16. Kel
The alarm on Wally's phone buzzes at five in the morning. The bedroom smells like sex and sleep. Wally groans, pulling his arm back from where it stretches across Simon to grip Vayda's hip. He kicks Simon's shin under the sheets. Practice starts at dawn today.
I shift away from Vayda's side. My knot softened hours ago, letting me slide out of her tight heat in the middle of the night. I pull myself out of bed. My muscles ache, but my mind is wired.
We pull on our sweatpants and head out the bedroom door, leaving Vayda curled up in the center of the mattress with soft breathing.
Simon heads for the shower while Wally and I hit the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee. I grab my mug and mosey down the short hallway to the front window to look out. The rising sun hits the concrete slab of the front porch. I look at the steep concrete steps.
How does Vayda navigate those steps with Brendan's wheelchair alone?
It must be a massive chore to do by herself.
Does she just keep him inside because of the hassle?
A soft shuffle from back down the hall breaks my focus. I walk back to the kitchen just as Vayda walks in wearing an oversized t-shirt with her hair a tangled mess, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
I grab the sweet cream from the fridge, pour a mug of dark coffee, and stir in a generous splash before sliding it across the granite counter to her.
"Thanks." She wraps both hands around the warm ceramic.
"I have a question for you." I point toward the front door. "How do you get Bren down those front steps when you go for walks?"
"We have a steel ramp. We haul it out of the closet, lock it over the concrete steps, and guide his chair down.
It takes a lot of effort to keep him steady.
I've wanted to install a permanent wood ramp for years, but it’s so expensive to hire someone.
I have zero carpentry skills." Vayda stares at her coffee mug, her throat working with a hard swallow.
"I've got time this afternoon after practice.
I can build a wooden ramp right over those steps today.
I'll connect it to the concrete path in the front yard.
That saves us pouring a new path, and keeps that steel track in the closet.
I'll give it a clean, rich stain to match the porch, too.
But I need your okay first, and I need to ask if I can use Hale's old shed.
It's packed with gear. I can go buy my own tools, but having access to a table saw and a power drill right there saves me a trip. " I take a sip of my black coffee.
"You can use the shed." She lifts her chin, her eyes finding mine.
"Hale took great care of his tools. He hated seeing them gather dust. He'd want them used to help Brendan.
You can build the ramp and use the shed for any projects you like.
Better to put them to work than let them decay in the dark. "
"I appreciate it. I'll take great care of his tools." I nod.
Simon walks into the kitchen, running a hand through his damp hair while Wally grabs his keys from the hook by the door.
"We need to hit the road, sweetheart." Wally leans in and presses a kiss to the top of her messy hair.
"Have a good practice." Vayda wraps her fingers tighter around her warm mug.
"See you this afternoon." Simon drops a kiss on her cheek.
"See you later." I step up and brush my lips against her temple.
Wally and Simon take his SUV while I grab my truck. I am glad I followed him over yesterday, keeping my own ride handy so I can head straight to the hardware store after practice.
My phone rings through the truck speakers, displaying Wally's name on the dashboard screen. I tap the answer button on the steering wheel as I merge onto the street.
"She gave you the green light on the carpenter shed. I heard her talking when we walked into the kitchen." Wally's voice fills the cab.
"Yeah. She told me I can use Hale's tools." I glance at the dashboard console.
"That's a big deal, Kel. Handing over her late Alpha's tools takes a lot of trust." Simon's voice breaks through the speakers.
"She wants us here." Wally's voice crackles over the line. "Last night was a major milestone. Sleeping with us outside of her heat proves that. Letting you use Hale's shed proves she trusts us to help provide for her and Brendan."
"It helps. But earning our spot takes time. She keeps her thoughts guarded." I accelerate onto the highway.
"She talked to me about the age gap. It messes with her head. She thinks she's too old for us." Wally's voice continues over the connection.
"The age gap is just a convenient excuse.
" Simon's tone sounds flat through the speakers.
"The real issue is guilt. She feels like she's betraying her old Alphas by moving on.
Throw in the bond rejection sickness, and her brain must be spinning.
She knows she has to sleep with us to keep the fever from killing us. "
Will she ever love us? Are we just a survival tactic for her right now? I stare at the red taillights ahead of us. We can love her enough for all of us. We are different men. We must prove we're worth loving, too.
"We put in the work. We keep showing up until she realizes we are here for good." Simon's voice fills the cab before the line goes quiet.
Coach Sampson runs us through defensive drills for three hours before making us run line sprints across the ice. My legs feel like lead by the time Coach keeps Simon and Wally behind to review penalty kill footage.
"Go ahead and take off. Simon and I will drive the SUV back as soon as we finish with Coach." Wally pulls his practice jersey over his head.
"See you guys this afternoon." I bump my fist against his shoulder.
After a fast shower and changing into my street clothes, I grab my keys from my locker. I pull my baseball cap low and head out to my truck, glad to have my own wheels so I can drive straight to the local hardware store to start my project.
Being a pro player in this city means dealing with hockey fans everywhere, even surrounded by contractors and tools.
I pull a flatbed cart down the aisles, grabbing premium outdoor-grade pressure-treated pine to hold up against the weather.
I load the cart up with the stacked lumber, boxes of exterior screws, metal joist brackets, a bucket of deep amber wood stain, a gallon of clear outdoor sealant, a bottle of deck cleaner, two wide paintbrushes, and a package of blue concrete screws.
"Kel Lars?" An older guy in a grease-stained canvas apron stops his cart at the end of the aisle, staring under the brim of my cap before his eyes drop to the pile of pine boards on my flatbed.
"Yeah, that's me." I pull my cap down a fraction, keeping my hand on the handle of the flatbed.
"Great shift the other night, man. I'm Jerry." The contractor steps closer and grips my hand with a calloused palm. "You guys need to lock down that neutral zone next week. The Bears are going to choke your wingers if you let them set up the trap."
"Good to meet you." I match his firm squeeze, offering a brief nod. "Our line spent all morning reviewing their neutral zone trap. We have a plan to dump and chase more to bypass their center."
"Good. Force their defensemen to turn." Jerry smiles, looking down my flatbed before tapping a stack of the pine boards with a knuckle. "You building a deck with all this pressure-treated?"
"A wheelchair ramp for a front porch. I want it to look clean, so I grabbed some stain and sealant, too." I adjust my grip on the handle of the cart.
"Good choice on the pine. You're going to want some deck cleaner to wash off the treatment chemicals and mill glaze, though. It opens the wood pores so the stain sinks in." Jerry points toward the paint aisle down the way.
"I have the deck cleaner right here in my cart. I'll wash the boards first." I nod, appreciating the trade advice.
"Smart man. Go kick some ass next week." Jerry gives my shoulder a firm tap and wheels his cart down the aisle.
I push my flatbed toward the checkout lanes at the front of the store.
Forklifts beep in the distance, and the smell of fresh timber follows me to the registers.
I steer into an open lane. Leaving the thick stack of lumber on the flatbed cart, I set just the smaller items, the bucket of stain, the deck cleaner, and the boxes of screws, onto the conveyor belt.
"Nice win against the Rooks. Kick some ass in the playoffs, Lars." The cashier, an older man with a Reapers lanyard around his neck, scans the smaller items on the belt.
"Count on it." I pull my wallet out of my back pocket as he grabs a wireless scanning wand from the side of the register. He walks around the counter to scan the barcodes printed on the ends of the pine boards on my flatbed.
I tap my card against the terminal screen.
The machine beeps, confirming the payment.
He tears the slip of paper from the printer and slides my receipt across the counter.
I grab the slip, wheel the flatbed out to the parking lot, and toss the supplies into the bed of my truck before driving back to the house.
The afternoon sun bakes the driveway. I back the truck all the way up and unload the supplies in the front yard, carrying the lumber over to the porch.
The solid wooden door of the shed creaks open.
The workspace smells like sawdust and old memories.
Hale built a solid wooden workbench along the back wall, complete with a mounted miter saw.
I grab a measuring tape, the power drill, and a leather tool belt.
The guy took damn good care of his shop.
I respect that. I plan to put it to use for his family today.