9. Ivy #2
"Except me," Thane says, squeezing himself onto the other end of the couch, crossing his legs to try to take up less space. "Are we really going to stare into each other's eyes the entire time?"
"Yep," I say cheerfully. "Want to put on some TV?"
"Uh, yeah. Sure," Thane says, flipping it on and scrolling through the channels until he lands on some trashy reality show where everyone stranded on a deserted island is an alpha, and they're trying to figure out which of the survivors is an omega.
The catch is, none of them are.
They're all alphas.
No one changes the channel.
We stay like this for a while, enjoying our food and the absolute trash on the screen, watching people make catastrophically bad decisions on television. It's domestic and normal, and everything I never thought I'd have again.
The show cuts to commercial. Local news anchors appear on screen, their practiced smiles too bright for the gray morning.
"The upcoming matchup between the Ghosts and the Demons has hockey fans buzzing," the male anchor announces. "It's one of the biggest games of the season, with both teams fighting for playoff positioning."
My stomach drops.
The screen cuts to footage of Wade. He's in his element, full of confidence and power, looking like Superman on ice with his perfect blond hair and million-watt smile, executing plays with the kind of brutal certainty that made him a star.
The camera loves him.
The crowd loves him.
They have no idea what he is.
"The Demons' Wade Kelly has struggled since his fiancée's disappearance," the female anchor continues, her expression appropriately concerned. "But sources say he's channeling that pain into his game. He's playing some of the best hockey of his career."
"Bullshit," Thane mutters.
The broadcast shifts to footage of the Ghosts. I see Thane making a save, Wraith demolishing someone against the boards, Plague and Whiskey executing a perfect play and Whiskey giving Plague a high-five that's clearly unwanted.
Then footage of Valek from his previous team, scoring a goal with a wolfish grin. He stares into the camera as the news segment ends.
Some commercial for a cooking show comes on, and I reach for the remote to mute it.
"We need to talk about the game," I say quietly.
Behind me, Wraith goes rigid. Thane's expression shutters.
"I know what you're both thinking. And I know you want to…" I trail off, searching for the right word. "I know you want to handle Wade. Make him pay for what he did."
"Of course we do," Thane says flatly.
Wraith growls in agreement behind me.
"I know." I sigh. "But you can't do anything to him during the game. Either of you."
"Ivy—"
"No." My voice comes out sharper than I intend it to. "Listen to me. Wade is looking for a reason to make you the bad guys. To paint himself as the victim. If you go after him on the ice, if you hurt him, it gives him exactly what he wants. You could end up in prison. I'm serious."
Thane sets his jaw, but he's listening.
"The best way to protect me right now is to not give Wade ammunition," I continue. "If Valek is being honest, he doesn't know I'm here. We need to be safe. And you guys need to stay out of jail. Okay?"
Thane opens his mouth, then closes it, looking away.
Wraith is completely silent. Not even growling.
I fix Thane with my firmest look and reach back to put my hand on Wraith's arm since I can't exactly see him around the pillow wall. "Promise me. Both of you. No revenge plays. No 'accidents.' No targeting Wade."
Thane's jaw works like he's chewing glass. "Fine. I promise."
I turn my head slightly toward where Wraith sits, waiting. I feel his shoulders slump in defeat and he holds his hand up to sign to me.
P-R-O-M-I-S-E.
"Good." I sink back against him. "Because I'm having this same conversation with Plague and Whiskey when they get here."
"Oh, that should be fun," Thane mutters. "Whiskey's going to love being told he can't punch Wade in the face."
"He'll deal." I grab my phone, already composing a message to the group chat. "I'll tell him right now."
The reply is almost immediate.
WHISKEY
WHAT DO YOU MEAN I CAN'T PUNCH HIM
THAT'S LITERALLY THE WHOLE REASON I'M DRAGGING MY ASS BACK TO TOWN
IVY
No it isn't. You have a big game. Just focus on winning and kicking his ass that way for now.
WHISKEY
But consider
What if I punch him just a little
Like barely a punch
More of an aggressive tap
PLAGUE
No.
IVY
NO.
THANE
Absolutely not.
WHISKEY
You guys are such fuckin killjoys wtfffff
This is oppression
I can't help but laugh at Whiskey's dramatics. Beside me, I feel Wraith's chest shake with silent laughter too, even though I know he's stressed the fuck out.
"He's not going to listen, is he?" Thane sighs.
"He will," I mutter, setting the phone down and settling back against Wraith.
He puts his plate on the coffee table and I feel him tugging his mask back up.
The pillow wall comes down as he turns back to face me, his arms sliding around my waist, holding me close.
Thane sprawls against my other side, draping a massive arm over my legs while his own legs dangle over the armrest, looking more relaxed than I've seen him since we left for Cedarbrook.
The rain continues its steady drumming against the windows. The trash TV drones on. And for just this moment, surrounded by these two alpha brothers who I know won't let Wade anywhere near me, I let myself believe everything might actually work out.
The game's in less than a week.
Wade will be there.
My past and my future colliding on ice while thousands watch.