Chapter 19
Lydia
There is a specific kind of bravery that comes from having nothing left to lose. But there is a stronger, more dangerous kind of bravery that comes from having everything to gain.
I woke up in Aunt Sarah's guest room with a strip of athletic tape wrapped around my ring finger and a six-foot-five defenseman wrapped around my body.
I stared at the tape ring. It was jagged, white, and sticky. It was catching lint from the duvet.
It was the most beautiful thing I owned.
I nudged him. "Wake up, fiancé."
Mikey groaned, tightening his grip. "Five more minutes. Or five years."
"We have to go," I said, kissing his stubbled jaw. "Mac called. He wants to see us."
Mikey’s eyes cracked open. The gold was muted, sleepy. "Mac?"
"He knows we're back in town. He knows about the contract. He probably knows about the tape ring because I think he has a GPS tracker implanted in my neck."
Mikey chuckled, a deep rumble that vibrated against my ribs. "He's going to kill me."
"He might try," I agreed. "But you're faster now. And you have a lawyer." (We didn't actually have a lawyer, but the bluff sounded good).
Mikey sat up, stretching his massive frame. His scars—the runes, the claw marks, the fresh surgical scar on his leg—glimmered in the morning sun. He didn't hide them anymore.
"Let's go," he said, swinging his legs out of bed. "I'm tired of hiding. Let's go tell the Bear that the Wolf is keeping the Mouse."
I smiled. "That metaphor got away from you a little bit."
"You know what I mean."
He grabbed my face and kissed me. Hard.
"I love you," he said.
"I love you too. Now go shower. You smell like Aunt Sarah's fabric softener and fear."
Driving back to North Ridge felt surreal.
We took my Honda Civic because Mikey didn't have a car yet. The drive was quiet, but not the tense silence of our escape months ago. It was a comfortable silence. We held hands across the console. He played with my tape ring.
When we pulled into the arena parking lot, my stomach did a little flip.
This was the scene of the crime. The place where we fell in love, and the place where we fell apart.
We walked in through the main entrance. Hand in hand.
We passed the security guard, Old Man Jenkins. He blinked at us.
"Holt?" Jenkins asked, squinting. "Thought you were banned."
"Un-banned," Mikey grinned. "Just visiting."
We walked down the hallway. The familiar smell of ice and ozone hit me, triggering a phantom ache in my chest. But this time, I leaned into Mikey, and he squeezed my hand.
The team was on the ice for a practice. We stopped by the glass.
Jagger saw us first. He stopped mid-drill, nearly tripping over Miller.
"Holy shit!" Jagger shouted. "The prodigal son returns!"
He skated over, slamming into the glass. "Mikey! You're alive! And you have... legs!"
"Barely," Mikey laughed.
"And you brought the Mouse!" Jagger cheered, banging on the glass.
Then, the whistle blew.
Coach Cross stood at center ice. He wasn't smiling. He skated over slowly, his bear presence filling the rink.
The team went silent.
Mac stopped at the gate. He looked at Mikey. He looked at me. He looked at our joined hands.
"Holt," Mac grunted.
"Coach," Mikey nodded.
"My office," Mac said. "Both of you. Now."
He turned and skated off.
Mikey looked at me. He took a deep breath.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Born ready," I lied.
Mac’s office was exactly the same. Sweltering heat. The smell of stale coffee. The leather chair that looked like a throne.
We sat on the small sofa. Mac sat behind his desk.
He stared at us for a long, uncomfortable minute.
"So," Mac said finally. "Detroit."
"Two-way contract," Mikey confirmed. "AHL to start."
"I heard," Mac nodded. "Reynolds called me. Said you looked good. Said you had... fire."
He looked at me.
"And he said you yelled at him, Lydia."
I flushed. "It was a spirited debate about liability assessment."
Mac’s mouth twitched. He almost smiled. Almost.
"And the grant?" Mac asked. "The Alumni fund?"
"Received," Mikey said. "It's covering the facility costs. My dad is... stable."
"Good."
Mac leaned back, the chair creaking.
"You realize," he said, his voice dropping, "that by walking in here holding hands, you are violating the terms of your expulsion, Holt. And Lydia... you are violating the terms of your probation."
"We don't care," Mikey said immediately.
Mac raised an eyebrow.
"We don't care," Mikey repeated, his voice stronger this time. "Expel me. Fire her. Do whatever you have to do, Mac. But I'm not leaving her. Not again."
He lifted our joined hands, showing Mac the tape ring.
"We're getting married," Mikey announced.
Mac choked. Actually choked. He coughed, slamming his hand on his chest.
"Married?" he wheezed. "She's twenty-one! You're twenty-two! You have no money, a broken leg, and a genetic—"
"I know," Mikey interrupted. "It's a disaster. But it's our disaster."
He looked at me, and the love in his eyes was so potent it felt like a shield.
"I tried the noble thing, Coach. I tried to leave. And it almost killed us both. I'm not doing it again. I'm going to Detroit. She's coming with me. She's transferring to Wayne State for her Masters. We figured it out."
Mac stared at him. He looked at the determination in Mikey’s jaw. He looked at the defiance in my eyes.
He sighed. A long, heavy sigh of a man defeated by youth.
"You're idiots," Mac said.
"Tactile learners," I corrected.
Mac shook his head. He opened a drawer and pulled out a bottle of scotch and three glasses.
"Married," he muttered, pouring three shots. "My sister is going to kill me. She sends her daughter to college to become a doctor, and she comes back with a hockey player and a ring made of tape."
He slid the glasses across the desk.
"To idiots," Mac toasted, raising his glass.
Mikey and I looked at each other. We grinned.
"To idiots," we echoed.
We drank. The scotch burned, but it felt like victory.
"So," Mac said, wiping his mouth. "Wayne State has a good program. I can make a call. Get your credits transferred."
"Really?" I asked, hope soaring.
"Yeah. And Holt... if you're going to the AHL... you need to train. The ice here is free until you leave."
Mikey’s eyes widened. "Thanks, Mac."
"Don't thank me," Mac grunted. "Just win. And for God's sake, get a real ring before the wedding."
We walked out of the office feeling ten feet tall.
"We did it," I whispered. "We survived the Bear."
"We tamed him," Mikey corrected.
We walked out to the parking lot. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of purple and gold.
"Let's go home," Mikey said. "I mean... Aunt Sarah's."
"Not yet," I said. "I have one more stop."
"Where?"
"The Hive."
Mikey frowned. "Why? It's Friday night. It'll be a zoo."
"Exactly," I said. "We have one more loose end to tie up."
The Hive was thumping. Bass. Screams. The smell of beer and aggression.
We walked in. The crowd parted for Mikey like the Red Sea. Even in plain clothes, with a slight limp, he radiated Alpha energy.
We found them in the living room. Jagger, Miller... and Davis.
Davis was holding court on the sofa, telling some story about a goal he scored in practice.
When he saw us, he froze.
The room went quiet.
Mikey walked up to Davis. He didn't growl. He didn't shift. He just stood there, calm and terrifying.
"Get up," Mikey said softly.
Davis scrambled up, spilling his beer. "Holt. I thought you were gone."
"I'm back," Mikey said. "And I heard you had a lot to say while I was away."
Davis looked around for support. Nobody moved. The pack knew who the real Alpha was.
"I... I just said what happened," Davis stammered. "The accident."
"It wasn't an accident," Mikey said. "You were reckless. You were selfish. And you blackmailed my fiancée."
Gaps rang out around the room. Fiancée?
Mikey grabbed Davis by the collar of his shirt. He didn't lift him. He just pulled him close.
"Listen to me, rookie," Mikey whispered, but in the silence, everyone heard.
"You're going to transfer. I don't care where.
Alaska. Europe. Mars. But you're not playing for North Ridge next year.
Because if I hear you're on the same ice as these guys...
if I hear you're anywhere near her... I won't be as nice as I was last time. "
He let go. Davis stumbled back, pale and shaking.
"Do you understand?"
"Yes," Davis squeaked.
"Good."
Mikey turned to the rest of the room. He looked at Jagger.
"I'm going to Detroit," Mikey announced. "Lydia is coming with me. Anyone have a problem with that?"
"No problem, Cap!" Jagger shouted, raising a red solo cup. "Go get 'em!"
The room cheered.
Mikey wrapped his arm around my waist. He kissed my forehead.
"Let's go," he said. "I'm done with this place."
We walked out. We left the Hive behind. We left the college drama behind.
We were free.
We drove back to Aunt Sarah's house.
The house was quiet. Sarah was working a night shift.
We were alone.
We went up to the guest room.
Mikey locked the door. He turned to me. His eyes were glowing.
"We won," he said.
"We won," I agreed, walking over to him. I wrapped my arms around his waist. "Now take your clothes off."
He laughed, a low, husky sound. "Bossy."
"Always."
We undressed slowly. There was no rush. No fear of Mac walking in. No fear of cameras. No fear of the future.
When we were skin to skin, it felt different. It felt settled.
He lifted me onto the bed. He kissed every scar, every freckle.
"My wife," he whispered against my stomach.
"Not yet," I teased, running my hands through his hair.
"Close enough."
He moved over me. He entered me slowly, reverently.
It wasn't the frantic claiming of the cabin. It wasn't the desperate goodbye of the dorm room.
It was a homecoming.
We moved together in a rhythm that was soft and deep. He held my face, looking into my eyes the entire time.
"I love you," he said with every thrust.
"I love you," I answered.
When the release came, it was a slow, rolling wave that left us both breathless and clinging to each other.
Afterward, we lay in the tangled sheets, the moonlight washing over us.
"So," Mikey said, tracing the tape ring on my finger. "Detroit."
"Detroit," I nodded.
"Loft?"
"Loft."
"Dog?"
"Definitely dog."
He was quiet for a moment. Then he pulled me closer.
"I'm still scared, Lydia," he admitted into the dark. "The madness... it's still there. In the DNA."
"I know," I said, pressing a kiss to his chest, right over his heart.
"What if it happens? What if I turn into him?"
"Then I'll handle it," I said simply. "I'm a scientist, Mikey. Science is advancing every day. There are new treatments. New therapies. We'll fight it. Together."
I propped myself up on my elbow to look at him.
"You aren't him," I said again. "You broke the cycle. You chose love. And as long as you keep choosing love... the monster doesn't stand a chance."
He looked at me. His eyes were wet.
"You really believe that?"
"I know it," I said. "It's data."
He smiled. It was the smile from the bus—young, hopeful, unburdened.
"Okay," he whispered. "I trust the data."
He pulled me down for a kiss.
"Goodnight, Mrs. Holt."
"Goodnight, Mr. Problem."
I fell asleep in his arms, knowing that the road ahead would be hard. There would be injuries. There would be bad days. There would be the shadow of the genetics looming over us.
But we had the tape ring. We had the contract.
And most importantly, we had the pack of two.
And that was enough to face anything.