2. Smells Like Team Spirit #2
He directs his question to Richard, who shakes his head.
He doesn’t look overly happy either. Probably because he has to share his kingdom.
“I was called by Charles Laurent directly. We have no room to move on this. They’re moving across town this morning, so the team can get a feel for the facilities ahead of tonight. ”
Boone. Boone Mercer is going to be here. All season.
“We only have one rink,” Carter says tightly. I slip my hand into his and squeeze. He glances down at me, his face turning impossibly stonier. “And you know we have…issues with the Aces. I don’t see how this can possibly work.”
“Split practice.” Richard slides a sheet toward Carter and Martin.
“Already planned out. It’s doable. Unusual, but not unprecedented.
And as for your rivalry, Meridian wants to make the most of it for fan engagement this season.
Really play the teams off in public. Blackwater loves the rivalry between you two, and good rivalry makes for strong viewing figures.
Sponsorships. All of it. Ness is already seeing heavy interest from the networks. ”
Ness’s grin feels distinctly shark-like. “Sponsor Day’s gonna be interesting.”
Carter doesn’t move for the paper. He folds his arms instead. “Find another way.”
“That won’t be happening.” Richard sighs. “It’s done, Carter. They packed up the Pit overnight. Team will be here any minute. Charles didn’t want to mess with opening night any more than necessary.”
Pushing my chair back, I head for the floor-to-ceiling wall of tinted windows that look out over Blackwater and into the car park. Truck after truck is pulling in past a gaping Sonny’s booth, some already parked up and unloading pallets packed with equipment and who knows what else.
Each one bears irritatingly familiar crimson and cream colors, all of it focused around the playing card that follows the Aces everywhere they go.
This is really happening.
“I’m telling you first so you can break the news to the team.
” Richard coughs again. “I’m confident that as the Titans captain, you’ll set a good example behind the scenes.
Keep any rivalry for the ice. Ness is coordinating a number of events through the season and both teams will be attending.
The suits are excited about this, Carter. ”
The message is clear: So shut the fuck up and don’t fuck it up.
“Fine.” Carter’s face is flushed. “Understood. We done here? We have a season to prep for and a game tonight.”
“You are.” When Richard turns to me, I feel my body lock. “Rosie. This is Lauren Delacorte.”
The dark-haired omega smiles again. Not too much. Professional. I nod back, my throat drying.
Richard avoids my gaze when I look back at him. “Lauren is our new Head of Content Strategy.”
Ness isn’t smiling anymore. My fingers wrap around the back of a chair. “But… that’s what I do.”
“Meridian wants a stronger internal structure. A defined five-year strategy. Lauren isn’t their only new hire.
” Richard sighs. “We all know what you’ve done for the team, Rosie.
That’s never in question, and we want you to keep doing it.
But Lauren will have overall creative control, help to set and oversee a new direction for us as we keep growing. ”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Lauren says into the silence. She’s stopped smiling. Maybe she knows it won’t go down well. “I’m really impressed with everything you’ve done, Rosie. I’ve followed the Titans socials for a long time. I’m looking forward to working with you.”
My head jerks in a nod. “Why wasn’t I considered for the role? I never saw an ad go out.”
Lauren’s mouth snaps shut. Both of us turn to Richard. He blanches. “I wasn’t involved in the hiring.”
“Ness?” My friend still won’t meet my gaze as I whirl toward her.
She shifts. “There was a certain level of experience wanted. Lauren was headhunted. My hands were tied, Rosie. I’m sorry you didn’t get to interview.”
Message received loud and fucking clear. Slowly, I nod and shove back my chair awkwardly, metal legs catching on the plush carpet and tipping. “Can we go now? Carter’s right, they have a lot to do.”
“Actually, I was hoping we could chat—” Lauren begins, but I’m already stalking for the door. My hand tightens on the handle. Carter is a wall blocking me from the rest of the room, and I feel my eyes burning as his hand brushes my back.
I will not cry in front of these people. I direct my words to Lauren. “Sure. I have to… do something first. Meet me by the locker rooms in fifteen.”
I’m gone before she can respond. We make it halfway down the hall before I stop. “I…”
I don’t know what to say.
They didn’t even consider me. I’ve brought them four million followers in two years, game attendance is up eight percent year-on-year, and they still didn’t think I was good enough. My eyes find the floor.
How embarrassing.
Carter grabs my hand, striding down the hall as I follow. “This is bullshit. Not even an interview? After everything you’ve done for the team?”
Shit. He can’t focus on that now. Not with everything else, and now a shared rink with the Aces on top.
“Carter, it’s fine.” When I sniff, he twists and places his hands on my face, our foreheads pressing together.
His scent—black pepper, a winter bonfire, sharp and deep and smoky—does wonders for my nervous system, and I lean into it until my blurred vision clears. “And it’s done. Don’t worry about me.”
“I always worry about you. You say the word and I’ll go postal on their judgmental asses.” He studies me and kisses my forehead before we keep going. “God, the team is gonna lose their minds over all of this. And the fucking Aces moving in. What the fuck, Ro?”
I can’t see how it’ll work. The season is kindling at the best of times. Even the tightest, most loyal teams have moments where anger gets the better of them.
Having both teams in the same place? It’s only a matter of time before tensions ignite.
When Carter stops, I collide with his back. “Ow. What—”
“Look who it is.” A low, long whistle. “Hey, Cart.”
Oh, this is not good.
My stomach flips over as I peek around Carter’s massive bulk.
The alpha shoves his tattooed hands into his pockets, hiding indigo-marked skin an exact match for Carter’s, down to the last carefully inked knot. Hazel eyes drag over me, a dozen shades of gold and green.
Boone Mercer tilts his head to the side, one side of his mouth lifting. “Ragdoll. Been a while.”
My hand grips the back of Carter’s shirt. More to remind him where we are than because I have any hope in hell of stopping him if he decides to launch himself forward. And from the harsh breathing growing louder, that moment is seconds away.
“Don’t call me that.” I plaster myself against his arm. “Heard you’re moving in for a while.”
One tooth is still crooked, courtesy of a too-hard practice shot from Carter that went awry and sent us all to the hospital. Boone had pressed my sweater over his mouth as we’d all sat in too-small chairs waiting for him to be seen.
My heartbeat speeds up, and from the look on his face, I’d swear he could hear it. A faint flush spreads across his cheekbones, but otherwise, he looks bored as he examines me. “And here I thought we were supposed to be the very best of friends this season.”
“Don’t look at her,” Carter says finally in a low voice. He steps forward, and I suck in a breath as Boone straightens, my head twisting to look down the corridor for help.
Only one other person is here.
Mike? I rack my brains. No, Mackenzie. Goalie. Scottish. Wildly popular online. He leans against the wall a few feet away, watching with a mild expression. When our eyes meet, he grins and nods his head in greeting but doesn’t say anything.
“We should go,” I say desperately. Carter and Boone ignore me. “Save the face off for tonight, yeah? We all have things to do.”
Boone laughs softly. “That’s right. Been too long since we were on the ice. Looking forward to it.”
His eyes slide to me. “Looking forward to the whole season, if we’re being honest.”
Carter slams his hand into Boone’s chest. “Leave her the fuck alone. You hear me?”
“Yeah, I hear you.” Boone steps back and shrugs. “Taking orders was never my strong point, though. Best of luck for the season. I’ll be seeing you, Ragdoll.”
Carter sucks in a breath as I yank on his hand, but he lets me pull him forward.
“Shut the hell up,” I mutter, and he only laughs again. Asshole.
It’s going to be a really long season.