Chapter Eight
Mason
Izzy barely speaks the whole ride home.
She sits in the middle seat in the back of Trick’s SUV, with Vin on one side and me on the other. Trick shows an unreasonable amount of restraint in following traffic laws.
It strikes me, watching him nervously drum his fingers on the steering wheel while his eyes shift to the back seat in the rear-view mirror, that he doesn’t seem surprised.
Trick knew she wasn’t a beta.
The night he went to her room runs circles in my mind.
I gave Trick such shit for sleeping with her, but it was the same night we took the video in the kitchen. I edged her hard. Took pleasure in how she squirmed in her seat at dinner. Had I known, I’d never have...
My memory is vivid because I must have watched it a dozen times while listening to her beg for an alpha and stroking my dick until my balls begged me to stop.
Now, though, the fearless woman beside me is thoroughly shell-shocked. She stares out the window and shivers whenever I stop purring for her.
This asshole knew and said nothing.
Vin’s holding her hand, but he’s mentally elsewhere too. He has to have caught on to Trick’s reaction. I can’t even imagine a packmate keeping something this big from me.
Izzy is an omega.
We’ve been living with an omega.
My knuckles are screaming because Brad has a steel jaw, but at least it finally shut him the fuck up.
She shutters under my arm as quiet tears soak Trick’s spare shirt. It’s a silent, sorrowful sob that can’t be natural. Her expression is this forced poker face of blandness even while tears stream down her face.
She’s probably scared out of her mind.
I want to say something, but have no idea where to start.
Instead, I do the only thing I can think of—I hold her close and kiss the top of her disheveled hair. Pretty sure there’s glass still in there, but I don’t give a fuck.
When we pull into the garage, Trick stops the car but no one gets out.
We wait in the stale darkness with nothing but the engine’s cooling tick to fill the void.
“I’m on suppressants,” Izzy says, her tone artificial and flat. “You never knew and we can pretend that’s still the case until I leave. I’ll stay in my room for the day to pack and then be out of your way. Let me know when my car gets here and I’ll come for it. I’ll be prompt, I promise.”
“The fuck you will,” Vin explodes.
“Bobby,” Trick admonishes, but there’s no stopping the guy on our left.
“She’s not fucking leaving, Trick. If you want to be a pack, then this has to be my house too. I say she’s staying.”
“Right, but—”
“No buts, Wyatt. She’s fucking staying.”
“Can I get a word in?” he says, sighing.
“Is it a word to agree?”
“Yes.”
“Then—uh, okay?” he falters when he realizes Trick’s already agreed. His voice trails off into another awkward silence.
Trick turns in his seat. He eyes Vin but then rests a hand on the center console inches from her knee.
“It’s not your fault that Brad’s an asshole or that you’re... that you’re here. You’ll stay as long as you need to. Let’s get some food in you. We’ll talk about it when everyone’s recharged.”
Izzy doesn’t reply or bark a retort at the command. She patiently waits for me to exit the vehicle and follows me out.
She doesn’t pause when we get into the kitchen, though.
No, my girl goes on autopilot, collecting sandwich parts and fruit and veggies she already cut up from the fridge. She bustles around the room in a daze, her eyes glassy as the frown barely droops on her face.
Her pace picks up as she grabs items from the pantry and begins frantically laying them out on the counter. Her hands work fast while she arranges everything into a well-composed spread.
Her energy is so off. I don’t usually have female friends, so maybe I’m misreading her, but I can at least recognize when she’s in her stress-shutdown mode.
I place a hand over hers while she’s reaching to neatly stack silverware we don’t need.
“Let me,” I murmur and fold her under my arm.
She watches like an obsession while I carefully organize the utensils.
Trick and Vin don’t wait for an okay. Trick fills a plate with food I assume is hers while the rest of us shuffle her into the dining room we never used before she moved in.
Izzy pushes the food around on her plate with her unnecessary spoon.
Neither of the guys speak, the three of us too cowardly to address the volcano ready to erupt.
“I really need to go,” she whispers.
“Stop saying that,” Trick is quick to retort. “You have nowhere to go.”
Her lips purse, her bottom lip and chin scrunching up.
“I have a place to go—actually, places to go. Not that it seems to matter to you. I am not helpless without you, Patrick Wyatt. I don’t need you to rescue me.”
“I’m not trying to rescue you.”
She scoffs, and he drops his superfluous knife so that it clatters onto the plate in a sharp, tinkling explosion.
“You’re staying because I want you to stay,” he snips.
“I’m not staying because you feel sorry for me.”
“I want you to stay for my own reasons. Don’t assume my motives, and I won’t assume yours.”
“Oh, is that it? You think I muscled my way in to trap the three of you.”
“I didn’t say that,” he grits out. “Why is everyone putting words into my mouth?”
“Perhaps it’s your overbearing nature, the one demanding that everyone else do what you say.”
Izzy abruptly stands, her food uneaten.
“Leave the plates, I’ll clean them up later like a good little house omega.”
She pivots on her toes and is gone before I know what to say to any of that.
When she’s out of earshot, Trick blows out a strained breath and leans back in the uncomfortable dining chair. He tosses his napkin onto the surface like it disgusts him.
“That could’ve gone better,” he mutters.
“Which part?” Vin asks. “The part where you apparently knew there was an omega living in our house and decided not to tell me or the part where we made her think we only want her to stay out of pity?”
“She didn’t even want me to know, V.”
“Yet you still figured it out and hid it from me.”
“Us,” I add.
I may not be pack to these guys, but her being here impacts me too.
The two of them glare at me like I’m an interloper, but I’m not.
They know I’m not.
I’ve had time with them now. With all three of them. I like being around them. It’s comforting in a way that’s more than being accommodating or even acclimation.
They treat me like they treat each other and not like a guest.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been comfortable in a place. Even growing up at my folks’ house never felt quite like this.
Being raised by betas was part of the reason I fell into hockey to begin with. The slice missing at home was filled in locker rooms and on the ice with brothers tied to me with sweat and not blood.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I tell them. “I’m living here for at least the rest of the season.”
And we might be pack.
I let it hang over us at the table, because even if I feel it, then they may not. I’m not asking for a rejection right now. There’d be no way to laugh it off or recover when the sour heaviness of the day and argument has settled on the room.
“We aren’t kicking her out,” Vin says.
“I agree,” Trick adds.
Good. If they kick my bunny out, I’ll be going with her.
“It’s not because I feel bad she doesn’t have anywhere to go,” Vin adds. “She says she does, but if there were better choices, she’d never have moved in with us.”
“Also agreed.”
They both wait for me to agree, and I nod under the weight of their stares.
“I’m so fucking pissed at you,” Vin says.
“I know. I deserve it. But I’d do it again.”
“For her.”
“Yes, for her.”
But Vin doesn’t seem angry about that. The corner of his mouth quirks up in this microexpression of mischief.
And I realize then.
He thinks she’s their omega.
Our omega?
The idea of any omega never even occurred to me. Hell, I’m still coming around to the idea of a pack.
Pack means I can’t pick up and leave for a team trade. If this is my only season on the Cannons, then it’s back to the minors for the rest of my life.
Thoughts swirl and a conflicting blend of disquieted discomfort muddles rationality.
“I think I need some sleep,” I mutter, but I don’t wait for an answer. I leave them in the dining room to the awkward post-scrimmage meal that none of us have eaten.
There’s too much to contemplate.
But, as I’m heading for my room, I bypass it and head to the one at the end of the hall.
I don’t know what I want right now.
Actually, I’m certain that I don’t want to talk anymore. I’ve got too much on my mind to be good company. I’m not even horny for fuck’s sake. Izzy as an omega should have me clawing the walls.
There may have been a time or fifty where I fantasized about this very circumstance. Being faced with the reality of it, though, is a whole different game.
I knock on her door gently. When she doesn’t answer, I crack it to make sure she’s okay.
Steam wafts out of the ajar bathroom door. The sound of running water competes with the roar of the vent fan.
Waiting around for her to finish feels pathetic, but also I can’t seem to leave. The comfortable mattress sinks under my weight, and the sheets are so fucking soft they may be silk.
When Izzy finally emerges, she stops short. Her hands are overhead plaiting her hair into a tight braid. There’s not a speck of makeup and her skin is an enticing shade of pink, and my first thought is that this is my favorite version of her.
There’s the Izzy all dolled up. The picture-perfect beauty. The twelve out of ten on a bad day.
And then there’s the one she doesn’t let anyone else see. They’re all amazing, but I like that this Izzy is only for me—even if I snuck in here and stole it.
We don’t speak. Not even a gesture.
The tight, little boy shorts stretch across those delicious curves and her tank top is so threadbare it may as well not exist, but my libido is totally shut down. My body reacts without remorse, but my brain can’t stop batting around the afternoon’s conflict.
I’m expecting her to make it sexual. We could both use the distraction. Melting into her perfect body means forgetting the day and enjoying the night.
She’s fucking fire any time, but right now it’s like some deity has decided to smile on me because damn.
My instincts encourage impulsivity.
Salvage the night.
Salvage her.
Make her forget while I do too.
That doesn’t happen though.
She circles the bed and draws back the sheets on the other side, then climbs in.
There’s still a lot I should do. The sun hasn’t even set yet. I washed the glass off, but fine cuts blanket the back of my neck and my knuckles are swollen as hell. I haven’t gone over the post-plays like I told Trick I would at the end of practice.
Toeing off my shoes, I jettison my socks and shirt as well then shuffle under with her.
Those are all later problems. Right now, I just want to hold Izzy close and avoid dealing with the rest.
She scoots her way toward me.
“You can’t tell anyone,” she says, her words a staccato of agitation. I let the purr rumble in full force and hold her tight against me so the skin contact and scent will help her calm.
“Your secret is safe with me. I won’t let them tell anyone either.”
She cuddles herself under my arm, but her pulse still taps a frantic beat against my shoulder.
“Tomorrow is tomorrow,” I murmur to her.
I’m sure there will be hell to pay. I’m sure Brad thinks he blew us up. I’m sure there will be fallout from the glass and the car and from the solid punch he couldn’t dodge a second time.
She’s as shaky as I am right now.
But that’s a tomorrow problem.
Tonight . . .
Tonight, I curl her under my arm, purr until her breathing evens out, and submit to a buried desire and pretend this is real.
* * *
Vin
Coach Adelard screams spittle onto the desk while he berates the four of us in his office.
It’s rare to be called in for a Saturday morning meeting. Even rarer for it to happen in the preseason.
I suppose being caught on CCTV pummeling each other will do that.
Video-only CCTV, thankfully.
My captain, the idiot sitting on my right with a beauty of a shiner courtesy of LaMille, doesn’t seem to care at all about what will happen to Izzy if the Administration finds her.
He showed no remorse while we were waiting for this reaming either.
The three of us glared at him. He glared at us. No one hit anyone else at least.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Coach announces. “You four are going to learn to get along or I’ll scratch all of you.”
“Coach, you can’t—” Brad gets out, but he’s cut off with a slice of Adelard’s hand.
“I’ll do it if I have to. Brawling in the parking lot! What were you thinking?”
This is the first time Coach’s paused to breathe, and Brad wastes no time jumping in.
“I didn’t do anything wrong! Mason hit me first. Both fights were entirely unprovoked.”
“You shot a full speed puck at us!” Mason replies.
Brad scoffs. “An hour before. You didn’t hit me then. If you can’t handle me talking to Izzy, then you can’t handle Izzy period.”
Mason’s swollen fingers flare brighter red as he grips the end of the armrests. He needs to take care of that or he’ll end up with busted knuckles for the rest of his life. It might look tough, but it can mean early onset arthritis and limited mobility.
“It’s best we all calm down,” I say. “Blaming each other isn’t going to resolve the issue.”
“That true, Vinson?” Coach asks me. “You think you can keep your alphas in check, beta?”
“Don’t fuckin call him that,” Trick growls out. “He’s not a beta in this building.”
Brad chuckles on my right, but Adelard drops into his seat and pounds a fist on the desk.
“You’re right. No offense meant, Vin. I just need everyone to stop posturing. Get your shit together or I can’t let you onto my ice. Got it?”
“Yes, Coach,” we all reply in unison.
“Brad, building management will be emailing you about the glass panel. We’re docking the cost from your next check.”
“Whatever.”
“And Mason? You’re lucky the CCTV is hardwire only. We were able to keep the tape from getting out, but I won’t have you acting a fool again. I brought you up because I thought you’d matured past slugging those you disagree with. If you haven’t, tell me now and save us all the headache.”
Mason looks to me and Trick, his eyes searching us for direction before resting on Trick. There’s a minute headshake in my peripheral vision before Mason responds.
“No problems here, Coach.”
“Good. If you won’t do it for yourself, then do it because Wyatt’ll catch whatever hell you do. That’s it. Get out of my office.”
“Wait, that’s it?” Brad scoffs. “He struck me twice!”
If you don’t shut the fuck up, I’ll be adding a throat punch.
Coach examines him, his jaw set and the annoyance tightening his eyes so hard his crow’s feet have multiplied.
“Cameron, everyone in this room knows you provoked him. I’m not letting my captain play the victim. You’re pro players, son. If you can’t take a hit at this level, then you should hang up your skates.”
* * *
Trick walks Mason down the hall to the ortho room. It’s normally off limits to players when a doc isn’t in, but Trick has a key as an AC.
Mason plops into a chair while I gather a small tray of clean water, soap, bandages, ice, and cream for his knuckles. He took a few body shots from Brad; dished them out too. I can’t do much about those. He’ll heal fast, but infections still happen, and he doesn’t want fucked-up knuckles for the rest of his life.
You’d never know it from his attitude. He’s reclined in the chair. His dominant arm rests on an examination table while I inspect the injury. The skin’s broken in two places and his fingers are puffy as hell.
Mason hisses when I gently rub the inflamed skin with mild soap and wipe them clean. He splays his hands out on the cushioned surface while I crack and twist the ice pack. I set it over his banged-up hand and wrap them in bandages to keep it in place.
Trick leans against the wall on the other side of the room with his hands in his pockets.
“Now that Coach isn’t here,” he says, “is this gonna be an issue? Your anger management?”
“I don’t have anger management issues.”
“No? We know your history. Hell, the whole league knows your history. You were viral for a little while there. Hitting someone at a press conference is bad enough, but the owner’s son?”
“Little prick deserved it.”
“And your reward for serving it to him? Was that worth it?”
Mason sulks instead of answering.
“If you’re going to stay with us, I need to know you can keep it in check. I’m not letting you be a danger to Izzy or Vin.”
My eyes shift to my alpha while I wrap Mason’s other hand in the bandages.
That had to have been intentional. If he’s including Izzy, then he meant it when he agreed she’s staying.
We haven’t had a chance to talk about yesterday. Mason and Izzy holed up in her room. Trick hid in his office with the door locked.
When we woke up this morning, the three of us found messages demanding we report to Coach immediately. As in, get your ass in here ASAP.
Pretty sure Coach didn’t even get to the stadium until someone informed him Brad had sauntered in more than two hours after us.
“I’ll keep it in check,” Mason says.
“Gonna need better reassurances than that.”
“What are you asking for?”
“Discipline. From now on, you’re up an hour earlier in the gym. You got a hair trigger? You need to punch something? I’ve got the perfect guy for that.”
“You got a guy?”
“Yeah, I got a guy. Estie’s a royal prick, but he’s the best boxing coach I know.”
“I’m not gonna be throwing any punches for a few days.”
“Boxing’s half mental anyway. I already messaged him while we were waiting for our captain to arrive. He’ll be at the house bright and early. It’s best you’re ready to go at seven; you don’t want to know how he deals with laziness.”
Mason mutters to himself. “I’ll agree to it on one condition.”
“You aren’t in a position to be setting conditions.”
“I can choose to leave your house.”
“You do and Adelard will scratch you anyway.”
“It’s fair to say we all recognize me leaving the house is about more than the team.”
The words freeze the three of us—Trick and I in shock that he said it aloud like that, and Mason waits for our reactions.
Is he pack?
Yes.
Maybe.
I don’t know. I like the guy. It’s fun having him around. Wyatt’s a lot of serious and Mason is... not. He’s congenial. I get why the bunnies like him.
Thinking about the bunnies makes me think of Izzy again.
Izzy’s a fucking omega.
It’s still a foreign concept to me.
Guilt crawls over my thoughts because she didn’t feel comfortable enough to tell us on her own. Brad got one thing right—Izzy didn’t trust us enough to tell us herself.
I’d like to think that she would’ve in enough time.
Would it have been before she went back to Brad?
We won’t ever know. I’m not even sure that she’s still pursuing him.
I hope the fuck not.
She’s got this blind spot with him. A rare gullibility. A naivete that’s so unlike her otherwise.
She’s probably convinced herself that Brad chasing after us and trying to blow us up is a good thing. Like maybe Brad’s desperate to have her back, even if it’s also evidence that he hasn’t learned a fucking thing.
“Well, never mind then,” Mason says cooly.
Several moments of silence have passed while I contemplated... all of that.
“I want you to stay,” I reply. “Don’t read into the pause. You caught us off-guard. I don’t know that the three of us are ready for that conversation yet, so I’d like to just ask you not to leave.”
We have an omega now, and that means we need at least two alphas.
An omega we can’t keep.
An omega we have to protect all the same—whether from Brad, the Admin, or ourselves.
He might be pack.
And so might she.
Trick muttered something about a scent match once. I dismissed it as something I’d misheard, but the draw to her is so strong...
Scent matches are rare but not unheard of. It’s hard to say when she’s on the suppressants. Even with her scent muted, my attention is drawn to her every time we’re in the same room.
A match or not, I want her.
Trick pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Fine, what’s the condition?”
“You’re doing it with me. Swing the sword yourself and all that.”
“You realize I’ve been training with Estie for years?”
“Nope, I only heard his name for the first time 30 seconds ago. Doesn’t matter to me, though. You and I both know our captain deserved what he got. I think you’re secretly proud of me. If you’re gonna punish me for it, you’ll be coming along for the ride.”
“It’s not a punishment. It’s development.”
“Why are you arguing? You just told me you already train with him. If you want me to stay, I need to know there’s a push-pull here and not simply your way or the highway.”
Trick clenches his jaw, but I can tell he’s going to agree. He’s not used to me challenging him. Being at home, in the house, isn’t like being on the team. Trick expects to be the lead alpha.
But Mason’s right too—that doesn’t mean Mason gets no say.
“Fine. We’re in the gym at seven.”
“Deal.”
“Now that we’re squared away, I need to hit the head,” I say. “Mase, you’ve got another ten minutes on the ice anyway.”
He grunts, but I don’t give either of them a chance to argue. I slip out into the hall and head toward the locker room to take a leak.
My phone chimes, and I find a message from my sister asking if I’m coming to Ma’s next week.
Shit.I missed Friday night dinner again. Denny made me promise not to drop off the planet when the season started and I’m already failing.
As I make my way through the locker room doors, I shoot off a quick text apologizing and promising to be there.
In the echoes of the tiled room, sound bounces off the hard surfaces and carries the voice of someone speaking.
And I know that voice.
On quiet feet, I creep toward the row of sinks.
There, in the middle of the long mirror, Brad’s hyping himself up and cursing LaMille’s name. He’s showered and is in only a towel.
“Fucking little league and his cheap shots.”
He turns his jaw to examine the black eye in the harsh light.
“Still pretty, though,” he says with a chuckle. “Chicks are gonna love how rough I look.”
My phone clicks softly when I flip the setting to “silent,” but Brad doesn’t notice. He’s too busy grinning at himself.
The camera winks on and I record Brad’s soliloquy.
“She’ll come home eventually. Of course she will. Look at me.”
He loudly grunts and flexes his arms to show off his front lats.
“Fucking insane.” He nods at himself. “No one resists me.”
He switches to his bicep and twists slightly to the side. He slaps the muscle and grits out a, “Fuck, yeah.”
Brad leans against the sink, points at himself, narrows his gaze at his reflection, then smiles.
“She’s torturing you on purpose, but she’ll submit. They always do. No one can withstand my ultimate alpha game.”
On it goes for several more minutes. I don’t record it all, but I get plenty.
And I decide to hold my piss so he doesn’t know I’ve been here.
Now, to figure out what to do with the video.
Or not to do.
I’ll act responsibly.
Make Trick proud.
But also make Izzy and Mason proud.
...who would definitely have different opinions on what my responsibility is.
What to do? Hmmm . . .