Chapter 4 Vae #2
“Indy. Indy Danvers.”
I slip out of the office and walk away, not wanting to be part of it. I will teach them to survive, and Indy will go on their PR dates and save their careers.
How lucky am I?
I’m so busy I don’t see Malcolm until it’s too late.
He grabs me and pulls me into the nearest room.
There’s a whole heap of chairs facing a screen, but I only get a fleeting look.
Mal drags me into his arms and buries his face in the crook of my neck.
I gasp, my skin tingling, hands automatically rising and pulling him even closer to me.
The salted caramel scent is stronger right now; I can almost taste it. I want to lean in and lick it off him.
“You’re not really going to leave me, are you, Vae?”
His words are a bucket of cold water.
I stroke my hand down his workout singlet, feeling the hard planes of muscles underneath.
“I have to.” Just whispering those words breaks something in me. Why am I fighting this? Just tell them, give up, give in. They will save me.
And that’s exactly the point. They won’t think it through, not until in five years when they all hate me, and we’re locked together in a maelstrom of raging resentment.
Mal steps back and stares at me like I’ve betrayed him. “I need you.”
Not the way I want you, I need you to need me, Mal.
“No, you don’t.”
“I do need you. You’re Vae.”
I bite the inside of my cheek but stare at him. He shoves an angry hand through his hair and points at me. I want to soothe his anger and stroke away his hurt, but I can’t fix this.
“How can you do this to us?”
I clench my hands so hard my fingernails cut into the skin of my palms.
“You want out? Fine. Have at it, but don’t come running back.”
He kicks open the door and stalks out, slamming it shut. On the other side, I hear him roar and jump, startled by the pain in that sound.
I put a fist in my mouth to stop myself from making any noise, to stop from rushing after him.
Ten minutes later, I slide into a seat in the stands, watching the practice because I’m a sucker for punishment. The chair creaks as I lean forward, folding my arms over the back of the seat in front of me and resting my chin on my arms.
“AGAIN!” the assistant coach, Ares Wilde, shouts.
The players skate up the ice and back, faster and faster.
They are messy and out of sync. A couple of players jostle each other. The first game of the season will be starting soon, and Mal will get his first official season in the Scented Scorpions. I hope this doesn’t ruin it for him; he’s worked so hard to get here.
I zone out, letting my thoughts wander, listening to the familiar clack of sticks, the whistles and shouting of the coaches. The sound of skates cutting into ice and the smell are all things I identify with my guys now.
This is what they love, so I love it, too.
I refocus on the practice to see they are running some drills. Deacon, Crew Banks, and Rhett James are facing off against Axel Warner, Steele Oliver, and Paxton James.
I wince, watching them. They don’t get along well on the best of days, the coach must be trying something really different this season.
The play seems like it’s going okay, and then someone says something to Deacon, and he slams Steele into the boards. Mal races onto the ice and slams into Crew Banks just as the other players join.
To my suddenly clear eyes, the two of them furiously and obviously struggle against the rest of the team. I see it now, what Marilyn was talking about. My boys don’t trust anyone outside of our family unit.
My dismay grows with the certainty that if I don’t do something drastic, they really will lose everything, this career, their dreams, their happiness.
The coaches shout and manage to break them up, with the goalie coach, Ezra Norwood, turning red as he rips into the players. He’s the most chill of the three, or I had thought he was.
I push up from the chair and pause, looking down at the ice. My boys are watching me, I can feel it, and, sure enough, when I find them, they aren’t watching the coaches; their furious glares are fixed on me.
No, they aren’t mine, and they never will be.
“Just for a little longer,” I murmur and swallow hard on the lump in my throat. I sidestep and turn away, intent on leaving this all behind and getting some sleep.
“VAE!”
My shoulders tense, but I don’t turn.
“HOOK!”
Damn it! I whirl on the stairs and glare down at the ice. Deacon bangs on the glass with a pad, his face a mask of contained fury.
“Come here!”
I contemplate ignoring him and walking in the other direction, but Deacon will come after me. I make my way down to the ice. The team resumes practice, but Deacon and Malcolm ignore Coach Wilde screaming at them.
I almost feel sorry for him, but I know how obstinate they can be, and if I ignore them, it will make everything worse.
“Where are you going?” Deacon asks when I get close. A puck hits the glass beside me, and I flinch, glancing past Deacon to where Chase Warner is gliding around.
What an ass.
“Home,” I say, answering Deacon.
“No, wait for us.”
Such an air of command, like I should just stop what I’m doing and obey. I narrow my eyes.
“I have things to do-”
“Vae!” Deacon cuts in, growling. “I need you to help us buy Indy a gift. So, just stay. I’ll drop you home after we’ve been shopping.”
I recoil. Is he serious? I’m so shocked I can’t even think of an argument. Surely, he wouldn’t make me do it?
“I’m busy today,” I whisper.
“Vae, please. Help us; you’re already leaving. It’s the least you can do.” Deacon knows he’s hurting me; I can see it in the malicious glare he’s sending my way. He always knows how to hurt me best.
I glare at him for a long, hard moment and turn my gaze on Mal, who refuses to look away from that invisible spot over my left shoulder.
Betrayal. Okay, boys, you win.
“Fine. I’ll wait.”
I sit down beside the coach when they make it clear that my sitting in the stands isn’t good enough. He glowers at me. I don’t blame him; I don’t belong here.
“I thought I banned you from my practices?”
“You did. And I’m here, but not for long. If I could leave without a war, I would do it,” I mutter as my cheeks get hot. I clench my fingers hard enough to turn them white and ignore a couple of giant players who stalk past me, barely batting an eye to see me.
Coach looks at me curiously. “You all right?” he asks gruffly.
“All good, Coach. Have a plan and everything. I’m going to achieve miracles, you just watch,” I mutter.
He nods. “Good for you, McMillan.”
Coach Wallace might not like me and the influence I have on my boys, but the fact is he admires my work ethic. In that we have a lot in common. He is one of the hardest working alphas I’ve seen in my life, he’s dedicated his whole life to this club.
Ironically, the boys actually spend hours and hours practicing and work really hard to be good players; it just doesn’t translate to the games.
Marilyn’s mission presses at me, and I rapidly come up with a plan, figuring out how to get this done.
There’s one thing I will always put first, and it’s them. They can hate me if they want, but I’m going to make sure they can keep their dreams.