13. Daisy
Chapter 13
T he morning starts like any other. The house is quiet, save for the soft coos and gurgles coming from William as I hold him close, rocking him slightly while I prepare his bottle. His tiny hands fist the fabric of my pajama top, his head resting against my shoulder. He’s warm, his little body relaxed against mine, but that won’t last long. The second he realizes his bottle isn’t ready, he’s going to let me know just how displeased he is.
“Almost done, sweet boy.” I press a kiss to the soft brown curls atop his head before testing the bottle’s temperature on my wrist. Satisfied, I shift him in my arms, cradling him to feed him. His eyes light up when he sees the bottle, his mouth opening before it even reaches his lips. I can’t help but smile as he latches on, sucking greedily.
This has become our routine. Early mornings together. Nate and Calvin headed out around the same time we woke up to hit the gym before practice, and Peter’s one town over for business, not due back until the evening. I don’t mind the alone time, though. It’s peaceful like this, just me and Will, the morning light filtering through the kitchen window as I sway gently, letting him eat his fill.
My phone vibrates on the counter. I ignore it at first, too focused on Will. But then it vibrates again. And again. And again.
A frown tugs at my lips. With Will’s bottle still in one hand, I shift enough to grab my phone, unlocking it to see what’s happening. My notifications are flooded.
Instagram, Facebook, Even Twitter I mean... X which I haven’t used in years.
Thousands of new followers. Comments rolling in so fast I can’t keep up. My stomach clenches as I scroll, my pulse kicking up. It doesn’t take long to figure out why.
The photos.
The ones Calvin and I took with fans in that little lakeside town have spread like wildfire. Some are innocent enough—just a smiling couple posing with a well-known goalie. But others… others have headlines slapped across them.
Pack Mates Nate Blake and Calvin James’ Secret Omega?
Vipers’ Stars Off the Market! Meet the Puck Bunny Who Stole Their Hearts.
Is This Omega Puck Bunny just in it for 15 Seconds of Fame?
I frown. What the fuck is a Puck Bunny?
Peter is going to lose his mind.
He’d wanted to announce things properly, to control the narrative before the media could twist it. But now? The cat is well and truly out of the bag.
I glance down at Will, still happily drinking, unaware of the storm brewing outside our little bubble. With a quiet sigh, I scroll through the comments, trying to gauge the public reaction. Some are supportive, but of course, there are the usual trolls, the ones questioning everything.
Then, suspiciously, my phone rings.
Freda.
My stomach knots. I let it go to voicemail.
A few moments later, it rings again.
A second call that fast? That’s not normal. My grip tightens around the phone. For a split second, I wonder if something happened—if she finally left Brent and needs help. Against my better judgment, I swipe to answer.
“Hello?”
“Daisy! Oh my God, I saw your name in, like, five different articles this morning.” Freda’s voice is chipper, excited even, as if the month never happened. As if she didn’t cut me off when I needed her most. “I can’t believe you never told me you presented late. Unless you’re just a Beta sleeping with Alphas? How does that even work?”
My jaw tightens. I want to tell her it’s none of her damn business, but I force a breath through my nose and keep my tone even. “I’ve been busy. It slipped my mind.”
Freda hums, unconvinced. “We don’t talk anymore. I don’t like that. Now that everything’s worked out, we should fix that.”
I’m not sure I trust that sudden change of heart, but before I can respond, she continues.
“We still have your favorite armchair, you know. Brent’s been talking about bringing it by in his truck.”
I blink. That chair was the one thing I regretted not taking. It would go perfectly in my nest. But Brent loves that chair. Why would he give it up?
“Really?” I ask cautiously.
“Yeah. Why don’t we bring it by tonight? We can have dinner, catch up.”
My fingers tighten around the phone. I should say no. I should keep my distance. But the chair…
And maybe, just maybe, I need to see if this is real. If she actually wants to fix things or if she has another motive.
“Okay,” I say slowly. “Dinner tonight, seven. I'll text you the address.”
“Perfect! See you then.”
She hangs up before I can second-guess myself.
I stare at my phone, still half in shock, before shaking myself out of it. I need to tell the guys.
Daisy:
Freda and Brent are coming over for dinner tonight. They’re bringing my armchair.
It takes less than a minute for the responses to roll in.
Nate:
If he puts one toe out of line, he’s getting a reminder of what happens when you piss off an Alpha.
Calvin:
We talking a casual warning, or full-blown intimidation tactics?
Peter:
If this is what you want, Daisy, we’ll be civil. But you know our stance on him.
I sigh, shaking my head as I type back.
Daisy:
I appreciate the protective streak, but behave. I’ll handle dinner.
I set my phone down, turning my attention back to Will, who’s finished his bottle and is now staring up at me with wide, sleepy eyes.
“What do you think, buddy?” I shift him to my shoulder to burp him. “Is this a bad idea?”
He makes a small noise, content and unconcerned.
I wish I felt the same.
The evening arrives faster than I expect. One moment, I’m prepping vegetables and seasoning the roast, the next I’m pulling it from the oven, the aroma filling the kitchen with rich, savory warmth. I set the pan on the counter to rest, stepping back with a satisfied sigh.
Dinner is ready—roast with perfectly roasted vegetables, a side salad, and a fresh loaf of bread I picked up earlier. It’s simple but homey, something I hope will keep the evening smooth. If Brent and Freda show up on time, we won’t have to worry about the food getting cold.
Will’s already down for the night, and if I’m lucky, he’ll sleep straight through until at least midnight before he needs his next feeding. Still, I keep the baby monitor close, resting it on the corner of the counter where I can easily glance at the screen.
Strong arms wrap around my waist, the scent of sandalwood and leather filling my senses as Nate presses against my back. His lips brush my shoulder before he murmurs, “You look beautiful.”
I smile, warmth blooming in my chest. I went with a simple soft yellow dress, casual but nice enough for dinner guests.
“Thank you." I lean into him.
He hums in approval before reaching over my shoulder, swiping a piece of potato straight from the roast pan.
“Nate—”
His smug grin vanishes the second the heat registers, his eyes going wide as he quickly tosses the potato from one hand to the other before shoving it into his mouth with a muffled curse.
I laugh, shooing him away with a flick of my towel. “That’s what you get for stealing from the pan.”
He grins and gives me a wink before backing out of the kitchen.
Peter steps in just as Nate disappears through the double doors, his crisp dress shirt still unbuttoned at the collar, his tie long abandoned. He’s been home for a few hours now, long enough to shower and settle in, but I know his mind has been elsewhere.
Peter steps closer, his hands sliding into his pockets as he nods toward the dining room. "I set the table."
“Thank you.” My gratitude genuine. Peter might not always show his affection the same way the others do, but moments like this remind me how much he cares.
Calvin appears next, dressed in business casual attire, something that looks odd on him compared to his usual relaxed wardrobe. Tension clings to his frame as he scans the kitchen. He holds a wine bottle. Without a word, he pulls open a drawer, rummaging through it.
I frown. “Looking for something?”
“The wine opener,” he mutters, his voice tight.
I grab it from the counter and hold it out to him. “Here.”
His fingers brush mine as he takes it, but he doesn’t move right away. Something’s off. “Cal, what’s wrong?”
He heaves a sigh before setting the wine down with a little more force than necessary. “The dude better be on his best behavior.”
I sigh, wiping my hands on a towel before turning to him. “Cal, come on. You haven’t even met him yet.”
“Don’t need to.” He crosses his arms, leaning against the counter. “I trust you, Daisy, but I also know what you’ve told us. And if this guy so much as looks at you the wrong way, I’m putting him through a wall.”
I press my lips together, torn between appreciation and exasperation. I know their protectiveness comes from a good place, but I also don’t want them going in with their minds already made up.
“Just… try to be civil? For me?”
Calvin sighs but nods. “Fine. But I’m keeping an eye on him.”
I don’t bother arguing further. That’s probably the best I’m going to get.
Footsteps echo from the hall, followed by Nate’s voice calling out, “They just pulled up.”
I take a deep breath, smoothing my hands over my dress. Here goes nothing.
Before I can even get the front door open, Nate and Calvin step past me, opening it to head out and grab the chair from the truck bed. Brent grins as they lift it easily between them, the sheer size of the piece making it a little awkward to maneuver through the doorway. They leave it in the entry for now, tucked against the wall near the coat rack.
"Damn, you guys are even bigger in person!" Brent's eyes sparkling as he looks between Nate and Calvin. "Man, I knew you were built, but seriously, what do they feed you?"
Nate smirks, stretching his arms behind his head. "Nothing special. Just a lot."
Brent shakes his head in amazement before his gaze shifts and lands on Peter, who has stepped into the hallway, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his slacks. Brent's entire body stiffens before he practically vibrates in place.
"Holy shit. No way. Peter Sinclair." He points, eyes wide. "Daisy, you didn’t tell me you worked for that Peter Sinclair. This is insane. Dude, I followed your whole career. That knee injury, man… brutal. Bet you would’ve had another five, six years easy without it."
Peter’s expression doesn’t change. "Nice to meet you, Brent."
Brent barrels ahead, oblivious to the shift in energy. "Dude, you were one of the best captains the Vipers ever had. No offense, Nate. That OT goal in the championship run? Legendary. You ever think about coaching? Bet you could whip these guys into shape."
The air turns razor sharp. I see the shift in Peter’s shoulders, the tension in his jaw. His words will be cutting if I don’t step in.
"Dinner’s ready!" I announce, forcing brightness into my voice. "Freda, want to help me bring everything to the table?"
She lights up. "Of course!"
"Peter, why don't you show Brent to the table?" I brush past him and whisper. "Be nice, please."
I lead her back toward the kitchen, my pulse still racing. Brent might not have meant anything by it, but bringing up Peter’s injury so casually is like throwing salt in a wound.
Freda hums as she picks up the salad bowl. "You were holding out on me."
I grab the platter with the roast, frowning. "What do you mean?"
"Your bosses! They are hot. " She fans herself. "No wonder you gave in. I mean, three Alphas? Who could resist that?"
The implication stings. I grip the platter tighter than necessary. "It didn’t happen like that."
She rolls her eyes, playful but dismissive. "Right. Sure. But seriously, you’re one lucky girl."
I don’t respond. I just push through the double doors leading to the dining room, setting the roast down in the center of the table. Freda follows, placing the salad next to it.
Brent is already in a chair, arms crossed over his chest. "Hope you’ve improved in the kitchen since you lived with us."
My stomach tightens, but I plaster on a smile as I take my seat. "Guess you’ll have to be the judge of that."
As the meal starts, Brent zeroes in on Nate. "Man, I gotta know what’s it like being captain? Lot of pressure, right?"
Nate takes a bite of roast, chewing before answering. "Yeah. But it’s part of the job. Really good job on the roast, Daisy." Heat warms my cheeks. "Thank you."
Brent ignores his comment toward me. "And Calvin, best save percentage in the league last season. That’s wild. What’s your workout routine like? You do more weight training or agility drills?"
Calvin wipes his mouth with his napkin. "Both."
Brent barely pauses for breath before launching into another question. "Nate, do you ever think about switching up your play style? You’ve got great puck control, but I feel like you could be more aggressive on the rush. Have you ever thought about adjusting your positioning?"
Nate’s fork clinks against his plate as he sets it down. "I think I’m doing fine."
Brent nods as if he knows better. "Just saying, if you went a little harder on the forecheck, you’d create more turnovers. Might be worth trying."
Calvin leans back in his chair, arms crossed. "How long have you played hockey?"
Brent waves a hand. "Oh, I’ve never played. Just watch a lot."
Silence stretches across the table.
Peter is the first to break it, reaching for his wineglass. "Fascinating."
Brent either doesn’t catch the sarcasm or chooses to ignore it. He turns back to Nate. "So, about your power play setup—"
I cut in before he can get steamrolled. "Brent, how’s work? Still trading?"
He blinks, as if remembering I exist. "Yeah. Made a killing last week on a short sell. Market’s a mess, but if you know what you’re doing, there’s a lot of money to be made."
Freda smiles. "He’s being modest. He’s obsessed with the markets."
Brent grins, puffing his chest a little. "Risk and reward, babe. It’s all about timing."
Calvin lifts a brow. "Nice. And you still find time to analyze NHL plays? Impressive."
Brent misses the dry tone entirely. "Gotta have hobbies, man."
I push my food around my plate, feeling exhausted already. Freda and Brent didn’t come here for me. They came for them.
And now I just want the night to be over.
Peter swirls his wineglass, studying Brent with a detached interest that makes me nervous.
"So, you make your living off day trading?" His voice is smooth, unreadable.
Brent perks up, mistaking it for genuine interest. "Yeah, man. You have to be quick, always a step ahead. One bad call and poof." He snaps his fingers. "You're screwed."
Peter nods slowly. "Ah, yes. One impulsive buy or an ill-timed sell, and suddenly, you're back in your childhood bedroom, explaining to your parents why your grand plan to beat the market didn't quite pan out."
Brent chuckles. "Exactly, man! It’s all about timing."
I glance at Peter. That wasn't a joke.
Brent, oblivious, takes another bite of food. "But I know what I’m doing. Got a system."
Peter hums, sipping his wine. "Of course you do."
The conversation moves on, but the tension lingers. Brent shifts his focus back to me, smirking like he’s been waiting for the right moment to pounce.
"Hey, you still leave all the cupboard doors open when you cook?" he asks, amusement laced in his tone.
I blink, thrown by the random comment. "What?"
"Yeah," he says, gesturing with his fork to the kitchen doors. "Back when you lived with us, every time you made something, you’d leave every single door open. It was like walking into a horror movie kitchen. Used to drive me nuts."
I stare at him. Of all the things he could bring up, that’s what he’s choosing to dig at me over?
"I—" I start, but Nate cuts in first.
"That’s what you’re complaining about?" His voice is even, but there’s a sharp edge to it. "Cupboard doors?"
Calvin scoffs, setting his glass down. "Yeah, man, how dare she? Real menace to society."
Brent frowns, missing the sarcasm. "I’m just saying, it was annoying. Like, just close the damn doors."
Peter leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. "And in the grand scheme of things, you thought this was worth bringing up?"
Brent shifts uncomfortably. "I mean, it’s not a big deal, just—"
"You’re right," Peter continues smoothly. "It’s not a big deal. But you went out of your way to bring it up, which tells me you had nothing better to criticize her for."
Brent sputters, looking between them. "Jesus, I was just joking—"
"Nah, you weren’t." Calvin shakes his head, pushing his plate back. "You came here thinking you could treat her however you used to. Like she’s the same girl who had to put up with your bullshit. Now she has us."
Nate, who has been silent too long, finally speaks. "You need to leave."
Brent blinks. "What?"
Nate stands, chair scraping against the floor. "I’m not going to sit here and listen to you take shots at Daisy in our home. So, get up, say your goodbyes, and get the hell out before we have a real problem."
Brent looks to Freda for support, but she just shrinks into her seat, eyes darting toward me. "Daisy, I—"
"Save it," I cut in, standing as well. "Don’t reach out to me again unless you leave him."
Freda’s face falls, but she doesn’t argue. Brent huffs, standing like he’s the one inconvenienced, muttering something under his breath as he storms toward the door. Freda follows, pausing just long enough to glance back at me, but I don’t say anything else.
The second the door shuts behind them, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. My pulse still races, my hands tremble. The guys stay quiet for a beat, giving me space to process, but then Calvin moves first, reaching out to pull me into his chest.
"That guy was a dick. His hold is firm, grounding me. "I don’t know how you put up with him as long as you did."
I exhale against him, closing my eyes for a second. "I don’t either."
Peter steps closer, his hand brushing down my back. "You okay?"
I nod against Calvin before shifting to look at all three of them. Nate is still tense, his hands clenched at his sides, jaw tight. I know him well enough now to see that he’s still fighting the urge to go after Brent. He wanted to do worse than just kick him out.
I reach for him first, fingers curling around his wrist. His eyes flick to mine, some of the tension eases from his body and his expression softens.
"I’m good," I squeeze lightly. "Really. I mean it."
He exhales, nodding, then lifts my hand to kiss my palm.
The warmth that spreads through me is different this time. Deeper. More certain. I glance between the three of them, my heart hammering, the words forming before I can second-guess myself.
"My next heat is in two weeks." I swallow, steadying myself. "I want you all to mark me."
All three of them still.
Calvin comes closer, wrapping his arm around my waist from behind. "You sure?"
I meet his gaze, then Peter’s, then Nate’s. "Yes. I want to be yours. Officially."
Nate gives a relieve sigh the remaining tension leaves his body. Peter watches me carefully, but there’s no hesitation, only certainty when he finally nods. Calvin grins and kisses the top of my head.
"Then it’s settled," he murmurs. "Two weeks."
I know this is exactly where I’m meant to be. They are my pack, my family.