Chapter 2
2
JASPER
I’ve always loved hockey.
I don’t love the violence the way Ronan does or constantly strive to prove I’m better than my father was like Landon.
Unlike my pack brothers, I enjoy the way hockey makes me feel free.
With every push of my feet, I feel like if I could just go a bit faster, I’d be able to fly.
The stick in my hands feels weightless, and the fans chanting our team’s name in the stands disappear completely.
I’m not the fastest player in the NHL because I just really love the burn in my lungs or the constant risk of injuring myself.
I’m the fastest player because I want to do something incredible.
That’s who I am. The guy who doesn’t settle for anything less than the best. There isn’t one person out there who knows me who isn’t familiar with that quirk.
The boards get closer and closer as I hesitate to slow my speed.
I’m heading for them too quickly, but the uneasiness brewing beneath my skin is distracting.
I was hoping practice would have helped dissolve it, but it’s almost worse now than the last couple of days.
The sweat dripping down my neck and beneath my jersey is like liquid fire.
My lungs constrict, trapping my breath inside as I turn my feet and force myself to stop with only an inch between my body and the boards, snow flying.
“You’re going to break your ankles stopping like that,” Landon bites out, mouthguard hanging out of his mouth.
He narrowly avoids plowing into me, a slight tick in his jaw the only sign of his frustration.
“And you’ll break a tooth biting on that thing like a chew toy,” I return with a shove against his shoulder.
“Is this the part where I lick your face?”
“I’d prefer if you didn’t.”
“If you break your body against the boards, you’re going to be out for a long while.”
“I knew what I was doing,” I say with a half-smile.
“If you say so.”
Landon might be my pack leader, but that doesn’t mean he needs to be right about absolutely everything.
And even if he tried, we wouldn’t let it slide for long.
Naming any one of us as leader wasn’t a choice we made easily or even wanted to do in the first place.
Society requires things to be a certain way, though.
And honestly, without some sort of leader, we probably would have collapsed already.
Landon as pack leader was an easy choice for us to make when it came to choosing someone years ago.
Not only is he the biggest in size of all of us, but his alpha pheromones can be so intense that they’re borderline nauseating.
I’ve only heard his bark once in my entire life, and it was years ago when we were only teenagers.
Standing about three inches taller than me with his skates on, Landon frowns around his mouthguard and wiggles it around.
The cleanly shaven expanse of his jaw strains as he gnaws down on the guard and pops it back into his mouth.
Without another word, he knocks the blade of his stick to the backs of my thighs and takes off.
Ronan eyes us curiously, his hulking shoulders snapping straight as he lingers by the other defenseman.
His dark, piercing brown eyes ask the question he’s too far away to speak.
Are you all good?
I give him a gloved thumbs-up and skate around the net, avoiding looking at Dash where he lingers, pretending to wait for the next puck to block.
The final member of our pack and the team’s goalie is always a bit too eagle-eyed.
Maybe that has to do with his gentler beta nature.
Being surrounded by three alphas every single day does that to a person.
He’s been the one holding us together for years, but surely, I can’t be the only one feeling the cracks starting to grow.
I feel more on edge today than I have in a long time.
My quick pace on the ice isn’t exactly the safest, so I can’t blame them for the lectures I’m about to hear at home.
It’s like I can feel something brewing in the air.
A glinting tip of a freshly sharpened knife poised above us.
Every day, it drops another inch, contact inevitable.
Our coach blows his whistle, and I sweep up a puck from along the boards, toying with it as I skate toward him and the other players who’ve beaten me back.
Ronan keeps his distance from the rest of the team, hovering a few feet away.
I settle at his side and tuck the puck between my skates.
The speech Coach gives us is the same as always.
We’ve got a pregame skate tomorrow morning before we play at home in the evening.
Don’t stay out late and show up hungover.
Don’t be giant knotheads, honestly.
It’s easy enough for most of us—the majority who take the sport seriously.
“You nearly smashed into the boards,” Ronan grunts quietly enough for just me to hear.
“But I didn’t.”
“You’re not a risk taker.”
“Maybe I’m changing.”
He flexes his hold on his giant stick and tugs off his helmet before shaking his head and stretching his neck.
Without his helmet on, the onyx-black hair he keeps neatly buzzed is exposed alongside the diamond stud in his ear that he refuses to take out.
With how often he’s begun fighting during games, I have very visceral nightmares of him having it torn out.
My packmate is as stubborn as he is broody.
There’s no way to convince him to do anything he doesn’t want to.
Not even Landon can command him to do much unless he wanted to piss us all off with his bark.
“Something’s up with you,” he says.
“Dash swapped my decaf out with his espresso this morning.”
He stares at me for a beat longer, not giving away a single thought before turning to Coach.
It’s the Ronan special.
“Right.”
“I didn’t swap anything,” Dash puts in, heaving a breath beside us.
The only beta in our group narrows his eyes as he inspects me, seeing everything.
I huff a sigh and focus on the only member of our pack who hasn’t joined our little huddle.
Landon stands by Coach, absorbing every word he’s saying.
Many people assume his concentration is coldness, but I know better.
All three of us do.
Minutes later, we’re dismissed and stepping into the locker room.
I crinkle my nose at all the different pheromones brewing in the hot, sweaty room.
The scent blockers blowing through the air ducts are pretty useless in situations like this.
We’re too sweaty for anything to be masked well.
“Reeks in here,” Ronan mutters, shucking his clothes off at lightning speed.
I laugh. “You say that every time we’re in the locker room.”
Dash grins.
“It’s not too bad. I’m just fine.”
“Lucky you.” Ronan’s glare is sharp as he pulls on his sweatpants and zips his bag.
With a glance around the room, the only member of my family I don’t see is Landon.
It’s not surprising.
He’s the most scent sensitive of any alpha I’ve ever met.
“What are we having for dinner tonight?” Dash asks, rubbing at his stomach.
Ronan shrugs a loose shirt on and stares blankly at him.
“It’s only two.”
“And? I’m still hungry.”
“You’re always hungry.”
“I’ll make something,” I volunteer.
Dash shoves his gear into his cubby.
“Nuh-uh. It’s Landon’s turn to cook.”
“You’re not that hungry, then,” Ronan says.
I chuckle and change into my clean clothes before zipping my bag and tossing it over my shoulder.
The other three do the same thing, and I say goodbye to a few of the other players on my way out.
Landon is waiting for us in the hallway, his phone in one hand and bag in the other.
When he notices he’s not alone anymore, he looks over, exhaustion dulling his eyes, turning the blue a shade darker.
His hair is shoved back and out of his face the usual way, but it’s longer than ever, curling at the middle of his neck.
“Ready to go?”
“Yep. And Dash says it’s your turn to cook tonight,” I say.
We fall into a line, blocking the hallway as we make our way to the players-only parking garage.
“Why me?” Landon asks.
“The dinner chart,” Dash sings.
Landon huffs. “Whose idea was that?”
We’re all terrible cooks.
Cooking classes haven’t helped, either.
It’s quite pathetic.
“Mine. If we’re ever going to convince an omega to join our pack—” I start before Landon cuts me off with a low, warning growl.
“We’re not taking an omega.”
I stiffen, straining with the effort it takes to check my words before I say them.
Ronan shifts subtly toward me, feeling the shift in my energy.
Landon rolls his neck, adding, “We’re not having that conversation now.”
“Now or ever?” I snap.
His silence is answer enough.
He knows better than anyone else how desperately I crave an omega.
I’m off balance, and that feeling grows worse every day that I go without one.
What happened today on the ice is a result of how odd I feel.
Like I’m not right.
There’s a piece of me missing, and the hole in its place is doubling in size at a rate that worries me.
What happens if when I do find our omega, the hole is too big for her to fit?
I’ll be incomplete forever.
Our pack won’t be able to endure that.
“Not never, Jasper. Just not here,” Dash says, covering for Landon.
Ronan’s words are gruff, tense.
“We can’t keep pushing it off.”
We all know that, including Landon.
Ronan has never said he wants to find an omega, but even he isn’t as against it as Landon is.
And our beta is more excited than our pack alpha is.
That’s just . . . wrong.
Too frustrated, I don’t say another word about it.
Not in the garage or the SUV or on the drive home.
And once we step inside the pack house, I’m beelining it into the gym, claiming the treadmill for the fifth night in a row.
The yearning in my chest is impossible to stifle, but at least when my lungs are on fire, I don’t feel it as badly.
For now . . . that will have to be enough.