21. Vayda #2
Leaving the two of them to the game, I head back into the kitchen. I grab the bowls of hot potatoes and crisp salad, carrying the food out through the sliding glass door. A quick stop at the grill retrieves the massive racks of ribs. I pile the feast onto the outdoor table.
Standing on the concrete patio, I smooth my hands down the front of my dress.
The meat rests on a wooden cutting board, glazed in a sticky barbecue sauce.
The potatoes steam in a ceramic bowl. Stacks of plates, silverware, and a cooler full of iced beers sit ready for the guys.
The shed waits in the far corner of the yard, packed with soft blankets and ready for us.
The rumble of a truck engine echoes down the street.
Kel's truck pulls into the driveway, and the engine cuts out. Three doors slam shut in rapid succession as boots hit the pavement. They walk around the side of the house, heading straight for the wooden gate of the backyard. They wear clean clothes. The scent of worn leather, amber, and bergamot rides the evening breeze, free of arena sweat. The Canval Reapers’ first line are home from their final practice.
The latch on the wooden gate clicks. The three of them step into the backyard. They wear clean clothes, their skin fresh from the arena showers. Exhaustion lines their faces, but their eyes track straight to the patio table and the feast waiting for them.
Simon inhales a deep breath, flaring his nostrils.
"Barbecue." Simon grins. He closes the distance to the patio and wraps his arms around my waist. He lifts me off my feet and spins me in a circle. "You're an absolute lifesaver."
"Put me down." I laugh and swat at his thick bicep.
Simon lets my feet hit the concrete. He takes a step back. His mischievous green eyes sweep over the dark green fabric of my sundress. He pushes a hand through his copper hair, sweeping the medium-length strands back from his face. He takes in my loose hair and the makeup on my face.
"You look incredible." Simon drops his voice to a low rumble.
Kel stops next to the patio table. His black hair sits pulled back in a man-bun, the sides buzzed close to his scalp to accentuate his strong jawline.
Ink from his chest tattoos peeks out from the collar of his t-shirt.
He trails his piercing gray eyes up my bare legs and meets my gaze. A wicked smirk spreads across his face.
"Green is your color." Kel bumps his shoulder against Simon.
Wally steps up close behind them. He takes in the effort I put into my appearance.
The possessive heat in his dark brown eyes makes my pulse jump.
A thick mop of dark, wavy curls falls over his olive forehead as he claims the space in front of me.
He wraps a massive hand around the back of my neck, tilting my face up to capture my mouth in a hot, demanding kiss.
He pulls back, his breath brushing against my cheek.
My cheeks burn, but I smile. I point toward the sliding glass door. "Go wash your hands. Dinner is ready."
Wally and Kel walk past us. They file into the house. The sound of running water and banter drifts from the kitchen sink. They return a minute later, grabbing cold bottles of beer from the cooler on the patio.
We gather around the outdoor table. The guys pile their plates with massive slabs of ribs, mountains of roasted potatoes, and scoops of salad.
They eat with the ravenous appetite of professional athletes burning thousands of calories a day.
The brown sugar and smoked paprika glaze caramelizes the edges of the meat, leaving sticky barbecue sauce coating their fingers.
I wipe a smudge of sauce from my thumb with a paper napkin. "You guys spend all your time talking about practice or game tape. Tell me a story about something else. How did the three of you meet? Did the Reapers put you on the same line right off the bat?"
"We forced their hand." Simon points a rib bone at Wally. "The front office stuck all the new draft picks in the same corporate apartment complex for development camp. Fifty rookies stood in one crowded lobby waiting for room assignments."
"Chaos everywhere." Kel laughs, wiping a spot of sauce from his thumb. "Everyone wanted to rip each other apart for a roster spot. Then Simon bumped into Wally at the check-in desk."
"I turned around to chew him out." Wally wipes his chin with a paper napkin. "But Kel stood right behind us. The wind shifted through the open front doors."
"The seabreeze scent hit all three of us at the exact same second." Simon takes a long pull from his beer. "The underlying pack bond snapped into place in an instant."
"We caught each other's true scent." Kel bares his teeth in a wicked grin. "Bergamot, worn leather, and amber. All tied together with that seabreeze undertone. The hostility melted into trust. We recognized each other as pack immediately."
"We grabbed our bags." Wally looks at his brothers. A warm, nostalgic look softens his face. "We demanded the front desk put us in the same suite. The coaches saw our synergy on the ice the next morning."
"The pack bond translates straight to our game.
" Simon taps his temple. "It feels like telepathy out there.
We anticipate every pass and every shot before it happens.
We started on the bottom lines that rookie season, but our scoring numbers forced the coaches to promote us.
We claimed the first line the very next year and dominated the ice. "
"Best day of my life." Kel bumps his shoulder against Simon. "We climbed the ranks together."
Eating a piece of a potato, I watch the three of them share their history.
They operate with a synchronized, ruthless focus on the ice, but sitting here, they are just three men who found their family.
Their connection extends beyond the arena.
It bleeds into the way they anticipate my needs and care for Brendan.
The gentle treatment they offer me makes my chest ache with affection.
The sun dips below the horizon. String lights hanging over the patio flare to life, casting a warm, golden glow across the table.
The evening air cools down. Crickets chirp in the grass near the fence.
The smell of smoked meat and sweet barbecue sauce mixes with their natural scents of leather, amber, and bergamot.
The guys slow their frantic eating pace. They lean back in their patio chairs. Simon rests his boots on the edge of a spare seat. Kel peels the label off his empty beer bottle. Wally watches me from across the table. His soulful dark brown eyes track my every movement.
Setting my fork down, I wipe my mouth with a napkin. I place my hands flat on the glass surface of the table. "I talked to Dr. Evans this afternoon." I keep my voice steady.
Three pairs of Alpha eyes lock onto my face. The casual banter dies in an instant. The intertwined scent of worn leather, amber, and bergamot spikes in the air, reacting to the serious tone in my voice.
I look at Wally, then Kel, then Simon. "He told me bonding with you guys helps Brendan. He told me that taking your marks will nullify the pheromones for Brendan. He would no longer be able to sense my Heats."
Simon lowers his boots to the concrete. He sits up straight.
"I made my choice." I lace my fingers together. My heart hammers against my ribs. "I want a permanent pack. I want to build a compound with you. I want to spend the rest of my life taking care of Brendan with you."
Kel grips the edge of the table. His knuckles turn white under the string lights.
"I'm ready." I meet Wally's gaze. "I want to bond tonight."
Quiet stretches across the patio. The magnitude of the statement hangs in the warm summer air. The tension shatters. The intoxicating aroma of absolute Alpha devotion floods the backyard.
Wally stands up. His patio chair scrapes against the concrete. He walks around the edge of the table. He stops right beside my chair and offers his large, callused hand.
I place my palm in his. He pulls me to my feet.
Kel and Simon stand in unison. They leave their empty plates on the table. They form a solid barrier of muscle and heat behind me.
"We want exactly the same thing." Wally squeezes my fingers. His dark eyes burn with a fierce, possessive affection. "Lead the way."
Turning away from the house, I guide Wally across the lawn. Kel and Simon follow a step behind. The cool air prickles across my bare arms, but the combined body heat radiating from the three men at my back chases the chill away. The soft grass cushions my steps in the dark.
We walk toward the far corner of the yard. The crickets resume their chirping, filling the quiet night with sound. The string lights from the patio cast long, distorted shadows across the lawn, pointing the way to the old workshop.
I guide them to the wooden door of the shed. I push it inward, step inside the dark space, and flick the wall switch. The overhead bulbs hum to life, casting a warm, yellow light over the concrete floor.
Wally stops in the doorway. Kel and Simon flank him.
They know this room intimately. We survived my last two Heats tangled together on a bare mattress out here, and Kel spends his free afternoons standing at these workbenches.
But tonight, they freeze at the sight of the massive, overlapping nest of soft blankets and plush pillows built right in the center of the floor.
The familiar scent of Kel's cedar sawdust mixes with the aroma of fresh laundry.
"I built a proper nest." I step onto the edge of the thick comforters, kicking my sandals off. "I wanted a comfortable space for us tonight. A place to claim each other and really take our time."
We step into the shed. The cool air inside the room feels miles away from the heat of the summer evening. Simon pushes the wooden door shut, blocking out the sound of the crickets. The space holds the scent of fresh cedar.