, not offended, not threatened. Turned on in that quiet way he gets when he’s thinking about her too hard.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “I can tell.”
Her scent is all over me. On my neck. My collarbone. My hands. And I know damn well it’s on him too, just from proximity. She doesn’t even have to touch us to mark us like that.
Milton falls into step beside me as we head toward the locker room.
He nudges my shoulder, low and casual. “Hope you left something for me tonight.”
That gets a real grin out of me.
“Oh, I did. But Lincoln called dibs on her being in his room tonight, so you’ll have to be creative.”
We shower after, and the room is loud and filled with shit talk like always—but things feel different now.
Charged. Like we’re all walking around with a live wire under our skin.
We shut the water off and grab our towels, steam clinging to us as we step out.
I drag the towel over my hair, down my back, and then around my waist as we move toward our lockers.
That’s when the muttering starts. I hear it before Milton does.
“She’s bouncing between all three of them. Not even their scent matches.”
“Bet she’s just a puck-chaser.”
“Typical omega slut.”
Milton’s towel snaps tight around his waist as his body goes rigid. His hands curl into fists so hard his knuckles go white. I see it—the second before he moves.
I grab him by the arm.
“Don’t,” I growl under my breath.
The guy who said it laughs, low and ugly. “What? Hit a nerve?”
I step forward before Milton can. “You keep running your mouth,” I say calmly, “and I’ll break your jaw so bad you won’t be able to eat solid food for six months.”
Locker doors slam shut. Someone coughs. The guy scoffs, but he doesn’t meet my eyes. He grabs his deodorant, swipes it on too fast, then turns away.
Milton exhales shakily beside me.
We finish getting dressed in silence—deodorant, clothes, skates shoved into bags, helmets clipped without a word. No one looks our way.
We don’t say anything else. We just leave.
The air outside is cold as we push through the doors and head into the parking lot. Our boots crunch against gravel, bags slung over shoulders, breath puffing out in short clouds.
That’s when Milton snaps.
“What the fuck was that?” he barks, stopping short and turning on me. “Why didn’t you let me fuck those bastards up?”
I pause by my truck, keys in hand, and look at him. His face is flushed, eyes burning. Not angry for himself. For her.
I can’t help it—I chuckle.
He glares. “This isn’t funny.”
“I know,” I say, unlocking the door. “Just wild seeing the day you’re the one trying to beat the shit out of someone and I’m the one stopping it.”
“That’s not the point,” he snaps. “They called her—”
“I know what they said,” I cut in. “And I wanted to break bones too. But we can’t,” I continue. “Because fights with our own team don’t get us traded. They don’t help us. And they sure as hell don’t help her.”
Milton’s shoulders drop just a fraction.
“And if we came home bruised or pissed off,” I add, “our omega would notice. She’d think it was her fault.”
That does it.
Milton exhales, running a hand through his damp hair. “Fuck,” he mutters.
“We walk the narrow path for now,” I say, opening the truck and tossing my bag inside. “Because of her. Everything we do is for her.”
Milton nods once, solid and sure. “Always.”
He climbs into the passenger seat without another word. The drive home is tense; my jaw works the whole way, hands tight on the wheel. Milton stares out the window. I can feel the energy coming off us like static.
She’s waiting for us when we get home. Sitting on the couch, off-shoulder sweater, copper hair spills around her face in soft waves, eyes bright even in the low light. The second she sees us, she stands and goes straight to Milton.
Doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t look at either of us first. Just walks right up to him.
His whole body softens like someone flipped a switch. She reaches up, touches his face, thumbs brushing gently along his jaw like she’s memorizing him. He leans into her touch without thinking, eyes closing.
“I missed you,” she signs and mouths it too.
Milton swallows hard. Bayleigh looks between us, those sharp green eyes narrowing, reading everything we’re not saying.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, once again signing and speaking at the same time. “Something happened.”
Milton hesitates. Lincoln’s jaw tightens immediately, his shoulders squaring like he’s bracing for a hit. I can see the anger simmering just under his skin, the kind that wants to break something.
“It’s nothing,” I say too fast. “Just hockey shit.”
She doesn’t buy it. “Tell me.”
He exhales hard through his nose. “Some of the guys ran their mouths after practice,” he admits. “Locker room bullshit.”
Her brows draw together. “About me?”
I answer before he can soften it too much. “Yeah. About you. About us.”
Milton nods once, quiet. “They said things they shouldn’t have. Nothing worth repeating.”
She studies our faces, searching for the parts we’re not saying out loud.
Lincoln’s hands clench at his sides as he walks up. “They crossed a line,” he adds, voice tight. “They don’t get to talk about you like that. I’ll go to practice with you from now on if I need to.”
She steps to Milton then, climbing right up his body like she knows exactly how to stop a spiral. Her hands slide up his neck, thumbs brushing his jaw, forcing his eyes down to hers.
She kisses him slowly. His hands come up to her waist automatically, breath easing out of him. She comes to me next, moving into my space without hesitation, forehead resting briefly against mine. Her scent stays calm, steady.
Then Milton scoops her up and carries her to the couch, settling her into his lap with his arms wrapped around her middle. She curls into him easily, her back to his chest, like that’s where she belongs.
She pulls back to look at him, thoughtful.
“Why does it upset you so much?” she asks. “You don’t even like half of those guys. They’re kind of known for being the biggest dicks in the league.”
Milton huffs a weak laugh. “That’s true.”
“So let them talk,” she says simply. “Why does it matter?”
I swallow, stepping closer.
“Because I’m scared,” he says. “Not of them. Of losing you. I don’t want their bullshit getting into your head. I don’t want you thinking you don’t belong here—with us.”
Her hand comes up, cupping his face without hesitation.
“I know,” she says. “But I’m stronger than they think.”
I lift my hand into her line of sight first, waiting until her eyes find mine. Only then do I speak. “And we know that,” I answer for him. “I just… love you. And I don’t want anything touching that.”
Her eyes soften instantly.
“I love you too,” she says, steady and sure.
Something in my chest finally loosens.
She looks between all three of us then, resolve settling into her expression.
“I know one way to shut them up.”
I lift a brow. “Yeah?”
She tilts her chin up so I can see her lips clearly. “Mark me.”
The words land heavy, and everything inside me goes still. Then every instinct I’ve been holding back roars awake.