Chapter 2
Scotty
Hunter and Ryder shared a quick glance when I mentioned my dad, eyebrows lifting just slightly like they got handed a plot twist they didn't see coming.
Traffic still crawled past us, except now it slowed to a near standstill because, apparently, a minor collision involving two Evercrescent Wolves players was worth leaning halfway out of your car window to document.
Phones stayed up, and people waved at Ryder and Hunter.
My wrecked sedan sat crumpled between us like an unfortunate stage prop in an insurance commercial.
"Holy shit. You're Coach Scott's daughter?" Hunter's lips curved into a mischievous grin as the question left his mouth.
It was a fair question. NHL teams had assistant coaches, development coaches, strength coaches, goalie coaches, and probably a coach whose sole job was babysitting the team. But there was only one head coach.
And that, was my dad.
"Yep," I said, popping the p because if my life imploded, I at least kept my personality intact. "I'm Rebecca Scott, but most people call me Scotty. I'd say it's a pleasure, but I would have preferred to meet you under different circumstances."
"Little Scotty," Hunter said, and I let out a long-suffering sigh as their shared laughter rumbled between them.
I practically grew up at the Evercrescent Arena.
I stayed five-foot-nothing for most of my formative years and stuck to my dad's hip, trailing behind him through locker rooms and down corridors with a juice box and far too much curiosity.
The nickname stuck, and apparently, time did nothing to kill it.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Sweetheart," Ryder said in a growly voice.
My Omega perked up at the term of endearment while heat crawled up my neck and bloomed across my cheeks with the intensity of a summer sunburn. We were not aligned when it came to men. I was trying to survive a car accident and the collapse of my engagement. She was panting like a damn hussy.
"Your dad mentions you at least once a practice. We were beginning to wonder if you were just some mythical daughter figure he invented. You've been MIA since we got traded to the Wolves."
Hunter's words were wrapped in playfulness, but they landed like a punch to the gut.
I didn't come home nearly enough. When I did, it lasted a day or two, squeezed between Ken's schedule and whatever reason he manufactured for why I shouldn't stay longer.
He hated me being away from him, which in hindsight was a neon red flag the size of a stadium scoreboard.
Whelp, guess that's Amber's problem now.
"I've just been busy," I said, my voice coming out sharper than I'd intended. "Shit happens, and life gets in the way. But I'm here now."
That was all they were getting. I was not unpacking the spectacular implosion of my engagement on the side of the freeway while strangers documented it for social media.
"Maybe we should stop standing in the middle of the road and call someone to deal with all of this," I added, waving my hand at the twisted metal and shattered glass littering the road.
Their Range Rover had a dented fender and a cracked headlight, but it was otherwise fine.
Mine looked like it lost a fight with a tank.
As I circled to the passenger side, the full extent of the damage hit me with the force of a body check.
The door crushed inward, the metal buckled, and the glass fractured in a way that said this car's future involved a salvage yard.
"Shit," I breathed.
Hunter moved in behind me, his presence bringing a wave of cinnamon that cut through the cool night air. My shoulders relaxed instinctively, my body responding to his scent before my brain could catch up.
He winced, voice dropping to a sympathetic murmur. "That car isn't coming back from the dead."
He sounded apologetic, which almost made it worse.
For him, replacing a car would be inconvenient.
For me, it was catastrophic. Considering, I currently didn't have a job.
I was staying with my dad while I tried to piece together whatever was left of my life.
I was not asking Dad to buy me a new car on top of that. Absolutely not.
Maybe I could find remote work. Something online. Something that doesn't require transportation.
I made my way back to the driver's side and dug through my bag for my phone and insurance card just as Ryder tucked his own phone away.
"Cops are on the way for the report," he said. "Tow trucks, too. I organized a car to pick us up."
"Why are you getting yours picked up?" I asked, glancing at the very repairable damage on their vehicle. It needed to be fixed, but it was still in working condition.
"Less of a hassle than me having to deal with it," Ryder said with a shrug.
"Nah," Hunter cut in, grinning at his mate. "Ry just doesn't want to be caught driving a car that isn't perfect."
I forced my lips into what I hoped resembled a grateful expression. "That's really nice of you. I should probably just call my dad, though. He can swing by and get me from whatever gas station is closest."
"Don't be ridiculous," Ryder scoffed, looking at me like I suggested hitchhiking with a serial killer. "We'll drop you off. It's on the way."
"But—"
"Don't argue with me, Sweetheart. Be a good girl and listen." There was the faintest growl under the words, low and delicious. My Omega practically melted into a puddle. I swallowed down my pride and the sharp spike of arousal that shot straight through me at his tone.
Wait, did he just tell me to be a good girl?
"Thank you. That would be amazing."
A hint of satisfaction ghosted across Ryder's lips. "See? Was that so hard?"
Yes. Yes, it was.
Now that they stood side by side, it was impossible not to notice them properly.
They were impressive on TV, but in person, they were overwhelming.
Broad shoulders and bodies built by years of professional conditioning.
Hunter's golden-brown hair was damp from the rain I didn't even notice falling, his gray eyes warm and openly curious.
Ryder stood a little straighter, his blonde hair slicked back, his blue eyes assessing without being cold.
Coffee and cinnamon layered together in the air between us, warm and cozy and maddeningly delicious.
My gaze drifted despite myself. Down strong arms. Over the stretch of fabric across tight, glorious muscles. Narrow waists. They could give up hockey tomorrow and make millions modeling—hell, anything. Or better yet, nothing.
Two sets of eyes caught me looking, and heat flooded my face so fast that for once in my life I was grateful for the rain.
My Omega, however, preened like a cat in heat under the heated gaze of these—let's be real honest—stunning Alphas.
Could she not? This day had already been a five- car pileup of disasters before we literally collided with another vehicle on the freeway.
By the time the police finished up and the tow trucks hauled our vehicles away, the limo—yes, an actual fucking limousine—Ryder requested pulled up behind us. A shiver ran through me, and I told myself it was just the night air and nothing to do with the two Alphas watching me.
Hunter ducked into the limo first, his broad frame disappearing into the darkened interior. Ryder's hand found the small of my back, a gentle pressure urging me forward as he nodded toward the open door.
Ryder followed me in, choosing to sit beside me rather than across from us, sandwiching me between their massive frames.
As the limo merged back into traffic, the interior seemed to shrink around us.
Their warmth radiated against both my sides, and each breath I took filled my lungs with coffee and cinnamon, growing more potent by the second in our shared bubble.
Why the hell did Ryder not take the opposite seat like a normal person?
Wedged between their bodies, something shifted inside me.
The sensation wasn't the panic I expected— not the claustrophobic flutter of being trapped.
Instead, my nerves hummed beneath my skin like a tuning fork struck at just the right frequency.
Heat bloomed in my core, but stranger still was how my mind cleared.
The jagged thoughts that had been scraping against my consciousness all day smoothed out.
My lungs remembered how to fill properly.
The anxious chatter that had been my constant companion since leaving Blackridge finally fell silent.
Their scents wrapped around me like a weighted blanket, the sharp bite of cinnamon and rich warmth of coffee somehow calming the storm inside my head rather than adding to it. Which made absolutely no sense, considering I was trapped between two massive Alphas in the back of a limo
Perhaps my brain was just short-circuiting from the Ken disaster, transforming emotional wreckage into whatever this unwanted physical response was. At least that would make some kind of twisted sense.
I cleared my throat and tried to sound casual. "Maybe I should sit over there instead."
The corner of Ryder' s mouth lifted. "Nah. I think you should stay exactly where you are."
I opened my mouth to protest, but the words died in my throat as Hunter' s hands circled my waist. In one fluid motion, he hoisted me effortlessly onto his lap, arranging me sideways across his thighs.
As the limo rounded a corner, Hunter' s fingers dug into my hips, holding me in place with a grip that felt like he was claiming territory. The coffee-cinnamon cloud thickened in the air around us, and my body answered with its own sweet perfume.
Hunter's grip firmed around me, his thumb finding the soft dip above my hipbone. Beside us, Ryder's hand grazed my leg, and even through my jeans, my skin blazed at his touch. The limo—which had seemed so enormous when we entered—suddenly felt no bigger than a shoebox.