Chapter 13
Spike
The storm had followed us.
Outside the windows of the cheap motel room, the wind battered the glass, throwing ice pellets against the pane like gravel. It was a fitting soundtrack for the chaos in my head.
We weren't supposed to be here. We were supposed to be back at the Hive, celebrating the end of the semester. But after the loss to the Badgers, after the confession in the art studio, neither of us wanted to face the campus.
So we drove. We drove until the city lights faded and the mountain roads turned dark and treacherous. We ended up here, at the Pine Ridge Motor Inn, a place that smelled of lemon polish and stale cigarettes, three towns over from IMU.
It was perfect. It was anonymous.
I sat on the edge of the queen-sized bed, staring at my hands. They were still wrapped in white tape from the game, the fabric frayed and dirty. I started to peel it off, the sound of tearing adhesive loud in the quiet room.
Riley was in the bathroom. I could hear the shower running, the pipes groaning in the walls.
I love you.
I had said it. I had actually said it.
The words felt huge in my chest, expanding to fill the empty spaces the loss had carved out. But they also felt terrifying. Love was a tether. Love was leverage. My father had loved my mother, and that love had twisted into the very thing that destroyed her.
The bathroom door creaked open. Steam billowed out, smelling of cheap floral soap.
Riley stepped into the room. She was wearing one of my t-shirts—it came down to her knees—and nothing else. Her hair was wet, slicked back from her face, exposing the delicate line of her jaw and the vulnerable curve of her neck.
She looked soft. Clean. Human.
She stopped when she saw me, her eyes tracking the tape I was shredding into a pile on the floor.
"You're brooding," she said softly.
"I'm thinking," I corrected.
"Same thing for you."
She walked over and sat on the bed next to me. The mattress dipped under her weight. She didn't touch me, but her presence was a physical warmth against my side.
"You want to talk about it?" she asked.
"Talk about what? The game? The scout? The fact that I'm currently hiding in a motel because I can't face my own team?"
"Talk about your dad," she said.
I froze. My hands stilled on the tape.
"You mentioned him in the studio," she continued, her voice steady but gentle. "You said you were listening to ghosts. What did he say to you, Spike?"
I looked at the peeling wallpaper. I looked at the flickering neon sign outside. I looked anywhere but at her.
"He called me," I admitted. "Before the exam."
"From prison?"
"Yeah. He saw the game against the Storm. He saw me stop."
"And?"
"And he told me I was weak," I rasped. "He told me that finding a Mate makes an Alpha vulnerable. He told me to leave you before I kill you."
Riley was silent for a long moment. I braced myself for the platitudes. He's crazy. Don't listen to him. That won't happen.
Instead, she reached out and took my hand—the one I had just freed from the tape. She interlaced her fingers with mine.
"Do you believe him?" she asked.
I turned to look at her. Her brown eyes were clear, searching.
"I have his blood, Riley," I whispered. "I have his temper. When the red haze takes over... when the Wolf is screaming for violence... I feel him in my head. It's like a virus. Unbound Madness isn't just psychological. It's genetic. It's inevitable."
"Tell me about him," she said. "Before."
"Before what?"
"Before the madness. Was he always a monster?"
I closed my eyes. A memory surfaced, unbidden. Sunlight. The smell of pine needles. A large hand guiding mine on a hockey stick.
"No," I said, my voice cracking. "He was... he was good. He was the strongest man I knew. He taught me how to skate on the pond behind our house. He used to carry my mom around the kitchen on his shoulders while she laughed. He loved her, Riley. He worshipped her."
I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat growing.
"That's the scary part. He didn't hate her.
He loved her too much. When the madness started...
it twisted that love. He became possessive.
Paranoid. He thought everyone was trying to take her.
He thought she was trying to leave him. He locked her in the house.
He stopped letting her see her friends."
I opened my eyes. I looked at Riley, seeing the parallels. The possessiveness. The jealousy. The need to lock her in a room to keep her safe.
"I see it in myself," I confessed. "When Henderson touched you... when Kyle cornered you... I didn't just want to stop them. I wanted to end them. I wanted to build a wall around you so high no one could ever see you again."
I pulled my hand away from hers, standing up to pace the small room.
"That's how it starts," I said, gesturing wildly. "First it's protection. Then it's control. Then it's a cage. And then..."
I stopped at the window, staring at my own reflection in the dark glass. The scar on my jaw looked stark white.
"Then you wake up with blood on your hands and the person you love is gone."
The silence in the room was heavy. Suffocating.
"Spike," Riley said.
I didn't turn.
"Come here."
"I can't."
"Spike. Look at me."
I turned slowly.
Riley was standing now. She had walked to the center of the room. She looked small in my shirt, her bare feet sinking into the carpet. But she stood tall.
"Your father isolated your mother," she said. "He cut her off from the world. He made her world small."
She took a step toward me.
"You pushed me to take the job with the team. You pushed me to stand up to Henderson. You dragged me to a party because you wanted me to have friends. You let me have a life outside of you."
She took another step.
"Madness is selfish," she repeated her words from the library. "You are selfless. You are afraid of becoming him, and that fear keeps you in check. Your father wasn't afraid. He thought he was right. You know you could be wrong. That's the difference."
She reached me. She placed her hands on my chest, right over the tattoo of the wolf.
"You are not a time bomb, Spike. You are a man who has been carrying a bomb for ten years, terrified to set it down. Let me help you carry it."
"It's too heavy," I whispered, tears blurring my vision. "It'll crush you."
"I'm stronger than I look," she said fiercely. "And I'm stubborn. I'm not going anywhere."
She stood on her tiptoes. She pulled my head down.
She kissed me.
It wasn't a sexual kiss. It was a baptism. It was soft, salty with my tears, and filled with a fierce, protective love that shattered the last of my defenses.
I broke.
I wrapped my arms around her, burying my face in her neck, and I wept.
I cried for my mother. I cried for the boy who had watched her die. I cried for the fear that had ruled my life for a decade.
Riley held me. She didn't shush me. She didn't pull away. She just held me, stroking my hair, humming a quiet, wordless tune against my skin.
We stood there for a long time, swaying slightly in the dark motel room, while the storm raged outside.
Finally, the tears stopped. I felt drained. Empty. But clean.
I pulled back, wiping my face with my arm. I felt embarrassed now, the Alpha pride kicking in late.
"Sorry," I muttered. "Snot and tears. Not exactly romantic."
Riley smiled. It was a soft, watery smile. "It's real. I like real."
She led me back to the bed. "Lie down."
I lay down on my back. She crawled in next to me, turning off the bedside lamp. The room plunged into darkness, save for the sliver of light from the bathroom door.
She rested her head on my chest, her hand playing with the hair on my arm.
"So," she whispered into the quiet. "What happens if you don't get drafted?"
The question hung in the air. The "What If."
"If I don't get drafted," I said, staring at the ceiling, "I lose the signing bonus. I lose the insurance. I can't afford the suppressants."
"There are generics," she said. "Dr. Aris talked about them in class."
"Generics don't work for Unbound lineage. I need the high-grade stuff. It's five grand a month, Riley. Without hockey... I can't pay that. I'd have to work three jobs just to stay sane."
"So you work three jobs," she said simply. "Or I get a grant. Or we move somewhere cheaper."
We.
"You'd leave with me?" I asked, turning my head to look at her silhouette. "If I fail? If I end up working construction in some nowhere town?"
"I'd go anywhere with you," she said. "I can do stats anywhere. I can teach anywhere."
She propped herself up on her elbow.
"Imagine it," she whispered. "A small house. Maybe near a lake. No scouts. No pressure. Just us. Maybe a dog. A real one, not a stuffed one."
"A dog," I repeated, the image blooming in my mind. "A big one. A mastiff."
"And a garden," she added. "I want to grow tomatoes. You can... chop wood. You're good at chopping wood."
I chuckled, a low rumble. "I can chop wood."
"And on Sundays," she continued, her voice dreamy, "we don't watch game tape. We sleep in. We make pancakes. We go for walks in the woods without worrying about who sees us."
It sounded perfect. It sounded like a fantasy.
"It sounds boring," I teased gently.
"Boring is good," she said. "Boring is safe. I want boring with you, Spike."
I reached up and tucked a curl behind her ear. My hand lingered on her cheek.
"I want that too," I admitted. "More than the NHL. More than the money."
"Then we'll make it happen," she said. "Draft or no draft. We'll figure it out."
She leaned down and kissed me again. This time, the kiss changed. It deepened. The comfort turned into heat. The emotional vulnerability sparked a physical need to be as close as possible.
"Make love to me," she whispered against my lips. "Slow. No rush."
"No rush," I promised.
I rolled over, pinning her beneath me. I took my time. I worshipped her body with my hands and my mouth. I learned the map of her skin—every scar, every ticklish spot, every sigh.
When I entered her, it wasn't a conquering. It was a homecoming. We moved together in a slow, steady rhythm, eyes locked, souls bared.
It was the most intimate moment of my life.
Afterward, we lay tangled in the sheets, limbs heavy, hearts full.
Riley fell asleep quickly, her breath puffing against my shoulder.
I stayed awake, watching the shadows dance on the ceiling.
I felt peace. For the first time in years, the Wolf was silent. The future didn't look like a cage; it looked like a garden with a big dog and a girl who loved me.
But as I started to drift off, a nagging thought pricked at the back of my mind.
My father knew about Riley. He knew she was my anchor.
And my father wasn't just a madman. He was smart.
Why had he called me? Why had he goaded me?
Leave her before you kill her.
It wasn't a warning. It was a threat.
I pulled Riley closer, wrapping my arms around her as if I could shield her from the world.
But I knew, deep down, that the world always found a way in.
And I had a terrible feeling that the storm outside was just the beginning.