Chapter 23 Firecracker #2
"That is the difference between amateur posturing and professional composure.
" Raphael shrugged, unbothered by the comparison to his brother.
"In the real world, in actual professional leagues, you cannot act like a brat and expect to be taken seriously.
Rafe's behavior might fly in a university setting where people tolerate it because of his talent, but try that shit in a league that actually matters?
You will be dragged. Mocked. You will never get a signing contract because teams do not want to deal with egos that cannot be managed. "
He let the words settle before adding, "You will see at the charity ball. There is one coming up before the first game of the season. Might be Valentine's themed, from what I hear. The kind of event where how you carry yourself matters as much as how you play."
"A charity ball?" Cal perked up. "That sounds fancy. Black tie? Dancing? Pretending we have social skills?"
"All of the above. And we should bring Mae Rose."
Cal tilted his head. "You really like calling her that, huh?"
Raphael's expression softened almost imperceptibly.
"She is as delicate as a rose," he said, his French accent thickening with the observation.
"Beautiful, fragrant, the kind of thing you want to handle carefully.
But underneath, there is thorns. There is a firecracker waiting to explode, and I find myself curious to see what happens when she finally lets herself burn. "
Cal and I exchanged a glance.
The kind of glance that communicates agreement without words, an acknowledgment that we had both been thinking similar things without articulating them.
"I feel bad," Cal admitted suddenly, his voice dropping into a register I rarely heard from him.
Serious. Vulnerable. "For bullying her. Back in middle school.
It was childish and stupid, and I only did it because I had this compulsive need to follow whatever was cool, to align myself with the popular kids even when they were being cruel.
Meeting Mae again, seeing how she has grown, how strong she has become despite everything.
.. it makes me feel really shitty about the person I used to be. "
He ran a hand through his blond hair, frustration evident in the gesture.
"I want to make up for it. I do not know how, but I want to prove that I am not that kid anymore. That I can be the kind of Alpha she deserves to have around her."
The confession landed heavily.
I had not known the extent of Cal's involvement in Mae's childhood torment, only the broad strokes that emerged through carefully avoided topics and uncomfortable silences. Hearing him own it, acknowledge the wrongness without excuses or deflection, shifted my perception of him.
Growth is real. People can change.
"I want to take her on a date," I announced.
The words came out before I fully processed them, jumping from my brain to my mouth without the usual filtering process. Cal's head snapped toward me, surprise evident in his amber eyes. Raphael's expression remained neutral, but there was a flicker of interest that told me I had his attention.
"On Friday," I continued, committed now to the declaration I had not planned to make. "I want to take her somewhere nice. Plan an afternoon. Show her that she is worth the effort of planning, not just an afterthought or a convenience."
I felt heat rising to my cheeks, the vulnerability of the admission making my skin prickle.
"I want to make a move," I said quietly. "Because this is an opportunity that might disappear in five weeks if we do not pursue it. And I do not want to reach Valentine's Day and realize I never tried. Never put myself out there for someone who is genuinely deserving of effort."
Cal was watching me with an expression I could not fully read. Surprised, definitely. But underneath the surprise, there was understanding. Maybe even respect.
"She is unique," I continued, the words flowing easier now that I had started.
"She is cool and smart and not materialistic, which is incredibly hard to find in Omegas these days.
Most of the Omegas I have encountered want status, money, the prestige of being attached to a hockey player.
Mae does not care about any of that. She borrowed a safety pin to fix her bag instead of asking for a new one.
She has a phone that is practically held together with prayers.
She accepted our apartment without demanding better accommodations. "
I paused, searching for the right words to explain the next part.
"I have never been particularly interested in Omegas. Never felt a spark, never understood what all the fuss was about when other Alphas talked about finding their match. But Mae ignites this... thrill within me. And I want it to grow. To expand. I want it to burn."
I looked between Cal and Raphael, my chest tight with the exposure of admitting desires I had barely acknowledged to myself.
"I guess I want your support. Because it would be nice to not do this alone, even if we are not really a pack. Even if this whole arrangement is temporary and might dissolve in five weeks. It would be nice to have people in my corner while I try to figure out what it means to want someone."
The silence stretched for several heartbeats.
Then Raphael nodded slowly, his gray eyes warm with approval.
"Do it," he said simply. "Take her on the date. Plan it properly. Show her what it feels like to be pursued by someone who sees her value."
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"And if you need anything, money-wise, I can help. I am more than financially secure. The years in Europe were good to my investments and my salary. Whatever you need to make this date special, consider it covered."
Cal blinked. "Seriously? You would just... give us money? Why? What do you get out of it?"
Raphael's expression shifted into something patient, the look of someone explaining a concept that should be obvious but apparently needs articulation.
"Being a pack does not mean every action has to benefit you directly. You do things for your packmates because their happiness matters. Because when one person thrives, the entire dynamic improves."
He gestured toward me.
"If Etienne is satisfied and thriving, if he feels confident and fulfilled in his personal life, he will perform better on the ice. His focus will be sharper. His confidence will carry into his game. The team benefits from his wellbeing, which means everyone benefits."
His gaze moved to an invisible point in the middle distance, thoughtful.
"Same with Mae Rose. If she is thriving, if she feels valued and supported, she will get to discover more of herself. The figure skating she is clearly passionate about. The academic pursuits she is working toward. The person she might become if someone gives her the space and resources to grow."
Finally, he looked at Cal.
"And maybe you will start to be more independent. Realize that you have far more to offer than you give yourself credit for. Stop hiding in the shadows of leaders when you have the potential to lead yourself."
Cal said nothing for a long moment.
Then he nodded slowly, something shifting behind his amber eyes.
"Take her on the date," Raphael concluded, returning his attention to me.
"Let us take this dating thing seriously and see how it develops.
If it works out, then we have helped build something meaningful.
If it does not, we have not lost anything, and we will make sure Mae Rose finds a pack that is truly deserving of her. "
The agreement settled between us like a pact, unspoken but binding.
I nodded, my chest lighter than it had been in weeks.
"Friday," I confirmed. "I will plan everything and ask her on Friday."
The bell rings.
The sound shatters my memory like glass, pulling me back to the present moment with jarring abruptness. Around me, students are rising from their seats, gathering notebooks and laptops, conversations starting to buzz as the lecture hall empties.
Friday is here.
Mae is still seated beside me, tucking her pen into her bag with the focused precision of someone whose mind is already moving to the next task.
She does not look nervous. Does not look like she is anticipating anything unusual about this afternoon.
Why would she? As far as she knows, this is just another day with an unexpectedly free schedule.
I rise from my seat, slinging my bag over my shoulder, and turn to face her.
"Mae."
She looks up, hazel eyes meeting mine with the easy warmth that I have started to crave like oxygen.
"Hey, what's up?" She finishes zipping her bag and stands, slinging it over her shoulder.
"Crazy that we get the whole afternoon off.
I was going to see if Sage and them wanted to hang out, but I never got a text back or anything.
Maybe they are busy, or maybe my phone is struggling with signal again because it is held together by spite and hope at this point. "
She smiles, self-deprecating, and the expression does something complicated to my chest.
"Why?" she asks, tilting her head. "Did you have something in mind?"
Here it is.
The moment I have been building toward for three days.
I slip my hand into hers.
The contact is deliberate. Intentional. Not the accidental brush of fingers or the casual touch of packmates moving through the same space. This is a claim, small and quiet and unmistakable, and I watch her eyes widen slightly as she registers what I am doing.
I pull her closer, closing the distance between us until I can lower my voice to a murmur that only she will hear.
"Are you free?"
The question is simple but loaded, carrying implications that extend far beyond schedule availability.
Mae's breath catches almost imperceptibly, a tiny hitch in her inhale that tells me she understands what I am really asking.
"I..." She blinks, her cheeks flushing with a pink that makes her freckles stand out. "Yeah. I am free. Why?"
I lean in closer, my lips near her ear, my voice dropping to a whisper that sends visible shivers across her skin.
"Do you want to go out with me?"
The question hangs between us for one heartbeat. Two.
Then Mae's entire face transforms.
She beams.
Not a polite smile or a measured response, but a full, radiant beam that lights up her features and makes her hazel eyes sparkle with genuine excitement. The expression is so open, so unguarded, that it steals my breath.
"Yes!" She nods enthusiastically, bouncing slightly on her toes. "Sure! Where do you want to go?"
Relief floods through me, sweet and overwhelming.
"It is a surprise," I say, unable to suppress the smile spreading across my own face. "But there is an outfit for you in my car. With matching shoes."
Mae gawks at me.
"You got me an outfit?" Her voice rises with disbelief. "A whole outfit? With shoes? Etienne Laurent, did you go shopping for me?"
The flush on my cheeks deepens, but I do not look away.
"I wanted to plan this properly. And I noticed you have been recycling the same few outfits since you arrived, probably because you packed light or your wardrobe is limited. I thought you might want to wear something nice that is not borrowed from one of us for once."
Mae's hands fly to her mouth.
The gesture is automatic, an attempt to muffle the squeal of excitement that is clearly building in her throat. Her eyes are shining, her whole body vibrating with a joy that seems disproportionate to the gesture but tells me everything about how rarely people have done things like this for her.
No one has planned anything for her before.
The realization hits me with unexpected force. This girl, this brilliant, fierce, resilient girl who has survived communal housing and financial abandonment and years of being told she was not enough, has never had someone take the time to plan something special just for her.
Until now.
"Pack your stuff faster," Mae commands, her voice slightly squeaky with contained excitement. "We need to go. Right now. Immediately. I cannot believe you did this. I cannot believe I have a whole outfit waiting for me. With matching shoes, Etienne! Matching shoes!"
I chuckle, the sound bubbling up from a place in my chest that has been dormant for longer than I care to admit.
"Give me thirty seconds."
I gather my belongings with efficient speed, shoving my notebook into my bag, slinging it over my shoulder, turning back to Mae with my hand extended.
"Let us go."
She takes my hand without hesitation.
Her palm is warm against mine, her fingers threading between my knuckles with a trust that makes my heart stutter. We walk out of the lecture hall together, hands linked, her excitement radiating off her in waves that I can practically feel against my skin.
The hallway is crowded with students leaving their own classes, the Friday afternoon exodus creating a flow of bodies that parts around us as we move toward the exit. I catch the stares from the corner of my eye. The whispers that follow our joined hands like shadows.
A group of hockey players near the water fountain stops mid-conversation to watch us pass.
"Is that Laurent?" one of them mutters, not quite quietly enough. "With the new girl?"
"The Omega from the ice demonstration? The one who beat Rafe in that race?"
"Are they dating? Since when does Laurent date anyone?"
I hear every word.
And for the first time in my life, I do not let them make me shrink.
Let them wonder. Let them whisper. Let them question whether the quiet goalie who has spent years hiding in the background is finally stepping into the light.
Mae squeezes my hand, and I squeeze back, and we push through the doors into the bright afternoon sun.
The warmth hits my face, chasing away the chill of the over-air-conditioned building, and Mae tilts her head back to soak in the light like a flower remembering how to photosynthesize. Her dark hair catches the sun, the strands gleaming with hidden auburn undertones I have never noticed before.
She is beautiful.
Not in the polished, cultivated way that Omegas like Vanessa are beautiful, all makeup and designer clothes and carefully constructed images.
Mae is beautiful in the way that wild things are beautiful.
Uncontrolled. Authentic. The kind of beauty that does not need enhancement because it comes from a place that cannot be manufactured.
I am going to be bold.
I am going to pursue this girl who makes me feel things I have never felt before, who reads my private writing and cries over my unfinished stories, who defended my dreams to an empty room when she thought no one was listening.
No more hiding.
No more waiting for permission to want things.
No more being in other people's shadows.