Chapter 14
Chapter
Fourteen
Lana
I’d watched the entire game from the tunnel, and it was satisfying seeing my exes get their asses handed to them on the ice. The place where they truly thought they were kings.
At first, their reaction was subtle, as if they thought it was just a bad day of play. Then Kieran got involved. My heart leapt into my throat as I watched him slam Milo into the glass. From the confusion on Milo’s face, he had no clue what that was about.
Lennon and Mason had checked Sutton at one point, almost starting a full-on fight.
It was as if the designations were going after each other. Though, to be honest, if Wilder took on Dean, it was over. He was twice the other beta’s size. Wilder bulked up to stay on par with the alphas. Dean never did. He stayed small, but he was quick.
I’d spent my entire life watching men play hockey. Starting with my dads, then my brother, who I probably cheered on the most. Conrad was incredible out there, blocking almost everything they flung toward him.
When Kieran slammed Milo again, he looked right at me, pointing to tell me he was following through with his promise.
“Shit,” I cursed, backing away, knowing the cameras would follow to see what he was pointing at.
Thankfully, this game was on our own turf, and I hurried back to the kitchen. There were TVs in almost every room, making sure we could still watch while we worked.
It was currently just me, however.
I hopped up on the stainless-steel counter, my eyes glued to the screen. Wilder stole the puck. Despite his size, he was almost graceful on his skates, moving his bulky body and carefully gliding around the ice like it was where he belonged.
Yet, there was no arrogance to it like with my exes. He was confident, but not cocky, and I was learning there was a huge difference between the two.
As I watched, my eyes constantly drifting up to the screen, I got to work on a birthday cake.
I’d run to the store earlier for ingredients and done some solid social media FBI work on Kieran’s profile, then hers.
I found pictures with cake, and every year it seemed to be peanut butter cupcakes.
The chocolate cake was already done, cooling on the counter before Kieran had ended up in the penalty box for the third time.
The Wardens were out for blood, like circling sharks striking whenever they could.
It was brutal to watch. The crowd was electric tonight because of it, thundering voices echoing down the hall to me.
Even as I chopped the peanut butter cups and whipped up fresh chocolate buttercream, I couldn’t take my eyes off the screen, constantly flicking between what I was doing and the game. Honestly, it was a miracle I didn’t stress-eat my way through the cake before it was time.
The announcers speculated about what could be causing the change in rivalry. It was no surprise to anyone that there was trouble between the two teams. It was a well-known fact. But anyone could see that this was beyond that.
The Wardens swiftly swept the floor with the Narwhals. I blew out a breath as they announced the final score, glad it was over.
The cake was finished and fully decorated, and I found some cardstock for him to write her a letter. A small celebration to honor her, to miss her, something I did every year for my best friend.
It didn’t fix the pain. In fact, it honored it and gave it space without letting it consume my entire life. I hoped Kieran would find some peace in it too, though I was sure beating the Narwhals’ asses was cathartic in its own way.
My nerves were shot by the time the kitchen door swung open. I gasped, ducking behind the counter, half expecting my old pack to walk in.
“Sis, what the hell are you doing?” Conrad laughed. “Super subtle, by the way.”
I gripped the edge of the counter, peeking over it so all he could see were my eyes. “Don’t laugh. I’ve been a nervous wreck,” I hissed.
“You know you don’t have to hide anymore, right?”
“I know that,” I huffed, forcing myself to stand confidently now.
“Plus, their bus left ten minutes ago. You’re safe.”
I practically deflated onto one of the stools.
“It smells amazing in here. What have you been up to? Stress baking?”
“This time it wasn’t just baking, thank you very much,” I grumbled. “It’s for Gabriella’s birthday.”
His eyes widened. “He told you?”
“He did,” I confirmed. “It was obvious something was off, and you know I’m not usually one for being told no.”
“Us Flynns are known for being stubborn.” He let out a breath. “I take it you watched the game?”
I nodded.
“I did good,” he said, smug as the rest of them. “But, don’t worry. They have no idea why we beat their asses tonight, and we’ll continue to do so every game. You’ve been gone for three damn weeks, and they still haven’t even noticed you’re gone. Have they even called you?”
As if my phone was waiting for their signal, it started beeping with notifications. He snatched it before I did, sliding it open to read them, rolling his eyes before tossing it my way.
“Oh look,” he mocked in a fake voice. “They miss you.”
Sutton
We miss you. Hoping to come home this weekend.
Milo
Maybe. There's talk of extra practices thanks to tonight’s game.
Dean
Think of us as you fall asleep. Can’t wait to hold you again.
Maybe early on in our relationship, I would’ve been excited to get a message like that from my pack. Not anymore. It made me uneasy, almost sick.
How could they possibly think I would accept that kind of response after not hearing from them for weeks, after missing my fucking heat? I swear they were delusional.
“You ready to go home?” he asked.
“For the love of god, yes. Can you carry the cake? And I’m going to need you guys to steer clear of the patio when we get back.”
“You’ve got it.” Then my brother froze, stumbling over his words, which was not something I was used to.
“Just spit it out.” I lifted my chin. “You know you can talk to me about whatever you need to.”
“You’re being careful, right?” he questioned. The hesitation told me exactly who he wanted me to be careful with. “Don’t—” He frowned and stopped talking, unable to get the full question out.
“I love you, Conrad, but I don’t need you to hover. I’m being careful. I’m not crossing any boundaries. I’m just being a good friend. You can’t ask me not to be friends with them. We live together.”
He held up his hands. “I’m not asking that,” he assured me. “I just don’t want you to get hurt again.”
“Unfortunately, you can’t protect me forever.”
“I can at least fucking try,” he muttered, gesturing for me to follow him out the door.
It was just me and Conrad in the SUV on the way home, and I was kind of grateful for the reprieve.
There was no sign of them as I set up the cake and cardstock on the back patio, and prepped the fire pit.
When I stepped back inside to grab a lighter, Kieran was walking up, his face intense, a storm brewing under the surface. It only solidified that this was exactly what he needed.
I didn’t say anything. I simply held out my hand. He didn’t budge at first.
“If you’re uncomfortable at any time, you can walk away, and I will not be upset or hold it against you,” I said gently. “I just want to help make it better.”
He swallowed hard and nodded. The trust he was putting in me was humbling.
I led Kieran outside to the patio, stepping aside so he could see what I’d prepared.
He made a noise so broken I had to swallow down my own tears when he saw the cake. I let go of him long enough to light the fire pit before turning back and gesturing to the letters.
“With everything going on, I missed Talia’s birthday. I thought maybe we could celebrate their birthdays together. I did a little sleuthing and figured out that peanut butter was Gabriella’s favorite.”
“It was,” he whispered, tears carving a path down his cheeks.
“Every year I write a letter to Talia, telling her how much I love her, how I miss her. I pour my heart out on that page.”
I walked over and picked one paper up, sliding it across the table to him and adding a pen.
“Then, I burn it. It’s my way of feeling it, letting whatever tears fall, and then I send it off. I trust that she understands the message, and that’s enough for me. It doesn’t make the grief any less, but it gives it space and gives me room to breathe.”
He was silent, and I wasn’t sure if I’d overstepped. This could backfire on me.
I swallowed hard and gestured to the other page. “I thought maybe we could try it together, since today is Gabriella’s birthday.”
“I don’t know if I can write anything,” he said.
“That’s okay, too,” I promised. “There’s no wrong way to handle this.”
He sat down, eyes focused on the paper. His face twisted into a scowl, but it wasn’t angry, just painted with pain. He reached forward and wrapped his fingers around the pen, holding it tightly.
Then I turned away. He deserved space for this, and I had my own letter to write.
Once I got started, it was like I couldn’t stop pouring my soul out, telling her how much I missed her, and that I wished I could’ve called her all these years.
She would have hated how my pack turned out.
It was airing my grievances just like I would have if we were having a vent session like we did so often.
With each line, my chest loosened more. I was giving myself permission to be hurt, to be angry, but also to let it go.
I wanted more out of this life than to dwell in those emotions.
I wanted to breathe. To live.
When I finished, I set my pen down and folded the note into a square. These weren’t thoughts anybody else was ever going to read.
It took him a little longer, his pen scratching across the paper. He didn’t even seem to notice I was done, and I was glad because I wasn’t trying to rush him.