Chapter 13
Stan
But the real cost wasn't physical. It was mental.
The scouts had been there. I had played well—disciplined, focused—but I felt their eyes. I felt the weight of the expectations I was carrying, the precarious house of cards I had built.
We were staying in a hotel in downtown Denver. The team was celebrating on the second floor—pizza, video games, the usual post-game adrenaline dump.
I wasn't on the second floor.
I was in room 405. Alone.
Or I was supposed to be.
The door clicked open. I didn't turn from the window where I was watching the snow fall on the city lights. I knew who it was. I knew her step pattern. I knew the hitch in her breath when she was nervous.
"You bribed the front desk guy for a key card," I said to the glass.
"I told him I was your wife and I forgot my key," Rachel said. "He believed me. Said we make a cute couple. Apparently, I look like a 'Mrs. Kowalski'."
I turned around.
She was standing there in her coat, shivering slightly, holding a brown paper bag. She looked... beautiful. Tired, yes. Worn down by the travel and the secrecy. But beautiful.
"My wife," I tested the word. It felt heavy. Dangerous. "Bold lie, Miller."
"It got me in the elevator," she shrugged, locking the door behind her. She walked over to the bed and sat down, kicking off her boots. "I brought you a peace offering. Donuts. From that Voodoo place down the street."
"I don't eat donuts," I said automatically. "Sugar crash."
"Eat the damn donut, Stan," she said softly. "You scored the game-winning goal. You earned a carb."
I walked over and sat on the edge of the bed next to her. I didn't take the bag. I just looked at her hands. They were red from the cold.
I took her hands in mine and rubbed them, trying to transfer my heat to her.
"Why are you here?" I asked quietly. "You should be with the other trainers. Celebrating."
"I don't want to celebrate with them," she said. "I want to celebrate with you. Besides... you looked lonely in the tunnel."
"I'm always lonely in the tunnel," I said. "It's part of the job description."
She pulled her hands away and reached up to cup my face.
"It doesn't have to be."
I closed my eyes, leaning into her touch. It was so easy. Too easy.
"Rachel," I whispered. "I need to tell you something. Something I haven't told anyone. Not even Coach."
She went still. "Okay. I'm listening."
I stood up and paced to the window again. I needed distance. I needed to look at the cold city to say the words.
"The Red Ice incident," I started. "Everyone thinks it was rage. Everyone thinks I just... snapped because of the hit."
"I know," she said. "You told me. You felt the snap."
"That's the clean version," I said. "The version I tell myself so I can sleep at night."
I pressed my forehead against the cold glass.
"The truth is... I enjoyed it before the hit. I enjoyed it during the hit. And I enjoyed it after."
I turned to look at her.
"My wolf... he isn't just aggressive, Rachel. He's sadistic. That's the part my father bred into us. The Kowalski line... we were the executioners for the old Packs. We were the ones they sent in when they needed something dead."
Rachel didn't flinch. She just watched me, her hazel eyes unblinking.
"Go on," she said.
"When I hit that kid freshman year," I continued, forcing the words out past the lump in my throat, "I didn't just want to hurt him. I wanted to... taste him. I smelled his fear, and it was the sweetest thing I had ever smelled. It was better than sex. Better than winning."
I shuddered.
"That's why I'm terrified of the bond, Rachel. That's why I push you away. Because if I bond to you... if I let you all the way in... what happens when we fight? What happens when you smell like fear? Will I want to comfort you? Or will I want to break you?"
I waited for the horror. I waited for her to grab her coat and run. To realize that she was dating a monster who got off on pain.
Rachel stood up.
She walked across the room. She didn't stop until she was standing right in front of me.
She reached out and took my hand. She placed it on her throat. Right over her pulse.
"Squeeze," she said.
"What?" I recoiled. "No."
"Do it," she commanded. "Just a little. Enough to feel it."
I hesitated. My hand was trembling. Slowly, terrifyingly, I tightened my grip. Just a fraction. Just enough to feel the delicate flutter of her life under my palm.
"What do you feel, Stan?" she asked. Her voice was steady. Calm.
"Your pulse," I whispered. "It's fast."
"Are you hungry?" she asked. "Does it make you want to hurt me?"
I looked into her eyes. I searched deep inside myself, past the human logic, down to the Wolf.
I sniffed.
I smelled her vanilla. I smelled her trust.
Did I want to break her?
No.
I wanted to shield her. I wanted to tear apart anything else that threatened her.
"No," I choked out. "God, no. I just want to... keep it beating."
She smiled. A sad, knowing smile.
"See?" she whispered. "You aren't your ancestors, Stan. You aren't an executioner. You're a protector. The violence is there, yes. But you choose where to aim it. You aim it outward. Not inward."
She covered my hand with hers, holding it against her throat for another second before gently pulling it away and kissing my palm.
"You are not a monster," she said fiercely. "You are just a man with a heavy sword. And I trust you to wield it."
I broke.
I fell to my knees in front of her. I wrapped my arms around her waist and buried my face in her stomach.
I cried.
Not the silent, stoic tears of the arena. Great, heaving sobs that shook my whole body. I cried for the boy who had been terrified of himself for three years. I cried for the loneliness. I cried for the relief of finally being seen.
Rachel held me. She stroked my hair. She murmured soft, nonsensical things.
"I've got you," she whispered. "Let it out. I've got you, Stasiu."
We stayed like that for a long time. Me on my knees, stripped bare, and her standing tall, holding the weight of my soul without buckling.
When the storm passed, I felt... empty. Scoured clean.
I looked up at her.
"You really aren't scared," I said wonderingly.
"I'm terrified," she admitted, wiping a tear from my cheek. "But not of you. I'm terrified of losing you. I'm terrified that the world won't let us have this."
I stood up. I pulled her into my arms.
"They can try," I promised. "But they'll have to go through me."
I kissed her. It was a soft, salty kiss.
"Let's get out of here," I said.
"Where?"
"Anywhere. Just... not this hotel. I need air."
"Okay. Let's drive."
We drove out of the city, toward the mountains. The snow had stopped, leaving the world white and silent under the moonlight.
I drove aimlessly for an hour, just holding her hand across the center console.
Eventually, we pulled off at a scenic overlook. We were high up. The air was thin and cold.
I turned off the truck.
"Stan?" Rachel asked, looking at the stars.
"Yeah?"
"What happens after?"
"After what?"
"After graduation," she said. "After the draft. If you go to Detroit... or Chicago... what happens to us?"
It was the question I had been avoiding. The third rail.
"I don't know," I admitted.
"Do you want me to come with you?" she asked. Her voice was small. Vulnerable.
I turned to look at her.
"Rachel. If I go to Mars, I want you to come with me."
She laughed. "Mars has terrible cell reception."
"Serious answer," I said, reaching out to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. "I can't imagine a version of my life where you aren't in it. When I think about the NHL... the travel, the pressure... it all seems impossible without you. You're the only reason I can breathe."
"But your dad..."
"My dad is the past," I said. "You're the future."
"And the Pack?"
"I'll deal with the Pack," I said. "If I have to leave... if I have to become a Rogue to be with you... I will."
She gasped. "Stan. You can't. A Rogue has no protection. No territory."
"I don't need territory," I said. "I just need you."
I leaned over and kissed her.
"Marry me," I whispered against her lips.
She froze. "What?"
"Not now," I said quickly. "I mean... eventually. One day. Be my mate. In every sense of the word. Let me bond you. Let me give you my name. Let me buy you a house with a big yard for... for pups."
"Pups?" She choked out a laugh, tears spilling over. "You want pups?"
"I want everything," I said. "I want the whole damn fairytale, Rachel. And I want it with you."
She threw her arms around my neck.
"Yes," she sobbed. "Yes. One day. Pups and everything."
We kissed in the moonlight, sealing a promise that felt unbreakable.
We sat there for another hour, talking about houses (she wanted a porch, I wanted a gym) and dog names (she wanted 'Fluffy', I wanted 'Killer'). It was perfect. It was a fantasy.
But as I drove us back to the hotel, watching her sleep in the passenger seat, a cold knot formed in my stomach.
Because I knew my father.
And I knew he wouldn't let me go without a fight.
The fantasy was beautiful. But the nightmare was waiting.