2. Smells Like Team Spirit
Chapter two
Smells Like Team Spirit
My buzz lasts the twenty minutes it takes to reach the rink. Carter keeps his hand on my leg as he drives. He stares ahead with the focus the team teases him for but relies on when it comes to the ice.
Jonas would usually be humming along, out of tune but enthusiastic in the backseat, Liam grumbling at him to shut the hell up. But everyone is quiet today. My eyes trace over the schedule still clutched in my hands, mentally working through.
We’re only a little behind, despite them hijacking my early morning wake up call. I wriggle in my seat, glancing at Carter. He doesn’t look at me—not Mr. My Omega Is In the Car, So I’m Not Looking Away For A Moment—but one side of his mouth curls up. “Stop that. Or I’m pulling over.”
I sniff to hide my laugh. “Don’t try any funny business with me, Reynolds. No time for that.”
“There’s always time for you.” His fingers trace a pattern on my knee. “And you shouldn’t smell so damn good.”
Awh. I swat his arm. “Focus.”
“Always.”
My secret jelly doughnut partner-in-carbs and occasional security guard lifts the barrier before Carter even puts the window down to use his entry badge. Sonny waves us through with a double thumbs up that I return enthusiastically.
Double doughnut delivery tonight it is. I make a mental note to stop at the bakery without Liam seeing.
“Don’t run off.” When Carter parks up and we climb out, I grab Liam’s arm before he can stride off to do his moody pregame thing and gently tug him back. “Not yet.”
“What’s wrong?” He turns to me with a crease between his brows. My smile grows at the way they spread out instinctively. Carter covers my back, Jonas and Liam flanking me as they glance around.
“Nothing.” I turn to the building in front of us.
The Furnace—officially known as Blackwater Arena—is a gargantuan modern mass of black glass and shimmering metalwork.
Hundreds of glossy panels form an octagon shape that conceals the upper levels where Carter and the team are nudged into schmoozing the fancy ass conglomerate owners that bought out a majority stake in the team two years ago.
Lining the ground floor is a swanky entertainment complex that has queues snaking around the block most nights to try and snag a space in one of the bars or restaurants.
It’s busy, buzzy, and it’s home. But right now, it’s silent.
And it’s beautiful.
“Rosie,” Liam murmurs. He raises an eyebrow.
I wave a hand toward the Furnace, and they all follow my lead, turning to look. “New season. You’re not gonna have time to breathe once you walk through those doors, so soak in the moment now.”
Jonas slips his hand into mine and squeezes. “You’re such a romantic.”
There’s a lump in my throat as we all fall silent.
They were so close last year. To lose out at the last minute nearly destroyed them.
But this year is going to be different. I don’t know why I’m so certain of it, but I am. An icy gust kisses my cheeks, whipping loose strands of hair around my face, and I breathe in the Blackwater air.
It even smells different here. Crisp and fresh.
Potential, I decide, and then want to slap myself for being so full of cheese.
Finally, I clear my throat and smack Jonas on the ass. “Emotional moment over. Now go win me an Everly Cup.”
I have a secret plan to drink champagne out of it while lounging in the bath. It might be the size of my entire torso, but I like a challenge. After three years of embracing life as a hockey omega, I deserve that date. With extra bubbles and cake.
“You got it.” Jonas’s smile lights up his whole, perfect face. I yelp when he swings his arm down and gently chops the back of my knees, scooping me up when I crumple like paper and racing for the double-doored player’s entrance.
One moment, I’m gazing at the Furnace. Next, the floor.
And he’s tall enough that the concrete feels like a very long way away. “Jonas!”
Carter and Liam bellow behind us, Jonas is laughing, and I’m gasping in a weird giggle-retch combination that could swing either way. But his hands are solid as he carries me carefully through the automatic doors with a swipe of his card. “I’d never let you fall.”
He lets me slide down before kissing me thoroughly enough that my knees wobble, murmuring into my mouth. “Thought it’d be good luck to carry you over the threshold.”
When the door slides open again, my cheeks are on fire. Carter ducks through with the bags, Liam already ahead of him, and Jonas yelps when Liam smacks the back of his head. “Locker rooms. Now.”
I’m in trouble, Jonas mouths at me as he runs his hand over his hair to smooth it down. His call echoes back as he jogs away. “Worth it!”
Liam turns to Carter. “See you when you’re done with Elena.”
Carter scans a message on his phone with a frown. “Change of plans. Richard wants me upstairs. You too, Rosie.”
Liam glances between us. “PR meeting?”
“Nothing was scheduled.” I pull my phone out to check, but it’s blank. “Guess we’ll find out.”
Maybe they’re caving and finally giving me the assistant I’ve been asking for.
We have a whole comms team, but the organic social accounts are mine.
Always have been, since before we were bought out, and everyone acknowledges that the viral posts I create for the team socials played a big part in why we got the attention in the first place.
I stop at the coffee cart on the way, letting Carter go ahead as he climbs the stairs toward the upper meeting rooms. Georgio, easily in his sixties, balding, and a ladies’ man to his core, winks as he hands my latte over. “Full of sugar, like you.”
“Don’t give all of my secrets away, Gio.” I take a furtive sip and shudder with sheer joy. “I promised Liam I’d swap to sweetener.”
His laugh echoes as I take the stairs after Carter, juggling my clipboard and coffee before backing through the meeting room door. Carter catches it where he’s waiting on the other side for me, and I beam at him before turning to face the rest of the room. “Mornin’, everyone.”
“Rosie.” Richard Bennett lifts a hand. “Nice of you to join us.”
I wouldn’t say I disliked our General Manager.
I mean, I wouldn’t choose to spend any additional time with him and his shiny bald head that I swear he polishes in the mirror every night, but he’s always polite enough, even if some of his remarks are a little on the nose. Time is money, and all that.
He gestures to the giant, rectangular glass table that matches the panels around us. “Take a seat, both of you.”
Claire Williams, assistant GM and generally Much Nicer Person, smiles at me, her hand wrapped around a ridiculously oversized cup of coffee that I eye with envy.
Georgio’s definitely been holding out on me.
I glance at the omega sitting opposite Claire as I slide into an empty seat and almost drown in the comfortable leather, not noticing that I’m shifting closer to Carter until his hand settles on my knee.
She looks around my age or a little older.
Neat and sharp, in a sleek navy suit with an enviable waterfall of dark, glossy hair that falls to her shoulders and cuts off in a sharp line.
Not a split end to be seen. Pale blue eyes flicker between my alpha and me, and she settles on me before smiling awkwardly.
My eyes shift between the newbie and Ness, our head of PR. She raises her eyebrow at me, a small smile tugging her lips.
I get it. Be nice.
I’m always nice. Territorial instincts and biological issues aside.
I force a smile back at the omega before leaning into Carter.
Martin Ellas taps on the table. The Titans coach hates it up here, I know. He prefers the lower player levels to any schmoozing he’s contractually obliged to carry out up here. “What’s this about, Dick?”
Richard coughs wetly into his fist. It’s normally the signal for a long, drawn-out lecture, and all of us flop back in our seats, with the exception of the new omega. “First, welcome back to the new season. High hopes this year. Carter, how are you feeling?”
He tenses beside me, his grip on my knee tightening. “Fine. Coach has no issues, and Elena signed me off. I’m good to go.”
“With additional sessions.” Martin eyes him beneath grizzled grey brows. “We’re gonna be watching every move. Can’t be losing our All-Star halfway through the season.”
“You won’t,” Carter says tightly. “I have it under control. Sir.”
“Good, good.” Richard shuffles some papers in front of him. He’s not usually so… dithering. My eyes flick to the omega again. “I have some news. It concerns the Pit.”
The Pit is the arena on the other side of town. Opposite in every way to the Furnace. Smaller, shabbier—I’m pretty sure it hasn’t been painted since they last reached playoffs sometime in the nineties.
It’s also the arena the Aces use.
Beside me, Carter turns to rock. “What about it?”
“Crown Meridian completed their majority buy-in for the Blackwater Aces over the weekend.” Richard clears his throat before continuing, clearly aware that Carter is staring a hole in the side of his head.
“An emergency assessment of the Aces arena has shown that it needs substantial remodeling, and some areas don’t meet basic NPHL safety standards.
As such, Meridian has informed me that the Aces will be moving into the Furnace for the season, so they can make use of the facilities here while work is going on. ”
Oh, shit.
He pauses. “Effective immediately.”
A moment of silence stretches into seconds, and Carter says nothing. Then—
“Absolutely fucking not.” His chair screeches back as he jumps to his feet. “Those assholes are not sharing my damned arena!”
“Steady.” Martin smacks his hand on the table to get his attention. “It’s not your anything, boy, no matter how many points you rack up. We don’t get a say in this, I’m assuming?”