Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
Greer
A month later
All the air rushed out of my lungs as I was slammed mercilessly into the plexiglass before I could even recover. My teammates were on him immediately, pulling the asshole off of me. Gloves were already dropping as bodies collided along the boards before the refs could even get in there.
The whistle came a bit too late. Of course, it fucking did.
They let it slide—again—but that seemed to be all they were fucking doing this game. We were two penalties in, already down minutes, and they were untouched. Not even a fucking warning.
Instigator fights were common in the AHA. When you put this many alphas and deltas on the ice, testosterone and pheromones would always run high. It was part of the game, whether the league wanted to admit it or not.
That was the whole purpose behind putting deltas on rut blockers, even if they didn’t tell that to the general public. Yet, alphas still thought it was fine to start shit with us like those would steal away our nature. If I wanted to lose control that ice would already be painted red.
After the whole delta scandal and the assholes protesting outside trying to push us out of the league entirely, we had to be a whole lot more careful about our actions.
Not to mention the Narwhals were already in the doghouse.
Thank fuck this was my final year playing. I was swiftly getting tired of all the bureaucracy and gossip surrounding the sport.
I thought my career was over then and I’d accepted it.
Instead, it did the opposite. My name now had traction and I’d been interviewed more than ever. Somehow, I’d turned into the poster boy for delta stability. The irony wasn’t lost on me.
It didn't matter that I’d always held my own. Just because I was quiet didn’t mean I didn’t hit back. I’d fought my share over the years and still did. So, the moment the asshole who hit me tried to skate away, I went after him.
Donaldson. Their poster-boy center. He was notorious for starting shit and skating off clean.
Not this time.
He reached for the puck off the boards, but I was already there, stick sliding in and stripping it right off his blade in one smooth motion I’d perfected over the years. My body might not be as young, but with time also came signature moves that were practically perfected.
The crowd reacted instantly with sounds of protests, his cheers turning into anger. The Golden Saints were every bit the assholes their refs were.
Donaldson snarled as I skated off before he even reacted.
It was on now. He’d never let this go. This game would be a bloodbath, and that thought had adrenaline pumping through me.
This was the side of the game I loved. Not the corrupt refs and player worship. Just the game itself and all that came with it.
Their line tried to close in but so did ours. The Narwhals had something to prove this year and the other teams didn’t expect it from us.
That was the only reason I’d been moved up from second line to the first. Every choice this team had made in the past few seasons was still hanging over us like a storm cloud, and we all felt it every time we stepped on the ice.
We all knew what those assholes were doing but anyone who dared mention it got benched or threatened to be traded.
Hockey wasn’t a career that was easy on packs, and I had my own history with a certain omega. One that haunted every fucking dream I had. The one I compared everyone to the second there was even a hint of attraction.
He was also the reason I’d stayed alone for years. I learned early that hockey and relationships didn’t mix. Especially, not when you ended up feeling like someone’s dirty little secret.
I’d been burned enough. I wasn’t doing that again.
And I sure as hell could never imagine letting an omega sit at home for months, alone and waiting through a heat cycle without me.
Fuck no. Those assholes deserved everything that came for them. They’d been let go and blacklisted in hockey, lost every bit of sponsorship and support, and all but disappeared.
I just hated that we deltas left behind were the ones cleaning it up. We were proving ourselves every night while the entire league watched, waiting for us to slip up.
It didn’t help that Jeremiah Kingsford had cleaned house the second he took over. Anyone even remotely tied to the scandal? Gone. Our old staff had let that shit happen for years, treating those players like untouchable stars.
Didn’t matter how good you were when the truth was splashed over every social and sports news site.
If you didn’t have integrity, you didn’t belong on the ice.
The AHA had taken the accusations seriously, too. They already had tons of omega protections worked into the league rules. All of which had been ignored while she suffered. It wasn’t exactly great PR when one of your top teams turned out to be a complete disaster.
I’d gotten in my head enough that I barely dodged another hit. Donaldson again, he wasn’t letting this go even though he’d been the one to fucking start it.
“Line change!” Coach Hayes barked.
We were already hopping the boards as the second line vaulted over, blades hitting ice in a clean transition. I dropped onto the bench, ripping my mouthguard halfway out as I sucked in air.
Hayes was on me instantly.
“What the fuck are you doing out there?” he snapped.
I didn’t even bother to answer. What the hell was I supposed to say? I refused to sit there while Donaldson got away with everything.
The last thing I needed was him second-guessing the decision to move me up. Hayes had been running us into the ground all month and he’d only get worse if he thought we were being sloppy. It had been weeks of hard practices and no room for bullshit.
He had just as much to prove as the rest of us, and he made damn sure we all felt it.
I watched the play unfold on the ice instead. I was just grateful someone else was taking the heat for a bit.
Thankfully, his attention snapped back to the game.
I forced myself to reset, breathing slow and steady, zoning everything out except the rhythm of the game. My breathing evened out and I homed in on the sounds around me. The scrape of blades on ice, slapping of sticks, the steady pulse of the crowd calling out cheers and announcers echoing out.
“Get your head right,” Hayes muttered when I opened my eyes again.
“Yes, Coach,” I said, nodding once.
“Try using actual words next time, Abbot!” one of the rookies, Kota Mori called out, earning a round of laughter from the bench. Okay, maybe not a rookie still but he was young enough to be one.
“Keep running your mouth,” I shot back, “and you’ll be sharpening skates for a week.”
They laughed harder, this time at Kota while the corner of Hayes’s mouth twitched in amusement.
It was short-lived. Seconds later, we were over the boards again and back in the game.
The moment my blades hit the ice, everything faded away and I locked into the game, ready to prove myself yet again.
Cold air cut through my mask, biting at my lungs. My teeth clenched around my mouthguard as I tracked the play, blocking out the ache in my ribs from the earlier fight.
They were just as focused now as we were and their coach must have laid into Donaldson because he was playing like he wanted a win now, not a fight.
Between me, Kota, and our new star center, we were pushing hard. We’d worked through enough practices like this that we were cohesive, even if the younger delta liked to shit-talk off the ice.
Our side of the arena exploded, chanting our new center’s name as Lachlan practically danced through the rival team like he was showing off. He was always flashy on the ice, but no one called him on it since he actually had the follow through.
Lachlan Evans was a new trade along with Kota. I was the only veteran to the Narwhals on the first line. But we all had the same pressure and were trying to prove we deserved to be here.
That the Narwhals were better because of us.
Coach Hayes was relentless from the bench. He called out orders and adjustments, praising us when we earned it and tearing into us when we didn’t.
The difference from the old staff was night and day. It was clear that Hayes actually gave a shit. He held us accountable and this team needed a healthy dose of that.
At the end of the game, we’d pulled a win. Barely.
It didn’t make the post-game debrief any easier. Hayes was standing in front of us, arms crossed and eyes sharp as he studied us for a moment, letting the tension build.
“You played well,” he finally said. “But this is just the beginning. This isn’t a normal season. This is a redemption run. And by the end of it I expect us to be lifting up the AHA Cup.”
He didn’t say “or else” but it was implied. The consequences of letting down him or Jeremiah Kingsford would mean losing our reputation and our chances at a solid career.
For me? I didn’t want to go out in defeat.
After a few beats of silence he turned and walked into his office, leaving the room in a tense silence. Our win felt a hell of a lot heavier than it should have.
“Coach is a hard-ass,” Dale, our goalie, muttered under his breath.
No one disagreed. Coach had been pushing all of us equally. He was relentless, but fair. Still brutal as fuck, though.
I’d never felt as old as I did this season. My entire body protested and I hadn’t even tried to stand up yet.
By league standards, I was already pushing it. I’d had a good career. Great, even. One of the first deltas in the AHA and had proven myself time and again. But this year… this year felt different.
It was the end and I knew it.
The doctors and physical therapists had warned me a few years ago it was coming. That didn’t make it any easier.
I had no fucking clue what came next, either.
Coaching wasn’t my thing. I didn’t have the patience, and let’s be real, not many people were lining up to have a delta coach their kids anyway. Not after everything.
“Still,” Kota said, nudging me lightly. “He’s good for us.”
I just grunted at the delta and tried to work up the energy to move again. I’d need to slip in to see our physio team.
Kota Mori was young, talented, and annoyingly charismatic. The brat was a fan favorite already. He could talk his way out of anything and was always trying to drag me into conversations I had zero interest in.
I was here to play hockey, not make friends.
Ignoring him completely, I finally stood and grabbed a towel before heading for the showers.
No way I was waiting until I got home after a game like that. The arena had hot water. My place? Not so much. The downfall of buying a fixer-upper was that it had good bones and shitty plumbing.
The heat of the shower worked through my muscles, easing the worst of the pain. By the time I finished, most of the team had cleared out.
Hayes was just stepping out of his office when I walked back through the locker room, still drying my hair.
“I’ll talk to the owner and the board to try and get you a dedicated physical therapist.”
“They’re not going to go out on a limb for an old guy like me,” I said.
“They will,” he replied, without hesitation.
I didn’t argue with him again. That didn’t mean I believed him, I just didn’t have it in me to fight over it with the new coach.
Despite everyone’s protests, I knew exactly where I stood on this team. I was good, but no longer starting-line good. This felt more like a courtesy placement. Last-season respect, maybe.
God, when had I turned into such a cynical asshole?
The answer came easy.
It started the day I walked away from my omega and wrote off anyone that wanted to get close to me.