Puck Your Charity (Puck You Omegaverse #5)

1. Olive

Iadjust the plastic clip of my ID badge on the collar of my navy scrubs.

I check my reflection in the small staff bathroom mirror.

Warm brown eyes stare back at me, no makeup, and the mild exhaustion that comes with working in a pediatric oncology ward.

I keep my dark hair cut into a sleek, blunt bob that stays out of my eyes.

I splash some cold water on my face and dry off with a scratchy paper towel.

I love my job. I'm a Certified Child Life Specialist. My entire purpose in this building is to make the hospital less terrifying for kids.

I explain procedures using dolls, distract them during blood draws, and organize events that make them forget they have IV lines stuck in their arms. It's a hard job, but it's what I built my life around and I love it.

I toss the paper towel into the trash and push through the swinging door into the main hallway. The pediatric ward hums with a familiar routine. Monitors beep in a steady rhythm from the open rooms. A television at the nurses' station plays a loud, colorful cartoon.

I pause at the main desk to grab a fresh pack of stickers from the supply bin. Brenda, the head charge nurse, leans over her computer keyboard with a stressed look on her face.

Brenda sighs. "My parents called again this morning. They are having a complete meltdown. My little sister just presented as an Omega."

I stop digging through the bin and look up. "Wow. First one in your family?"

Brenda rubs her temples. "First one in three generations. Nobody knows what to do with her. They have to renovate her bedroom into a nesting space and start interviewing packs. It sounds like an absolute nightmare."

I shut the plastic supply bin. "I wouldn't know what to do either. Honestly, being a Beta is awesome. We can do whatever we want and we don't have to worry about Alphas at all. I love my boring, balanced hormones."

Brenda laughs. "Count yourself lucky, Olive."

I give her a supportive nod and head down the hall. A couple of exhausted parents shuffle past me, holding styrofoam coffee cups.

My destination is room 414. Sam is ten years old. He battles leukemia and has been in and out of this ward for the last two years. Today is his Make-A-Wish day, and the kid practically vibrates out of his hospital bed.

I step into his room. I tap the mouse on the wall-mounted computer to wake up the screen and quickly verify his digital vitals.

Everything looks stable. Sam sits propped up against a pile of hospital pillows.

His warm brown skin looks a little pale today, but his bright hazel eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles.

An oversized gold and black jersey swallows his thin frame.

He keeps his bald head covered with a matching beanie.

I tap the foot of his bed. "You ready for this, buddy?"

Sam clutches a brand-new hockey puck in his hands. "I can't believe they're actually coming. The Iron Wolves. In my room!"

I smile and cross my arms. "They're already downstairs. Security just brought them up through the private elevator. The entire new front line is here."

Sam bounces on his mattress. The IV pole rattles next to him. "Did Victor come? You said he might not show up because they're fighting to make the playoffs."

I laugh and reach over to steady his IV line. "Victor came. I saw his name on the visitor log. Your absolute favorite player is in the building."

Sam kisses the hockey puck. "I'm going to have him sign this. Then I'm going to ask him how he wins so many face-offs. He has the highest goal count in the league right now. It's totally insane."

"I'll let you ask him all the stats questions you want. You just try to remember to breathe." I point a stern finger at him. "Your heart rate monitor already beeps too fast. Calm down before the nurses come in here and yell at me."

Sam takes a deep, exaggerated breath and lets it out. "Okay. I'm calm. Go get them."

I walk out of his room and head down the corridor toward the VIP family waiting area.

The hospital uses this secluded room for high-profile guests to keep them away from the paparazzi and the general public.

We get a lot of athletes and minor celebrities doing charity visits.

Most of them are decent. Some of them just want the photo op for their social media pages.

I turn the corner near the secondary staff lounge.

The sound of deep, echoing voices drifts down the tiled hallway.

Alphas. You can always tell by the resonance in their chests when they speak.

I slow my pace. They stand just outside the waiting room doors.

I stay hidden behind the corner, out of their line of sight.

A posh accent cuts through the low murmur.

"I don't understand why management insists on doing these stunts on our day off. It's bloody ridiculous. The smell in this place is atrocious."

I freeze in my tracks. My jaw clenches.

Another voice answers. This one sounds deeper, laced with gruff annoyance. "Management didn't schedule it today, Victor. The kid requested it. We're here for an hour. Suck it up."

Victor scoffs. "It smells like bleach and rotting flesh.

It's depressing. I'm expected to go in there, smile for the cameras, and pretend to have a grand time with a dying kid?

It's a complete waste of our free time. We're battling to secure a playoff spot.

I wanted to relax before we hit the ice again on Thursday. "

My blood boils. My nails dig into the palms of my hands. I want to march around the corner and punch him in the throat. Sam is ten. He is the bravest kid I know, and this entitled asshole complains about the smell of bleach.

A third voice speaks up. "We get to make a kid's day, Victor.

Think about what he goes through in this place.

We get to walk in there and bring a little light into his life for an afternoon.

It's a privilege, not a chore." His tone lacks the irritation of the other two and resonates with a calm, genuine warmth.

The sincere defense thaws a fraction of the ice in my chest. I like the third guy.

A fourth voice joins the conversation with a smooth, laid-back sigh. "He makes a good point, man. Just relax."

"Show some damn respect. We do this, and you smile and sign whatever the kid puts in front of you. If you act like a prick in that room, I'll put you through the boards at practice tomorrow. Understand?" The gruff second voice drops into a warning growl.

A tense silence stretches in the hallway.

"Fine." Victor spits the word out. "Let's just get this nightmare over with."

I stand frozen against the wall. My chest heaves with barely contained rage. I categorize Victor as a callous, spoiled piece of trash. I don't care how many goals he scores or how famous he is. He is dead to me.

But I can't ruin this for Sam. Sam is counting down the seconds until he gets to meet them. If I walk over there and kick them out, Sam will be heartbroken.

I take a deep breath. I force my muscles to relax. I'm a professional. I deal with difficult, terrible people all the time. I will manage this pompous jerk, get Sam his autographs, and then gladly kick them to the curb.

I take a grounding breath and force my best customer-service smile. Stepping away from the wall I march around the corner.

Four massive men stand in a cluster outside the waiting room doors. They all wear matching gold and black Iron Wolves tracksuits. The sheer size of them takes up the entire width of the corridor. They look like they could tip a minivan over if they pushed hard enough.

The conversation stops the second I appear. Four pairs of eyes lock onto me.

I walk right up to them. I stop a polite distance away and cross my arms. I stare at the one with the snooty English aesthetic. "Hi gentlemen. I'm Olive Blanchard. I'll be your Make-A-Wish Foundation guide for Sam's visit today."

Victor stares down at me. He looks attractive in a cold, aristocratic way. He has a carved jawline, pale skin, and icy eyes. His blond hair holds a rigid style. He looks impeccable. He also looks uncomfortable.

I hold his gaze for three solid seconds. My smile stops short of my eyes. I want him to know that I heard every word he said. I want him to feel the judgment radiating off me.

He blinks and shifts his weight, looking away toward the ceiling tiles.

Asshole.

The guy standing next to him steps forward. He has messy auburn hair, a rugged jaw covered in a light scruff, and warm, crinkling eyes.

He extends a hand. "Nice to meet you, Olive. I'm Finn Hayes. These are Malcolm Walker and Lawrence Davis."

He gestures to the two towering guys behind him. Malcolm has long dark hair tied back in a neat braid and features that belong on a billboard. Lawrence has warm golden skin and an easy, relaxed posture. They both give me polite nods.

I shake Finn's hand. His grip feels careful, used to adjusting his strength for regular people.

Finn drops his hand. He skips over the snooty blond guy entirely. Based on the hallway argument and Sam's hero worship, I deduce this must be Victor. I file away the obvious snub from his own teammate.

I point down the hall. "Sam is waiting for you in room 414.

He's excited. A few ground rules before we go in.

Sam is hooked up to several machines. Keep your hands off his IV lines.

If an alarm beeps, stay calm. The nurses monitor everything from the front desk.

And please, try to keep the energy positive. "

I shoot another pointed look at Victor. He ignores me, his jaw set tight.

Finn motions down the hall with a tilt of his head. "Lead the way."

I turn and walk down the corridor. I hear their sneakers squeaking against the linoleum floor behind me. They follow me into the pediatric ward. The contrast feels comical. The walls feature bright yellow suns and cartoon animals. These guys look like they belong in an underground fight club.

We reach room 414. I push the solid wooden door open and step inside.