Puck Your Bunny (Puck You Omegaverse #4)

1. Vayda

The buzzer blares overhead. The Reapers’arena is loud and bright, packed with flashing LED screens, the smell of overpriced stale beer, and the chill of cold air rolling off the ice.

Tonight is the final game of the regular season.

A win guarantees the Reapers a spot in the playoffs.

The tension in the building is thick enough to choke on.

The third period drags on with the score tied at two. A restless ocean of red and black jerseys surrounds us. I blink fast to keep the ice rink in my line of sight. My vision swims out of focus.

I cross my arms over my chest and dig my fingers into the sleeves of my oversized sweater.

The Bond Rejection hums through my bones.

It's a constant companion these days, unavoidable and exhausting.

It feels like a restless hollowed-ache right behind my sternum.

It's a vast, empty space I’m unable to fill.

My body knows my Alphas are gone. It punishes me for the loss every waking second.

Kirsty bumps her shoulder against mine. I flinch. The contact sends a jolt of phantom pain shooting down my arm.

She pulls back. Her dark eyes scan my face, taking in the way I hunch forward to protect my core.

Kirsty is a Beta. Her scent is neutral, just a faint mix of vanilla body spray and clean laundry detergent.

Her warm brown skin and high cheekbones give her an intimidating edge.

Her dark braids are pulled into a tight ponytail.

Seeing how put-together she looks in her red Reapers jersey makes me feel even more ragged.

My own messy red hair shows more gray at the roots than I care to admit.

She leans in close to be heard over the roar of the crowd. "You can't keep doing this alone, V. You need to get out more."

Two players slam into the boards down on the ice. The violent crack echoes through the arena, making my heart race. I swipe a stray piece of hair out of my face and tuck it behind my ear, shivering as the draft from the rink hits the sensitive skin of my neck.

I pitch my voice over the noise of a thousand cheering fans. "I'm out right now. In public. With hundreds of people."

Kirsty shakes her head. She reaches over and pulls one of my hands away from where my fingernails dig into my arm. Her fingers are warm against my freezing skin.

"You know what I mean. You need more respite help for Brendan. You're running yourself into the ground. Look at you." She gestures to my rigid posture."You're in pain just sitting here."

I pull my hand back and shove it deep into my sweater pocket to keep it out of her reach. The hollow in my chest pulses, a dull throb reminding me just how broken I am. I force myself to sit up a little straighter. I try to mimic the posture of a healthy, functioning person holding it together.

"It's hard enough getting twenty-four hour coverage for the week of my Heat. I can't ask for more than that. The agency is always short on nurses."

Kirsty focuses on me. "You aren't asking for too much.

You're asking for the bare minimum to survive.

You need a break. A real break, where you aren't just waiting for the other shoe to drop or checking your phone every five minutes to make sure Vinny hasn't quit.

While your body suffers without your Alphas. "

I swallow hard. The cold air in the arena feels suffocating.

I know she means well. She held my hand in waiting rooms and brought me groceries when I struggled to get out of the house.

But she misses the logistics of my life.

She misses what it takes to keep my household functioning day in and day out.

"I'm fine, Kirsty. I mean it. Today is just a bad day. Spring showers are moving in."

It's a weak excuse. We both know it. The bond rejection ignores the weather. It only cares that I'm an Omega without her bonded pack.

Kirsty gives me a flat look. "Don't give me that weather crap. I watched you almost pass out in the parking lot. You're pushing yourself too hard. Brendan is safe at home. You need to let someone else carry the weight for a few days."

I look away from her. The refs blow a whistle and signal a time-out on the ice. The tension in the arena shifts to a low murmur.

I can't explain it to her. I can't explain the terror gripping me every single time I leave the house.

The lingering fear that Brendan will have an episode while I'm gone.

The terror that his dormant Alpha instincts will flare up and confuse him.

I'm the only thing he recognizes anymore.

I'm the only person he has left in a world that no longer makes sense to his damaged brain.

I have to stay alive, no matter how much it hurts my body.

The crowd noise dips into a rumbling hum as the timeout drags on. The ice crew skates out with their shovels, scraping up the loose snow around the goalie nets. I lean my forearms on my knees and stare at the scuffed concrete floor beneath my boots.

The stadium music plays over my words. "It's not just about needing a break.

My Heats have been brutal since the accident.

You know that. I lock myself in the backyard shed for a week to avoid triggering Brendan.

If his instincts wake up while I'm like that, and his brain fails to process it, he could hurt himself. Or someone else."

I shudder at the thought. The shed has plenty of floor space, but it's cold and uncomfortable. It smells like old cedar and desperation. I miss nesting. Spending a Heat out there means riding out the raging fever and joint pain alone on a bare mattress. It's the only way to keep Brendan safe.

His traumatic brain injury left him with the mental capacity of a toddler. If the scent of my Heat hits him, his body will react. His mind doesn’t understand what’s happening. It scares him. I refuse to put him through that terrifying confusion again. Once was enough for a lifetime.

I keep my eyes on my boots. "Leaving him without someone I trust in the house is a risk I can't take. If something happens to me while I'm locked out there, someone has to be there for him."

Kirsty crosses her arms. The bright arena lights reflect off her glossy lips as she frowns. "Then you need to look into the Alpha Aid program. Or at least ask your doctor for medical sedation during your Heats. You don't have to suffer in a shed like an animal, Vayda. There are options."

I flinch. The suggestion makes my stomach turn. Alpha Aid is a government-funded program paying unbonded Alphas to help Omegas through their Heats. It means inviting strangers into my space and letting them touch me.

I shake my head. "No sedation. And zero government-assigned Alphas."

Kirsty throws her hands up in frustration. "Why? Because you think you deserve to be in pain? Vayda, Bond Rejection tends to kill Omegas within a year. You’ve fought it for three. You're a total anomaly. The doctors are amazed your heart is still beating."

She's right, and I hate it. Most Omegas waste away once their pack is gone. The grief and the broken bond shut their organs down one by one. I’ve only survived because Brendan survived the crash.

Even with his severe brain damage, with the man he used to be gone forever, our bond is still there.

It's a frayed, rotting thread connecting my soul to his.

Just his presence is enough to keep my lungs pulling in air.

The words taste bitter in my mouth. "Sleeping with strangers feels like cheating. It feels like a betrayal to what we had. To Emmett and Hale."

Saying their names out loud makes the hollow in my chest ache worse. I bite the inside of my cheek to stop from crying.

I force my voice level, burying the grief back down where it belongs. "Besides, Alpha Aid won't fix the real problem. I need my Alphas. I need my specific scent matches. And they're gone."

Kirsty softens. The frustration drains out of her posture. She reaches out and rests her hand on my knee. "I know they're gone, honey. But you're still here."

I pull my sweater sleeve up just enough to expose my left wrist. "I'm here because I have to be."

The silver scar of a bite mark shines under the stadium lights. It's a permanent reminder of a claim that no longer exists.

"I can't die and leave Brendan alone. He's trapped in a body failing him. I'm all he has. So I keep holding on."

Kirsty looks at the scar and sighs. "The guys would want you to live, V. Not just survive. Emmett and Hale would hate seeing you lock yourself away like this. They loved how vibrant you were."

I pull my sleeve back down to cover the bite mark. I know what she wants for me. I lack the energy to entertain the idea of moving on. There is no moving on for an Omega like me. I already found my scent matches. There is only managing the symptoms and keeping Brendan alive.

The stadium erupts into a deafening roar. The sound hits me like a tidal wave, snapping my attention away from my misery and back to the ice. The time-out is over.

Kirsty jumps up from her seat, her earlier frustration gone. "Henry's on!"

I push myself up to stand beside her, forcing my tired muscles to cooperate.

Her brother, Henry, skates onto the ice as the second-line right wing.

We both scream, adding our voices to the chaotic noise of the arena.

It takes energy I lack, but I will always show up for Henry.

He used to come over and help Hale fix the porch steps when he was just a teenager.

The play resumes with brutal intensity. The Reapers win the face-off and push into the offensive zone. The puck moves in a blur, snapping from stick to stick. Henry intercepts a sloppy pass from the opposing defense and takes off down the wing. The crowd gets louder.

He pushes up the ice, but my eyes drift to the center.

Wally Nelson glides into position. He fills out the red and black uniform, an imposing wall of muscle on skates.

The bold C for captain sits on his chest. His commanding presence draws my attention.

He turns his helmeted head to track the play.

For a fraction of a second, his dark eyes lift toward the stands.

They lock on mine through the glass.

An undeniable pull tugs deep in my gut. My breath catches in my throat. The arena noise fades into static. A rush of warmth blooms low in my stomach, chasing away the chill of the rink.

He breaks the connection to focus on the game.

Henry fakes a shot and drops a blind pass back to the center. Wally catches the puck with ease on his stick. He fires a slapshot from the top of the circle.

The puck sails past the goalie's glove and hits the back of the net.

The goal horn blares loud enough to rattle my teeth. Kirsty grabs my shoulders and jumps up and down, pulling me along with her.

"Did you see that assist? Henry set Nelson up for that!"

A genuine smile cracks through the exhaustion. The Reapers hold the lead for the remaining two minutes of the period, playing aggressive defense to run down the clock and secure their playoff spot.

The final buzzer sounds. The game ends in a win. The Reapers clinch the playoffs. The relief in the arena vibrates through the floorboards.

Fans linger in the stands, high-fiving and celebrating the playoff berth instead of rushing for the exits. The aisles clog with people taking their time. I sink back into my plastic seat.

I rub my temples to fend off the oncoming headache. "Can we wait a few minutes before we leave? Getting shoved around by a pushy crowd sounds awful right now."

Kirsty nods and drops back into her seat next to me. "No problem. Let them clear out."

We sit and wait for the arena to empty. Kirsty pulls her phone out of her pocket as the noise dies down and the rows around us thin out. Her thumbs fly across the screen before she looks up at me with a huge grin.

"Henry just texted. He wants us down in the arena lounge for the after-party."

Panic spikes in my chest. The thought of being in a crowded room full of pumped-up Alphas and strangers makes my skin crawl. The bond rejection flares in response to my anxiety, sending a burning itch radiating from my sternum.

I gather my bag and pull my scarf tighter around my neck. "I’ll order a ride home. Vinny is scheduled until eleven. Paying the overtime rate is tough right now. You go have fun though."

Kirsty gives me a skeptical look. She steps into the aisle, blocking my easiest path to the exit. "Vinny loves Brendan. You already set aside the emergency fund for this month. Stay for a few minutes, V. One drink. To celebrate my brother making the playoffs."

I shift my weight from foot to foot. "Kirsty, please. I'm exhausted. I smell like a stale pretzel."

She reaches out and tugs on the edge of my sweater. "You smell fine. Come on. Henry promised the entire first line will be there. You get to meet the star players. The guys you watch on TV all season."

I want to go home, crawl into bed, and make sure Brendan is breathing evenly in his room down the hall.

But then I think about Emmett and Hale. They were massive Reapers fans.

They would lose their minds at the chance to meet the team's first line in person.

They would drag me to the lounge by my ankles.

I let out a long breath, giving in. "Fine. One drink. Half an hour, max. Then I order a ride."

Kirsty beams and links her arm through mine, steering us toward the VIP elevators. "You won't regret this. It'll be fun."

Walking through the concourse, I look at the people around us.

I feel a hundred years old compared to the college girls walking past us in their oversized jerseys and flawless makeup.

They look carefree, buzzing with the adrenaline of the win.

Their only cares in the world are who scored the winning goal and where they get pizza after.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and check the screen. Zero missed calls or texts from Ben.

Brendan is fine. I tuck the phone away. The knot of worry in my stomach refuses to loosen. I hope staying is the right call.