21. Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty One
Lennon
My cheeks ache from the amount I have smiled tonight. My clothes have been saturated with energy drinks, water, and beer sprayed around the locker room as we moved our celebration from the ice after talking with the media.
The interviews seemed to drag on forever.
Every reporter wanted one more quote. One more picture.
One more reaction from the team that had just pulled off what most people thought impossible.
I didn’t. I knew they could do it. I believed in them, and they believed in me.
The only thing that made it better was having Holden by my side for each moment.
He didn’t let go of my hand, giving me reassurance and the strength to handle the hard hitting questions.
Every now and then, his thumb brushed across the back of my hand, grounding me before the next microphone was shoved in my face.
It was such a small gesture, but after everything we’d survived together, it said more than words ever could.
Eventually, Veronica steps in, shutting down the interviews for the night. We have a day full tomorrow of back to back interviews with Fox News and Sports Weekly.
“Lennon, we have to ask you about one thing in particular. We can see you holding hands with your Captain. Can you tell us anymore about your relationship? Are you joining pack Ars Mortis? Are you becoming their Omega?”
I blanch at the questions, stumbling over my words as I try to work out what to say. Because the problem is, I don’t know where I stand yet with the Ars Mortis pack.
Except… Maybe I do. They always have been.
Even if our start wasn’t even remotely close to ideal, they have proven to me, especially over the last week, that they are here for me.
They have been unwavering in their support, guidance and what I can only describe as love.
Not because they expected anything in return.
Not because they thought it would earn my forgiveness. Simply because they love me.
But I know that I need to tell them how I feel. That I want them. I want to be a part of the Ars Mortis pack. To be their Omega. To stop running from the future that has been waiting for me all along.
I want it more than I ever thought I could.
“Thank you everyone, that will be all for tonight,” Veronica directs, ushering the three of us out of the conference room before I can answer their question.
Thank fuck for her. Because now that I know what my decision regarding the three men will be, I want to tell them in person.
Not tomorrow. Not after another interview. Tonight.
My throat is hoarse from the cigar that was handed to me, apparently a crucial celebratory tradition across sports teams, along with a set of ski goggles.
I decided not to question it and instead went along with the ritual, allowing the victory to settle over my shoulders. Can confirm that cigars are not for me.
The lingering taste of smoke still coats the back of my tongue, mixing with stale beer and adrenaline. My suit jacket is damp, my hair is an absolute mess, and I’m fairly certain I still have champagne dripping down the back of my neck. I’ve never felt more exhausted, or more alive.
Laughter bounces off the concrete walls as music blares from a speaker someone dragged into the middle of the room.
Jerseys are draped over shoulders, disposable cups litter every available surface, and more than one player is dancing like they’ll never have to skate another day in their life.
They’re wrong, because we’re only just getting started.
Dominic looks about two seconds away from having a heart attack from the mess, and it makes me smile as I watch him and a far too happy looking Sasha look around for a place to retreat to.
Everywhere I look, there are smiles. Genuine, unguarded smiles.
The kind that only comes from knowing every sacrifice, every injury, every loss and sleepless night was worth it.
My team had been written off by almost every commentator in the league.
Men who had every reason to give up but refused.
Champions. Stanley Cup champions. And somehow, against every impossible odd, I got to lead them there.
Sasha and Dominic greet Holden and me outside of my office. We were far too blessed to have the grand final at our arena, meaning we didn’t have to deal with airlines, hotels, or secure transportation to and from the venue. We can go home. I can go home with my mates.
The thought settles warmly in my chest. No hotel room. No unfamiliar bed. No pretending I don’t have a place to belong. Just home. My nest. The place I’ve spent weeks rebuilding… more than once this past year.
Sasha steps between us, pulling me into his arms. The movement is hesitant at first, like he’s still waiting for me to change my mind, before his arms tighten around me.
He holds me tight, almost too tight. I don’t complain.
For the first time, I don’t want him to let me go.
His lips find my ear, his voice quiet, only loud enough for me to hear.
“You are fucking incredible.”
The words wrap themselves around the cracks I’d spent so long trying to hide.
Because he means them, and that scared me for a while.
It was easier when I didn’t stick around to hear them.
But now, I’m not hiding anymore. His blue gaze searches mine first, silently asking a question he’d never force me to answer.
He stiffens for a moment, and I lean in, gently placing my lips against his.
He leans into the kiss. Slowly. Carefully.
Like he’s afraid this is another dream he’ll wake up from.
His hand cups the side of my face with a tenderness that steals the air from my lungs, his thumb brushing over my cheek as though committing the moment to memory.
I could so easily get lost in him and his touch.
But I want to get home. To tell them my decision.
They have waited long enough. Or more importantly, I have waited long enough.
I’ve spent so much of my life running from the things that terrified me most. Trust. Vulnerability.
Love. I convinced myself I didn’t need a pack.
And I didn’t. But things are different now.
I’ve changed. I’m not the same woman who first walked into the arena after losing the man who raised me. I’m stronger. Better. Happy.
I break away from him, turning back to Dominic and Holden. Dominic is watching us with quiet patience, a softness in his eyes I’ve come to recognize as hope. Holden, on the other hand, isn’t even trying to hide the grin threatening to split his face in two.
Three men.
The idiots who somehow managed to love me even when I gave them every reason not to.
Every reason to give up. Three idiots I spent so much time trying to outrun, but it was impossible.
It wasn’t just fate forcing our paths to collide.
It was a choice I hadn’t known I was making.
I chose them long before my brain could catch up.
We’re all flawed. We could write a book about it. But somehow, I’m stronger for it.
“Come home with me tonight?”
I leave my three soon to be mates down at the car.
They tried to argue with me, but after promising them I would make it worth their while, I told them to give me five minutes before they came up to my apartment.
Sasha looked especially unconvinced, his protective instincts practically radiating off him, but eventually all three reluctantly agreed.
I need girl time.
A moment to breathe.
I want this to be perfect. I want to welcome them into my home the way they deserved. To rewrite some of the wrongs with something positive and new.
The building is quiet, the early hour of the morning making my movements seem that little bit louder.
It doesn’t help that I am tipsy, indulging in a few too many glasses of wine.
A laugh escapes me as I fumble my keys, the alcohol leaving a pleasant warmth beneath my skin.
For the first time since I first arrived, the weight on my shoulders has lifted.
Tonight, we won the championship. Tonight, I finally admitted to myself that I wanted pack Ars Mortis.
Tomorrow, I can deal with everything else.
My apartment door clicks open and I gently shut it behind me, leaving it unlocked. I take a few steps into the kitchen, tossing the keys onto the sideboard. The familiar scent of rain and washed linen greets me, wrapping around me like an old friend, before I freeze.
Something is wrong. There’s something off about the air. It doesn’t feel empty.
Every instinct inside me screams.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention. My heart stutters before slamming against my ribs so violently it almost hurts. Every lesson I’d ever been taught about trusting my instincts crashes to the forefront of my mind.
Run.
“Thought you could best me, didn’t you, little girl?”
I gasp, my entire body turning to ice. The voice crawls over my skin like poison.
With a slow turn, I face Brett. A pistol is aimed directly at my face, his finger hovering over the trigger. The barrel never wavers. There is a manic glimmer in his eyes. He looks nothing like the man I last saw. It’s as though time has hollowed him out from the inside.
His once dark brunette hair is now streaked with grey, his face sporting wrinkles around the corners of his eyes.
Dark circles beneath bloodshot eyes, his jaw covered in several days’ worth of stubble.
His expensive suit hangs from his frame, wrinkled and unkempt, as though he hasn’t cared to change in days.
He doesn’t look powerful anymore. He looks desperate.
“Brett,” I say with a strength I don’t feel. My instincts tell me to flood the room with fear, but I force my scent back down. I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing just how terrified I am.
He snarls at me, “What? No more uncle formality?”