Chapter 14
Chapter
Fourteen
RHETT
I’d never wanted anything the way I wanted her.
Not a playoff run. Not a game-winning goal. Not even blood on the ice, and that was saying something.
Because normally? I could keep shit light. Flirty. Playful.
A joke here. A smirk there. Push the line, then pull back before it burned.
But not now. Now I was on fire from the inside out.
The only thing holding me together was the sheer force of Roan’s presence.
Not because he was growling or throwing weight around—not even close.
He hadn’t said a damn thing since we crossed the threshold.
But his dominance radiated off him in steady, grounding waves.
Not aimed at me, not meant to shut me down. Just there.
A low, thrumming reminder. Something to grip onto when I wanted to lunge.
Any other time, I would’ve taken that kind of ferocity as a challenge. But this wasn’t about challenging Roan. This wasn’t about power or pride.
This was about her.
Wren.
Wren, who stood barefoot on the worn wood floor, swaying just a little, like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to bolt or drop to her knees.
Wren, who had her arms wrapped around herself like she could hold her own body together while her skin flushed golden in the low light.
Fuck, she was so beautiful it hurt.
Midnight blue-black hair in tangled waves, the kind of wild mess that begged for someone’s hands in it—mine, preferably—but even disheveled, she looked unreal. Ethereal. Like something made of shadow and fire.
And those eyes. God.
Honey-colored, warm and sharp, but rimmed in that almost metallic gold that likely only showed when she was like this.
Not a mask in sight.
She kept running her fingers through her hair—agitated, restless, pacing—and I couldn’t stop staring at the way her skin shimmered under the soft glow of the cabin lights.
Not literally, no glitter or sparkle. But it was there, like golden honey dust swept over her collarbones and throat and arms and the delicate edges of her jaw.
It made me ravenous.
Made my mouth dry.
Made the primal part of me, the part I usually kept leashed, howl.
And I wanted—Fuck, I wanted.
Wanted to sink my hands into her hair, taste that glow on her skin, drag my tongue along the sweet hollow beneath her throat and see if it melted like sugar.
But I didn’t move. Not even a step.
Roan was still and silent behind me, a mountain of control and unreadable strength, and Jay… Jay hadn’t spoken once since she’d told us not to leave. He stood just inside the door, not too close, not too far. Watching. Waiting. Like he always did. Like he could read the room better than any of us.
I couldn’t read anything right now except the way Wren’s scent had changed.
The sweetness of it. The dizzy, golden-bright pull of her.
It was wrong how good it was. Wrong how perfect. It made my gums ache, made my fingers twitch.
Made it hard to breathe.
So I stayed where I was. Tensed. Hot. Unmoving.
Holding the line because Roan hadn’t told me to step back, but he hadn’t told me to move forward either.
His restraint bolstered my own, even as Jay’s serenity seemed to calm the stormy waves slashing against me inside.
If there was even one breath of uncertainty in Wren, then we were staying exactly where we were.
God help me, though. If she asked. If she whispered my name with want instead of fear— I didn’t know if I could survive it.
Because I didn’t just want her scent, or her heat, or her permission. I wanted her. All of her.
There wasn’t a damn thing playful about my desire or the primitive demand unfolding in my soul. A demand I’d never experienced once in my life and wasn’t entirely certain I was prepared to cope with right now.
Jay moved first.
Quiet. Measured. Controlled like always. The kind of control that didn’t ask for attention but commanded it anyway.
He didn’t look at Wren as he moved through the room.
Didn’t crowd her. Didn’t even glance her way too long.
He just started collecting—blankets first, then the towels crumpled at the end of the couch, a water bottle knocked on its side, her laptop halfway out of its case, like she’d tried to work and couldn’t focus.
The normalcy of it should’ve been grounding.
But the second he lifted the first blanket, the scent hit me.
Hot and heady. Intimate in a way that made my heart stutter in my chest. That blanket had held her—probably for hours. Maybe days. It was soaked in her, steeped like tea, and fuck me, it was glorious and devastating and not mine.
I reeled back half a step, sucking air in through my teeth.
Not enough. Not clean. Every breath I took was full of her.
“I’m sorry,” Wren said suddenly, her voice small and raw as she crossed her arms over her chest. “I should’ve washed them—I meant to, I just— I can’t seem to keep my scent under control anymore.”
The pain in her voice sliced straight through my ribs.
But before I could say something—anything—Roan answered. Firm. Calm. Steady. “Don’t worry about it.”
And what the hell—how was he this composed?
He didn’t even blink. Didn’t shift his weight or clench his fists or react in any of the ways I knew his body was probably screaming to.
It was like his dominance built a wall around him, and somehow Wren’s need didn’t pierce it the way it was gutting me from the inside out.
How was he not unraveling?
I had no goddamn idea.
Jay took the blankets and towels to the kitchen and opened the tiny stacked washer-dryer in the closet. His movements were smooth, practical. I didn’t even think he was trying to scent-mark or assert some kind of claim—it wasn’t that.
He was just taking care of her.
“Wren,” he called gently as he dropped the last towel in and started the wash cycle. “You need more water. And something to eat.”
Caretaker voice. I’d seen Jay use it before, usually on rookies who’d collapsed after an overlong training skate or got heat exhaustion on an away game. It was clinical. Cool. Compassionate without inviting pushback.
And I realized—
He wasn’t holding the line for her.
He was holding it with her.
Maybe I was the only one seeing it. The way he folded into that role without question. Without hesitation. Not weakness. Not a passive thing. He was just... there.
Like he always was.
Wren gave a shaky laugh—sharp and brittle and too real.
“Oh my god,” she said, pressing a hand to her forehead. “This is either the worst moment of my life or the most humiliating. No, wait—maybe both. I’m going for the double.”
The sound of it—it was beautiful and awful, a little wild and a little too close to a sob.
Roan finally moved, just a step forward, arms still loose at his sides, his body language a masterclass in non-threatening.
“Focus on the funny part,” he told her. “The rest is just noise.”
And shit—the fact that his voice didn’t even tremble—
That was what held me together.
So, I leaned into it. Into the only thing I could offer in that moment.
“Hey,” I said, throwing on a grin even if my voice came out rougher than I wanted. “You think this is bad? At least you’re not stuck in a cabin in the middle of nowhere with three guys trying not to spontaneously combust like badly written fanfic.”
Wren blinked. Her mouth twitched.
I grinned wider. “Seriously. All we need now is a conveniently timed blizzard and someone to shout ‘there’s only one bed!’”
That did it.
She let out a startled laugh—real, this time. It punched through the tension in the room like sunlight through storm clouds.
Bright and loud and alive.
It lit her from the inside out and brightened her glow. Lit me up too, like every cell in my body remembered how to breathe.
For one perfect second, the fevered ache of wanting her wasn’t unbearable.
It was just want and it was beautiful. Wren’s laughter was like getting punched in the chest and kissed on the mouth at the same time.
God, it was a relief.
A pure, gut-deep, holy shit we didn’t lose her kind of relief.
That sound soaked straight into my bloodstream, carved through the tension, and reminded me she was still her under all of this.
Still the Wren who outmaneuvered media sharks with one hand and kept three overclocked alpha athletes in check with the other.
Even if her legs were shaking.
She eased herself onto the couch, spine curved, shoulders trembling with the aftermath of whatever strength it had cost her to stay upright this long. But she didn’t collapse.
She didn’t break.
And that meant I could keep my goddamn feet planted where they were instead of crossing the room to touch her the way every instinct inside me screamed to.
Her smile lingered, faint and almost wry, her eyes glassy but glowing like melted gold as she looked between the three of us.
“There’s only one actual bed,” she said, too solemn for the words to be anything but a tease. “I think the sofa folds out into another. And I can always make a pallet on the floor somewhere.”
I snorted before I could stop myself. “Yeah, okay. Good luck with that. You think any of us are gonna let you sleep on the floor?”
Jay let out a soft huff of agreement behind me, and Roan didn’t say anything, but his jaw tensed in that way that said absolutely not happening.
But since Wren seemed in the mood to play—and dear god, let her stay in that mood—I cocked my head and offered, “Okay, but what about the blizzard? Any bad weather in the forecast? Because I gotta say, I’m committed to the fanfic plot line now.”
She licked her lips absently and lifted one shoulder in the smallest shrug. Even that simple movement—hair falling across her cheek, the shimmer of her skin, the curve of her collarbone—was erotic as hell. Like she was built to utterly undo me with nothing but the tilt of her head.
“I have no idea,” she murmured, voice soft and rough and full of suggestion. “Should we check?”
That was all I needed—hell, I was about to start pulling up weather apps on my phone when—
“Only if we get to bet on what the weather says,” Roan said, deadpan.
And that made me freeze.
Jay, too.
Even Wren blinked, lips parting as she turned those luminous, heat-drenched eyes on him.
A long pause.
Her voice was low. Curious. “What are we betting for?”
Roan didn’t answer immediately.
But his gaze stayed locked on her like a tether—like if he looked away, the whole room would fall apart again. I had a sudden feeling whatever he said next… was going to matter.
“Are you open to negotiation?” Roan asked, voice quiet but unshakably firm.
Wren blinked, something catching in her breath. Her fingers curled a little tighter around the edge of the throw blanket she hadn’t realized she’d pulled over her lap.
“The captain wants to negotiate?” she asked, tilting her head slightly, and her tone was somewhere between amusement and caution.
Roan didn’t miss a beat. “Not a captain here,” he said, and there was an edge under the words that turned them into something more than just a clarification. “You’re not our PR goddess who takes care of everything, and we’re not the ice jockeys. This isn’t about offense or defense.”
Okay. Okay. I had to give it to the guy. That was a damn strong move. The kind of statement that slowed everything down and made the air feel thick. Wren's mouth parted like she might argue, but instead she blinked once, slowly, and stayed quiet.
“So,” I said, stepping into the silence because someone had to, “are we all negotiating then?”
Roan shot me a look. One of those looks—half do not test me, half you better follow through now, and somehow also a little bit amused. Encouraging, even.
Fine. I could play serious, too. At least until my brain got steamrolled by the visuals currently setting up camp behind my eyes.
Jay, of course, was the first to speak up.
“Good.” His voice was that calm, anchoring baritone again. The one that let you breathe even when your skin was too tight. “If I call it, I want Wren to let me run her a bath.”
Wren inhaled sharply.
Jay went on, evenly. “You’re trembling. I can see it, and I imagine your legs are cramping. You need heat—not just internal, but real, steady warmth. So that’s what I want if I win.”
Roan didn’t move.
Wren stared at Jay like she couldn’t quite believe him. Not because it was too much.
But because it was… exactly right.
She didn’t say yes. Not yet.
So I stepped up, because how could I not?
“If I call it,” I said, hearing my voice come out rougher than I meant it to, “I want you to let me feed you.”
Wren’s gaze whipped to me, stunned. Probably because I hadn’t even meant to say it.
“No skin-to-skin,” I added quickly. “Just me… cutting up the fruit. Feeding you pieces. That’s it.”
That wasn’t what I meant to offer.
Not even close.
But apparently it was what I wanted.
She blinked again, a little slower this time. Her lips parted. She looked at me like I’d just handed her a warm coat in a snowstorm.
Then her gaze shifted and landed on Roan.
She swallowed once, then asked, soft but steady, “And you? What do you want?”
Roan looked at her like he saw everything. Not just her flushed skin or trembling limbs. Not just the curve of her mouth or the way her scent was filling every inch of this cabin with honeyed fire and desperation.
But the way she was still holding the line.
Still trying to choose.
He didn’t speak right away. The silence was nearly unbearable.
Then—
“If I win…” he said slowly, “I want you to let me help you sleep.”
A breath hitched in Wren’s throat.
Roan continued, low and steady, every word anchored in something that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with care. “Let me sit next to you. Let me keep the others back. Let me be there while you rest. Just that. Nothing else. Not unless you ask for it.”
Wren’s eyes shimmered, and fuck, my throat closed up, just a little.
There were a hundred things I wanted. Needed. A thousand ways I wanted to touch her, to lay claim to her scent now tangled with mine, with all of ours. But Roan…
Roan just wanted to guard her sleep.
And that…
Yeah. That did something to me.
To all of us.
Wren’s breath stuttered. Her lashes lowered. Her voice, when it came, was barely more than a whisper. “So who gets to call it?”