Chapter 12
Vae
PAST
Everything is going wrong.
I lean against my bedroom door and try to breathe through my panic. I’ve never felt like this before. The world, my world has ended in a cloud of perfume and girlish titters. I’ve thought that this would happen, but not so soon, not now.
“Vae! We need you!”
I swipe at my face and straighten my top, giving myself a couple extra seconds before I slip out of my room and confront the nightmare that is now my life.
Deacon, Raynor, and Mal came home today with a girl, an omega. She’s in my class, and she used to call me names. They met her picking me up, apparently.
They brought this bitch home, into my house, and introduced her as their girlfriend. She’s a stunning omega with chocolate-brown hair and cherry-red lips. Karla is very good at hiding who she is deep inside her messed-up soul.
I feel like something died inside of me. The betrayal, the rage, the sick sense of loss.
With numb feelings, I walk into the kitchen and empty chips into bowls and fill drinks for them. I don’t even know why I’m doing it, just that anything that gets me out of that room is better than sitting in there while they ignore me.
Sitting while I watch them touch her.
This violent urge to scream crawls up the inside of my throat, putting so much pressure that I almost can’t swallow.
They talk, and then the kissing starts. The sound stops me dead, half-way back with their drinks.
A screeching sound fills my head, blinding me to everything else.
I take three steps until I’m standing in the doorway, staring at them.
She’s kissing Mal. My Mal. He moans and pulls her tighter against him.
Karla pulls her face from his, and Deacon kisses her.
I can’t look away; I don’t know what to do.
I stare at them, unable to move as I take in every detail of their sordid tryst, my heart shattering in my chest. The betrayal burning bright and fierce, tearing every single part of me apart.
How could they?
Raynor pulls her up, and the four of them disappear into Deacon’s room.
Her cries come straight through the drywall. I throw myself outside, slamming the door, leaving everything behind.
I run all the way to our pirate ship, where I climb up and crouch as small as I can, unable to stop the sobs that are tearing me apart or the memories of the girl who has taken my place.
PRESENT
I can’t get out of being at the game. I tried, but Marilyn sent a message that was absolutely impossible to refuse. It’s the first game of the season, the one they’ve been working for.
I’m supposed to meet the alpha here. Jansen, I don’t know much about him, just that he’s a good friend of Marilyn’s, an alpha, and is the CEO of some big company.
This is the first date I’ve had in forever, and I hate, really hate that it’s watching my Lost Boys play.
I should have fought harder and said no.
Tonight will be Mal’s first game. I bet he’s freaking out. I should have gone home last night. He’s probably a mess. I twist my fingers and stand with the thousands of fans.
“He had Indy. He didn’t need me. Mal could have called; it’s not like I don’t have a phone.”
It’s hard not to sink face first into the tide of shame and guilt that is swirling around inside me. And what if she finds out and exposes me to their fans? The thought sends ice through my blood.
The Scorpions come onto the ice, stepping from awkward walks to effortless glides.
They are tall, powerful, and aggression drips off of them.
The captain, Julius Keene, holds up his hand as he leads the team in a quick circle of the ice.
I watch, but my gaze goes to Deacon, who hits the blue line and drops into a crouch, laying his bare fingers on the ice.
He skates to the second line and does the same.
I shake my head. I’m not sure when he developed that superstition, but I’m sure it was when he worked for the club, cleaning the lockers and arena after school and on weekends.
Thinking about Deacon reminds me of Henry and that, despite all his asshole ways, deep down underneath the playboy persona, Deacon is a good alpha.
Henry is an example of the Deacon I know and love.
Henry idolizes Deacon, and I’ve seen them on the ice together when everyone’s gone home, an unusually patient Deacon walking the young man through drills and stickwork.
He’s happy on the ice with Henry, and I wish that he could be like that playing with this team.
He could love this game so much more if he could open up to his team.
The Scorpions get into some quick drills, skating back and forth, stretching. I ignore everyone else but Deacon and Mal. The ice is bright and shiny; it looks smooth, the red and blue lines crisp.
The anticipation of the crowd is contagious, the laughter, shouts, milling of people wearing an ocean of Scorpion red. It’s addictive.
They leave the ice, and I sit through the pregame while the lights flash on and off. Spotlights flying up and around, while the linesmen and referees do racing laps of the ice, warming up their muscles.
And then the big screens come on, showing the guys coming out of the locker room, through the tunnel.
They step onto the ice with fire blazing up four feet into the air.
The crowd is already standing, but they scream when the players appear; the sound is deafening.
I scream along with them. No one wants this win more than I do.
I don’t care about the rest, though I notice Vonn Keene, the backup goalie, and Rhett James, a defenseman, just behind them. They look good, all of them in uniforms, clean, strong, fresh.
I want them to win so badly. Each team goes to opposite ends of the ice and stands in a line. But, instantly, I can tell that the Alpha Hoard has a camaraderie or bond that the Scented Scorpions are missing.
“Let’s meet our starting line.” The voice thunders across the screaming crowd, reaching every part of the arena.
Blue spotlights circle the crowd, and music plays, setting the atmosphere. As each player is called, they skate to the blue line and hold up their stick; the crowd screams for both teams.
They line up on the blue lines, and everyone takes off their helmets and waits while the anthems are sung. I check my phone for the fiftieth time, reading Mal’s last message to me.
Come home, Vae. Whatever it is, I’ll fix it.
“Except you can’t,” I mutter.
The lights come on bright and white, turning the ice into its pristine game readiness. The players stand there for another moment, and then they head to their respective goals. They gather close, bending into a huddle while I assume it’s Julius Keene shouting the pre-game pep talk.
“Come on, Deacon, you have this,” I whisper.
I can see Mal easily. He’s wearing my birthday number on his jersey. Twenty-six. While Deacon wears the eighty-six. No one will know, but the eight is Raynor, and the six is for me.
When I’d asked Deacon why, he’d looked at me like I was crazy and said, “Because I need you on the ice with me.” He needs me.
My eyes fill with stupid tears again.
I glance at the empty seat beside me. My phone vibrates in my pocket. I open the message and find one from Marilyn.
“Sorry, there’s been an emergency. He asked for a rain check.”
I send back a vague affirmative and turn back to the game. The rest of the players are on the bench now, and the only ones on are the first line, the goalie, and the defensemen. Deacon and Mal are both off the ice at the moment.
Deacon will go on with the second line change, but Mal is on the third line. I sit back, twisting my fingers again. Phew, I don’t think I’ve been this nervous since Deacon first took to the ice.
I twist my fingers and watch as the whistle blows. Ten seconds later, I watch the referee drop the puck. Julius Keene, with a huge sixty-nine on his back, pushes and slaps his stick, pulling the puck and sending it flying back and to the left.
The game moves fast, but, within minutes, it's clear to see that the Alpha Hoard want it more, and they actually play as a team. The Scorpions don’t pass to each other; they don’t talk.
When the puck gets snatched up by the assistant captain of the Hoard, the left forward for the Scorpions snarls at Julius instead.
I sit down, dismayed to see how badly it’s going, and in seconds. They have no chance of winning while they are playing like this.
The first goal swishes into the net just moments later, completely sliding past our goalie while Deacon was racing to get on the ice. The team aura turns violent and vicious.
I don’t know how else to explain it, but, suddenly, they are slamming into the Alpha Hoard players.
Blocking them using bodies and sticks. The clack and slash of skates through ice has me wincing.
Deacon slams into the Alpha Hoard like he’s on a mission to devastate them.
The puck seems almost an afterthought. Even our forwards and center get in on it.
The other team can’t score, but neither can we.
When I see Mal slammed into the boards, I stand up, staring down at him with my heart in my throat. He shoves himself free, throws his gloves, and starts throwing punches.
“No!”
I call his name, but there’s no way he can hear me over the thirsty howling of the crowd around me, the crowd that is egging them on, baying for blood.
They bang on the glass, the booms echoing around the arena. Music plays, and I can hear the whistles of the refs trying to get order. But the snarling and clash of sticks and fists echo in my brain, and I can’t see Mal.
On the big screen, they show the fight and then flash to coach Wallace. He’s got his hand over his mouth, his face is red, and his eyes are almost spitting fire.