31. Wren
WREN
Children race across the concourse in oversized Valehurst Kings jerseys, sneakers squeaking against the polished floor while parents trail after them carrying hot chocolates and raffle tickets.
Volunteers dart between booths, clutching clipboards and boxes of merchandise.
Somewhere near the entrance, the mascot is being mobbed by a swarm of shrieking kids while music pulses through the speakers overhead, loud enough to make the glass display cases vibrate faintly.
Every single part of this youth charity weekend is running exactly the way it’s supposed to.
“Wren!” I pivot just in time for one of the volunteers to nearly crash into me. “We’re running low on wristbands at the west entrance.”
“There’s another box beneath the registration table,” I answer immediately.
“Right. Got it,” she hurries before racing off.
I barely have time to take a breath before someone else stops me.
“The line for photo ops with the players is backing up into the concession stands.”
I follow toward where she is pointing, noting the impending disaster.
“Start ticketing people in line,” I tell her. “They can come back when their number is called, meaning they aren’t wasting time and concessions doesn’t get congested.”
“On it.”
Another fire extinguished before it can spread.
I should probably be stressed. Actually, I know I should be stressed.
This entire weekend has taken weeks of planning, endless emails, scheduling nightmares, sponsor negotiations, volunteer coordination, media management, player appearances, transportation logistics, security clearances, and approximately six hundred last-minute changes that nearly made me lose my mind.
But standing here now, watching it all unfold?
I feel…good.
More than good. I feel alive.
The realization hits me unexpectedly as I step aside to let a group of children rush past me toward one of the interactive shooting stations set up near the practice rink.
I love this. Not just seeing the fruits of my labor, but the coordination, the grinding, the way all the separate pieces click together to create something bigger. I love the energy in the building. The smiles on people’s faces. The unmistakable feeling of being part of something meaningful.
A warm hand settles against my lower back as someone passes behind me.
“Careful, Little Moth.” Lucian’s voice slides over my skin like dark velvet. I glance over my shoulder to find him grinning down at me in full Kings gear, his damp hair pushed back from his face indicating he’s just stepped off the ice after one of the youth drills.
Unfortunately for my rapidly deteriorating composure, sweat darkens the collar of his compression shirt. Which really should not affect me the way it does, but suddenly the idea of running my tongue up his neck is all consuming.
“You’re staring,” he says smugly.
Blinking out of my trance, I roll my eyes. “You wish.”
His grin only widens. “You’ve been bossing me around this entire arena all weekend,” he says, before moving closer. The smell of sweat, bergamot, and burnt spice sends a shiver rolling down my spine. “It’s kinda hot.” He smirks. “Makes me want you to boss me around in the bedroom.”
“Lucian!” I chastise, smacking my hand against his chest, even as I wish we were alone so I could do what I secretly want, and pull his lips to mine and see just how far he would let me go with bossing him around before he’d lose all control. “There are people around!”
He scoffs, brushing his lips across mine in a teasing touch.
“If you think that would stop me, you don’t know me at all, Little Moth.
” Pressing his lips to mine in a firmer touch, he adds, “The only thing holding me back is knowing you’re proving yourself to the idiots here who don’t have faith in you. ”
He glances toward the far side of the room, his gaze darkening. Following him, I spot Dean Carver lurking on the outskirts of the chaos, much like he has all weekend.
“He’s just waiting for me to mess up,” I grouse.
“Well, he’ll be waiting a long time then.
You’re kicking ass, and you look hot as hell doing it.
” His gaze drops to take in the wide-legged linen pants I have on, paired with a fitted cream blouse tucked in at the waist. Combined with my low heels, I must admit, I’m emitting hot girl boss vibes, and I am freaking loving it.
I’m feeling the perfect blend of sexy and confident, professional yet maintaining part of my own self.
Lucian watches me for a second longer, something softer flickering beneath the usual sharpness in his expression. Pride, maybe. Then his attention shifts toward the rink entrance, where a line of kids waits impatiently for autographs.
“You’ve got about thirty seconds before Coach starts looking for me,” he says. “No doubt that tattletale has gone running to him because I made him cry.”
“You made a kid cry?!” I wheel around to face him fully. Hands on hips, I glare at Lucian.
“Hey! He pushed the smaller kid in line in front of him.”
I groan into my hands. “Please tell me you didn’t shove him in retaliation.”
He scoffs like that idea is ludicrous, but this is Lucian Caulfield we’re talking about. Absolutely nothing is off the table when it comes to him, especially when it involves violence.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I told the tiny kid to shove him back. He needs to learn to stand up for himself.”
Sighing, I shake my head. What the hell am I supposed to say to that? That he shouldn’t have encouraged a little kid to stand up for himself? I can’t do that!
“Probably not the best way to have handled that,” I grumble instead, giving Lucian a please don’t do anything else glare.
“It might have gone over better if he hadn’t then high-fived the kid afterward.”
Ronan steps into view, looking unfairly attractive in a fitted Kings quarter-zip with the sleeves pushed to his forearms. The dark purple color suits him, and I momentarily wonder how he will look kitted out in Serpents colors next season.
“You surviving?” he asks me quietly, eyes scanning my face in that way he always does. Like he’s cataloguing every detail.
“I think so.”
“You think so?” His mouth curves slightly. “Wren, this entire weekend is running smoother than actual NHL events I’ve attended.”
Something warm unfurls low in my chest at the sincerity in his tone.
Before I can answer, Silas appears beside him carrying a cardboard tray stacked with coffees in one hand and a paper bag in the other.
His gaze finds mine immediately beneath the messy fall of white-blond hair over his forehead.
He passes me one of the coffees along with the bag before pulling out his notebook.
You haven’t stopped to eat or drink anything.
“I’m fine,” I promise. Still, I peek inside the bag, salivating at the sight of a large blueberry muffin. Mm, maybe I am hungry.
“Silas is right,” Ronan agrees, nudging the coffee toward my lips. “You need to eat.”
Sighing, I roll my eyes, knowing I’m not going to get away without eating every bite of my muffin. I’ll probably have to lick up the crumbs at the bottom of the bag to satisfy these guys.
Still, a warmth builds in my chest, knowing they are looking out for me.
That they care. Especially when they have so much of their own stuff going on this weekend.
As part of the team, they have been busy doing photo ops, drill and skate sessions, as well as just hanging out with the children and their parents.
“I’m just shocked nothing has gone wrong yet,” Lucian comments, looking around as if expecting something to suddenly go awry. “Remember the fire alarm went off last year?” His lips hitch as he glances at the others.
“Oh, God, that was a disaster!” Ronan groans while Silas nods in agreement. “The fire department was called, and all of us had to stand out in the pouring rain for hours while they cleared the entire building.”
We looked like a pathetic group of drowned rats.
Silas adds.
“All because one of the older kids decided to light up a cigarette in the bathroom.” Ronan shakes his head. “This is a roaring success in comparison.”
You’re good at this. Silas writes, making me blush.
“Understatement of the century,” Lucian snorts.
I shrug, acting all nonchalant, like it’s no big deal, but I can’t deny being proud of what I’ve achieved this weekend. “It’s nothing, really.”
“Don’t do that,” Lucian says, with a bit of bite. “Don’t diminish your hard work.”
“Yeah,” Ronan agrees. “You’ve worked your ass off to pull all of this together and ensure it goes off without a hitch. Just look at how everyone turns to you to solve a problem when it arises.”
My throat tightens unexpectedly. He’s not wrong.
For the past three days, people have been turning to me for answers. For direction. For reassurance. And instead of panicking under the pressure, instead of wanting to run from it…I’ve spent the entire weekend thriving on it. I’m high on the adrenaline rush.
Lucian bumps his shoulder lightly against mine. “Told you there was venom in you.”
I shake my head, trying to laugh off the sudden tightness in my chest. “You three are ridiculous.”
“Maybe,” Ronan says easily. “Doesn’t mean we’re wrong.”
Before I can recover from that, someone jogs toward us from across the concourse.
“Wren!” one of the media coordinators calls breathlessly. “The local news crew is here early, and they’re asking where you want them set up for the exhibition game announcement.”
The exhibition game.
My pulse jumps instantly, excitement splitting my face into a wide grin. I’ve been impatiently waiting for this part all weekend.
I glance instinctively toward the covered entrance leading down toward the private player access tunnel beneath the arena. Hidden behind those doors is the surprise I’ve spent the last two weeks desperately trying to pull together without anyone leaking it to the public beforehand.
Straightening my shoulders, I turn back toward the coordinator.