Chapter 31
Chapter
Thirty-One
JAY
Ibrought two coffees in addition to mine. Just in case.
One of them was her go-to—hazelnut, with just a hint of oat milk and half a raw sugar packet stirred in before the lid went on.
The second was a flat white with an extra shot of espresso, also oat milk.
The last was for me, triple espresso light on the latte, because I had a feeling today was going to need it.
Tucked under my arm was a little brown bag from the French café she liked, the one with the actual pastry chef who knew how to make kouign-amann that didn’t just taste like sugar bricks.
I’d barely made it to the porch when the door opened and Rhett leaned casually in the frame, barefoot, t-shirt wrinkled, hair even worse.
He grinned like a man who had absolutely no shame. “Morning, lover boy.”
I stared at him for one long second, then handed him the second coffee—the one without the hazelnut. “Didn’t realize I had competition for the last kouign-amann.”
He looked at the bag like it was holy, then stepped aside. “That’s why I like you, Jay. You come bearing gifts even when I beat you to the prize.”
I rolled my eyes and stepped inside, seriously, the guy never quit.
It made him damn successful on and off the ice, even if there were days when I got why he inspired the urge to punch him.
She was seated at the kitchen island in a loose sleep tee and shorts, barefoot, hair up, one leg tucked under her while she worked at her laptop.
Her eyes lit up when she saw me. “Jay.”
Yeah, okay. That helped.
“Good morning.” I walked over and set the coffee and the treat down beside her. “Brought you breakfast. I wasn’t sure if you’d already eaten.”
She gave a soft, delighted sound and reached for the coffee first, eyes fluttering closed when she took a sip. “This might be love.”
“Better not be,” Rhett muttered from behind me. “Or I’m gonna have to start sleeping with the guy who owns that café.”
Wren snorted, then caught my gaze and—God—it did something to me. There was warmth there. Openness. Want.
I’d never considered myself someone who needed reassurance. But that look? That was my oxygen.
“I’d like to take you on a date,” she said, voice soft but sure.
That startled me a little. “A date?”
She nodded. “A real one. With food and…whatever you like.”
“Wait—you’re asking him out?” Rhett asked, grabbing an apple from the bowl and tossing it in the air. “I mean, I get it, the hair, the cheekbones, the intense brooding—”
Wren reached out, placed a hand firmly over his mouth, and arched an eyebrow. “You’re not helping.”
His muffled laughter vibrated against her palm. But when she pulled her hand back, Rhett winked at both of us. “I fully support being romanced. Just saying. You want to seduce me with a charcuterie board and a night of bad decisions, I’m in.”
“Duly noted,” she said dryly, then turned her attention back to me. “But yes. If you want to, I’d like to take you out.”
A slow smile curved my mouth. “I would enjoy that.” Under-fucking-statement of the year, but I was definitely in.
She let out a breath like she hadn’t realized she’d been holding it. “Only problem is… I don’t want to be a distraction.”
That seemed fair. We had a lot going on right now. Though, I didn’t think she wanted me to tell her that she was as far from a distraction as you could get. The games were a distraction, not her.
“The playoffs,” I said.
“The brackets drop today,” she confirmed. “Everything’s about to get louder and messier. I don’t want to pull you away from the focus.”
“I think you’re the one who’s been helping me stay focused,” I told her. She needed to know that, if nothing else. Particularly with all the shit she was wading through to protect us—and the team. “But I get it. We’ve got a job to do.”
Rhett crunched through a couple more bites, his mood bright enough to light up a neon sign. “So serious. We’ll get through this, then we can take turns dating you while Jay files spreadsheets about my greatness.”
“I’m not putting that in a spreadsheet,” I said, not even having to put effort into my dry tone.
“Oh, but you’d read it.” The man never shut up. At the same time, there was a happiness radiating off of both of them. A kind of joy I was more than happy to see.
Wren shook her head, laughing softly, and picked out a pastry from the bag, before breaking off a buttery corner. “I don’t know precisely who we’re facing yet,” she said after a beat. “But I have ideas.”
“So do I.” I sipped my coffee. “We’ll be ready.”
Her smile was there again, subtle but genuine. When she offered me a piece of the pastry, I opened my mouth to let her feed me. It was a little sweeter than I liked but no way in hell would I tell her no.
Leaning against the counter, I soaked in her good mood. Rhett finished his apple before he took another drink of his coffee and gave her little mournful eyes until she fed him some pastry too in between skimming her emails.
She shared more with me, but I was sure that was as much because I brought it as it was to give Rhett shit. Not that it mattered, I enjoyed her simple pleasure in the activity. Enjoyed even more that we just were, the three of us in her quiet kitchen before we had to hit the ice and the press.
Eventually, time did what it always had, and we needed to get out of there. She slipped off her stool and headed upstairs to change while Rhett and I made short work of cleaning the kitchen up. After, we walked out together.
We piled into our respective vehicles—Rhett still smug in his—and by the time we rolled into the arena, the whole day had shifted gears.
Wren peeled off toward her office, phone already in hand, heels clicking with purpose.
And I wasn’t surprised when I pushed into the locker room to find Roan already there—changed, stretching, focused.
He looked up as Rhett and I came in, his eyes narrowed as he focused on Rhett and I didn’t miss the way his nostrils flared. Faint amusement touched his expression before he went all business.
“Let’s do this,” he ordered.
The ice had bite that morning.
Not just the usual crisp cut beneath our blades or the sharp sting in the air. No—this was mental tension. Static coiled tight and humming under the surface. The brackets were coming. Every player knew it, and no matter how long they’d been in the league, this time felt different.
Because we weren’t just fighting for position.
We were the team to beat.
Roan skated tight circles near the blue line, barking corrections at Nate and Lewis, his voice cutting through the ambient echo of puck strikes and blade turns like a whip.
“You drop that left shoulder again, you’re going to hand them the puck gift-wrapped. Again, Lewis!”
I didn’t even flinch. That tone wasn’t new. Roan didn’t yell for the sake of yelling—he corrected. Pinpointed flaws like a surgeon and expected you to fix them like your job depended on it. Because right now, it did.
But guys tightened up when he got like that. Lewis started skating more mechanically. Nate’s shoulders hunched. Focus wavered. Tension crept in.
So I adjusted.
“Lewis,” I called, tone calm, voice lower but firm. “Eyes on the outside edge. Don’t worry about Roan, worry about the lane. Again. Let’s go.”
He nodded. Just that small reminder pulled him back into the present.
That was how it worked between the three of us. Roan demanded precision. Rhett fired them up. I pulled them steady.
It was a rhythm. A pulse. An ecosystem.
And on mornings like this, it mattered.
Across the ice, Rhett flung himself into a drill, full sprint toward the crease, burning hot as ever. He weaved with sharp, reckless agility, passed off to Anders, doubled back for the puck—and damn near collided with Paxton when the defenseman cut the angle wrong.
The sound of their sticks clashing echoed hard. Rhett spun out of it with that grin he always wore when shit almost went sideways, and clapped Paxton on the shoulder.
“Dude,” Pax snapped. “Warn me before you come in hot like that.”
“Wouldn’t be a surprise play if I warned you.” Rhett winked and skated backward, but I caught the slight flicker of heat under the humor.
Pax wasn’t alpha, but he was close enough on the spectrum to bristle when Rhett got like that.
Before Roan could snap at both of them, I coasted in between, cutting the tension like a scalpel.
“Save the full-contact chaos for game day,” I told Rhett, firm but light. Then to Pax, “His fault, yeah. But that’s why we drill it. You’re both better than that.”
Roan’s eyes flicked over to me. A flicker of acknowledgment passed between us.
He saw it. I’d taken the edge off before it spiked too far.
He turned back to his line. “Again! Top line reset!”
Another horn blared. New drills loaded in. Passing, breakaways, blue-line coverage. Over and over until sweat burned through pads and lungs heaved.
Rhett was still riding hot, pushing himself hard and calling out encouragements even while he worked, and the guys followed. They always did. Roan drove the structure. Rhett lit the fire.
Me?
I kept the goddamn thing from burning down the whole building.
Even with all of that humming beneath the surface—everyone skating harder, tighter, smarter—you could feel it. The noise outside the rink.
The bracket announcement was imminent.
Everyone knew the Vultures were gunning for us. Not just on the ice, but off it too. They were trying to rattle cages. Leak drama. Stir the pot and keep us off balance. I’d seen it a dozen times before from other teams. It always came down to psychological warfare this close to playoffs.
But the Howlers?
We didn’t break.
I skated up alongside Roan during water break. He was frowning at the corner of the rink, running something mental in his head. Maybe lines, maybe plays, maybe how to keep the newer guys from crumbling under the weight of expectation.
He didn’t say anything at first, just handed me a water bottle.
“You good?” I asked.
He gave a grunt of assent. “They’re pushing harder today. It’s good. We need that.”
“But?”
He glanced at the far bench, where half the team was crowding around someone’s phone.
“Distraction’s bleeding in,” he muttered. “I’d rather they get it over with.”
“They will,” I said. “Soon.”
Roan’s jaw flexed once. “When it drops, they’ll want to talk. To speculate. We shut it down.”
I nodded. “Rhett’ll keep the mood light. I’ll keep the tempo.”
His eyes met mine.
“I’ll handle the noise,” I added.
A breath passed between us.
“I know,” he said, quiet. Then he looked back at the rink. “Let’s make them earn their spot.”
I grinned. “They don’t stand a chance.”
Roan skated off without another word.
The horn blew again and we dove back in.
The brackets dropped right about lunchtime, exactly when I expected. Coach walked into the locker room like he already knew the temperature and intended to reset it.
He didn’t bark. Didn’t raise a hand or his voice. Just let the weight of his presence carry the room as every player stilled mid-grumble or glance at their screens. Word spread fast. We weren’t facing the Vultures in round one.
“No Vultures first,” he confirmed, dropping his clipboard onto the bench like a gavel.
Disappointment flared across a few faces. I felt it, too. It wasn’t just about rivalry, it was about momentum. About shutting that kind of noise down early. Sure, part of me had wanted to be the one to take Rylan out personally. I wasn’t proud of it. But I wasn’t lying to myself either.
Roan stood with his arms crossed, posture tight, but still.
He didn’t react with anger or annoyance, not outwardly.
But I’d known Roan a long time. That stillness?
That was steel being drawn. The rest of the team saw his command, his rock steadiness.
Me? I saw the core. Rylan was so much meat when we got him in the grinder.
Rhett, predictably, was the first to break the silence. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered to no one in particular.
A couple of guys echoed the same sentiment. Younger players, mostly. We’d been so locked in this week, preparing for blood. The Vultures were the kind of distraction that stuck like a burr.
Coach didn’t flinch. Just gave the room one of his slow, deliberate scans.
“They’ve got three games to play before they even get a chance at you,” he said. “Three. That’s a climb. Meanwhile, you have your own path. Make no mistakes, we’re going to treat every game like it’s the damn championship.”
That quieted them. Even Roan gave a faint nod. It made sense. Make them work. Make them sweat for the privilege of standing across from us.
Coach turned toward us again. His eyes swept from Roan, to Rhett, to me. “You think you’ve earned a break?” His tone sharpened just a touch. “You haven’t earned shit yet.”
He let that sink in.
“The bracket isn’t the reward. The finals are. Make them fight for it. Every damn minute. You play hard. You play smart. You protect each other. You keep your heads.”
I could almost feel Wren’s name echo in that last part.
Coach pointed a finger, steady and grounded. “Let the Vultures make fools of themselves in the media. We’ll handle our business on the ice.”
The team settled like a tide rolling back. Energy redirected. Focus restored.
Roan caught my gaze across the room and gave a slight tilt of his head. They’re not getting through.
I nodded back. Not if we can help it.
Rhett bumped my shoulder as we headed back toward the tunnel. “Still wish I could’ve decked Rylan first.”
“You’ll get your chance,” I said with a grin. “Let them climb the ladder. We’ll be at the top, waiting.”
We hit the ice again like a unit forged in fire, sharper, harder, and totally dialed in.
Roan snapped through corrections like a man possessed, but the team didn’t flinch, not now.
They absorbed the critique and adjusted.
Rhett kept the energy high, his taunts just light enough to keep things competitive without sending the younger guys into ego overdrive.
And me?
I did what I always did. Kept us steady. Leveled the emotional pitch, bridged the space between Roan’s intensity and Rhett’s fire. Adjusted the tone when the tension got too thick, talked rookies through a failed play, gave pointers, tapped shoulders.
We were balancing each other without even thinking about it. Practiced. Trusted.
The bracket was just the start.
If the Vultures made it to the finals, they’d be crawling by the time they got there.
We’d be ready.
Waiting.
Hungry.
Ready to deliver the final blow. They picked the wrong damn team to start this fight with, and we had zero problems with ending it.