10. Chapter Ten
Chapter Ten
Lennon
Ididn’t know how I would react the first time I saw them again. I had been so worried that I would make a scene. That I would do something stupid like push through the crowd and beat their asses for what they did to me.
But I didn’t. I just stood there. Silent.
They look ruined.
Good.
The bags underneath their eyes are dark and heavy.
Dominic’s face is gaunt, as though he hasn’t been eating properly since I left.
His cheekbones are sharper now, the skin stretched tighter over them than I remember.
Even the way he carries himself has changed.
His shoulders no longer square with a menacing confidence, but sag beneath a weight I know all too well.
Holden looks very much the same. There is a sadness to him now that is so at odds with the man I had once known.
The man I thought I knew at least. The easy assuredness that used to radiate from him has been replaced with hesitation.
His eyes constantly search the room, never settling long.
Like he’s waiting for something that never comes.
I don’t know whether I feel happy or sad to see the way my leave has affected them. A part of me rejoices at the fact they feel as destroyed as I have felt. To see them suffer, unable to sleep or eat properly.
It’s the small inconveniences.
The ones that may seem insignificant but completely fuck with your day when they stack up for months.
The restless nights. The food that turns to ash in your mouth.
The constant exhaustion that no amount of sleep can fix.
The feeling that you’re only surviving because your body refuses to give up, even when your mind begs it to.
Those are the ones that have been haunting them.
The more I think about it, the more I like the sound of me haunting them. That I was the one who has so greatly interfered with their lives that they are now shadows of themselves. Alphas and Betas who, for once in their lives, finally appear weak.
Maybe that’s my favorite part. Knowing I followed them home. That every sleepless night, every missed dinner and every hollow look in the mirror carries a little piece of me with it.
Serves them fucking right.
They should know their place.
Forever be beneath my feet now.
Seeing that look on their face ignites something inside of me.
Something that has remained dormant for far too long now.
A small disturbance to their lives isn’t enough.
No, these three men have a much greater debt to pay for what they did to me.
To us. I want them to rue the day I was born.
I want their pain to consume them as it did me.
I want them to understand that I am not some weak Omega.
That they can’t fuck me over without consequences.
I want them to learn that actions like theirs don’t earn forgiveness.
They earn repayment. And I intend to collect every last fucking cent of what they owe me.
Having them beg on their knees for my mercy isn’t enough.
Oh no. I will have them crawl through the depths of hell before I even consider looking in their direction in a way that is outside of my job description.
Friendship is not on the cards for either of us.
I want to see them sacrifice pieces of themselves for me.
I want to carve my name into their flesh in the way they did mine.
Brand them so fucking dramatically they won’t go a single day without thinking about me. Just like they did to me.
I didn’t eat. Sleep. Think. I barely existed.
So consumed by my grief and the betrayal they caused me.
Yes, I’ve grown. But not that fucking much.
The tables have turned this time, and instead of firing either of them, I want them hanging onto their jobs by the skin of their teeth.
I want them to know that they’re only here because I permit it.
Because I decide. Me. The Omega. Their scent match. Their head coach. Their owner.
Every time they lace up their skates, I want them to remember whose name is on the paperwork that keeps them employed. Every drill. Every roster announcement. Every minute of ice time. It all comes through me now.
Until I say I’m done.
I watch the current team skate around the ice, getting their warm-ups in.
I try not to cringe as I watch some of the younger and inexperienced members fumble through the drills.
Sloppy passes. Poor communication. Weak transitions.
They’re hesitating instead of trusting their instincts, second-guessing every play before they’ve even committed to it.
It’s a confidence issue. One that has infected the entire club from the top down.
I had thought to call back some of the players that left when I did, but I knew I couldn’t.
Contracts are already signed, and yet another move in the middle of a season would only create unnecessary tension across the league.
I mean, sure. I want to make waves, just not in that kind of way.
If I have to push the players, however green they may be, running drills from sun up to sun down, I will. They may just fucking hate me for it, but at least we will be in with a chance at the finals. Not a contender for the wooden spoon.
The Cardinals weren’t built to scrape by. They were built to win. Somewhere along the way everyone forgot that. Well, I’m here to remind them.
There is one missing piece to the team. The one person I haven’t seen now that I’m back.
Sasha fucking Volkov.
It was plastered across the news when he announced his temporary hiatus from the team.
Health leave.
News anchors and media outlets tried to draw conclusions as to what was really going on with the star defenseman, but only myself and two others know the truth.
Burnout. Stress. Invisible injury. Guilt-shaped bruises.
Sasha was finally paying for what he had done.
The Alpha who believed he could control everyone around him could no longer control himself.
What he does in all of his free time is still lost on me.
For now, getting this team in order is more important than the likes of him.
I need to tackle one issue at a time, and Ars Mortis are the least of my concerns.
I will put my hatred aside for now. Because this is going to be one hell of a long ride, and unlike the pansies dancing around the ice right now, I came to win.
I step out onto the ice, taking my first deep breath all day.
Out of everything I have done in the past weeks, this is the first thing that has felt right.
The scrape of my skates across the fresh ice settles something inside me that I hadn’t realized I’d been missing.
My legs instantly adjust to the change in stance.
The chill in the arena seeps beneath my equipment, biting at my skin in the way only a rink can.
Helmet clipped beneath my chin. Gloves pulled tight. Stick balanced comfortably in my palm.
This is where I belong.
This was what I was made to do.
I was never meant to be some big shot lawyer in a city on the other side of the country.
I was always meant to be on the ice. Not as a player, but as the coach of the Cardinals.
Although, with the bullshit display they just showed me, I’m pretty sure I could skate rings around them without even trying.
In fact, I intend to let them know just that.
Today, I’m not Lennon. Today? I’m their coach.
And this isn’t going to be easy, but it’s what I have to do.
Even if it’s been a while since I’ve done this.
I haven’t trained. Hell, the only exercise I did since leaving is the odd morning run or late night cardio at the gym on nights my mind refused to let me sleep.
Now that I think about it, almost every night.
Bringing the whistle up to my lips, I blow, drawing the attention of the team.
I skate over to the side to where Dominic stands, watching with his arms crossed.
I toss the whistle at him, and he fumbles a little, before eventually catching it.
With a wink, I spin around, skating over to stand before the players, a little nervous as they wait for my instruction.
“Who here has a pair of ears?” I say, my voice raised and echoing around the arena. I know there’s no real need for it. But part of me needs them to know I mean my shit. They all mumble a strange version of ‘yes coach’ or raise their hands.
“Good. So there’s no excuse for you not to use them.
” I skate past them to stand behind where they are.
They follow my movements, turning around to face me.
I can feel my skin prick with Holden and Dominic’s gaze, but I shake it off.
If they don’t like the way I coach? They can pack their shit and leave. It’s hardly a fucking loss anyway.
“Two lines of forwards at center. Defense at the blue line. We’re running three-on-one rushes.”
The players exchange uncertain glances I can see through their helmets before slowly moving into position.
“You’ve all seen enough game footage this season to know exactly why we’re doing this.”
Nobody moves quickly enough, though I let the silence drag until it becomes uncomfortable.
“I’m going to teach you how to play hockey. For the familiar faces here, you can imagine what I thought when I watched the plays. Not good enough. Woods.” Holden’s head snaps toward me immediately. “Where the living fuck is Volkov?”
Every player on the ice turns to look at him. His jaw tightens, and I know just how unnerved he is with me being here. Wouldn’t have it any other way.
“He’s…on leave, Coach.”
“Is that right?” I shrug, clicking my tongue before adjusting my stick. “Fine. I’ll take his spot.” I skate toward the blue line. “I can do his job in my sleep.”
I ignore the players as they exchange confused murmurs. I pretend I can’t hear them.
“She’s actually playing?” “Can she even play hockey?” “Volkov is the best in the league.”