Page 47 of Puck Your Friend

It’s not relief that hits me. Just pure exhaustion. I don’t know what to do. If I can’t handle a bus ride, how am I going to handle the next couple of months of the NAHL season?

I’m going to have to quit, but I can’t. I’ve worked so hard for all of this to let it crash and burn now.

I sit on the edge of the bed and breathe. My hand drifts to the back of my neck. I feel so out of it. My heat hasn’t hit yet, but I can feel it circling. I’m trying everything to stop it. But I don’t know how. I’m not sure even running away would work. My inner Omega knows who our match-scent Alphas are, and she’s not going to go dormant quietly this time.

It’s clawing free after a decade buried.

Pulling out my pill case, I take out three of my suppressant pills. I’m going to need triple the force to make it through tonight.

Chapter 10

The team and staff that showed up after us spread out on any surface they can find: furniture, stairs, the lip of the kitchen island, patio chairs dragged in from outside. Twenty-plus bodies settle in.

Frankie’s cross-legged on the floor in front of the white sectional, plate balanced on her knee, mostly untouched, hoodie sleeves pulled past her wrists. Her frizzy curls are half loose, hanging uneven around her face; they’ve lost the shine they had last week. Her posture’s stiff. I wish she were in one of our hoodies instead.

At least then she’d smell like us.

Doug’s voice cuts across the room. He’s angled toward the rookies on the floor, plate balanced on one knee. “It’s not justpoint-and-shoot. We log everything. Organize it. Half the usable stuff’s buried under hours of chaos.”

One rookie, Markie, makes a face. “That sounds miserable.”

Doug shrugs. “That’s doc work. Everyone thinks they want ‘real’ until they realize how slow, real actually is.”

Jace leans forward and whips a crumpled napkin at the back of Doug’s head. “Don’t ruin the illusion, man. Let ’em think we’re filming greatness.”

Doug flips him off without looking, still eating with his fork in the other hand. Ford sits close, arm slung over one knee. His empty plate is on the rug by his foot. Jace has the corner cushion of the sectional, one ankle hooked over the other, head tilted like he might drift off. I take the last stretch of rug between Frankie and the coffee table.

The air smells like brisket, aftershave, fabric softener, chlorine. Somebody left a Bluetooth speaker running low out of the kitchen. Music blends into background noise, enough to dull the conversation but not bury it.

Frankie shifts. Her hoodie sleeve slides down to her knuckles, and she tugs it back. One hand curls against her thigh.

From the kitchen, someone yells, “Pool’s heating up!”

Jace opens one eye and tilts his head against the couch.He’s faking lazy, so he doesn’t have to leave her side either.

Ford doesn’t even lift his head.

Another shout. “You three coming or what?”

Jace glances at Frankie and then laughs as he pats his stomach, peering over at us to look toward the back door.“Too much BBQ! I need to conserve energy for the game tomorrow. You guys have fun, but not too much fun!”

Hopefully that’s enough to get them off our backs. They head out.

Frankie presses the edge of her cornbread flat with her thumb. She hasn’t taken a bite of anything.

Doug wipes his hands on a napkin and stands. “I’m gonna dump files and edit some shorts for the League. I’ll grab B-roll in the morning.”

He looks down at her. “You good to stay here by yourself, Fran?”

She nods and glances up. “I’m fine. Go ahead.”

Doug nods. “Call if you need me.” He disappears toward the first floor hallway. A few players trail behind him, while others drift toward the patio. Splashing echoes from the back.

My gaze goes back to Frankie. She blinks slowly, her eyes unfocused. I don’t know how it’s possible, but I think she’s thinner than last week when we saw her. Her hoodie hides most of it, but it’s obvious with how sunken her face looks.

She sets her plate on the ground beside her, giving up on pretending to eat. I watch her shift forward to stand, then stop and lean back against the sofa.

I hurry into the kitchen and grab a bottle of water from the drink tub. It’s cold enough to sting. Back at the couch, I crouch beside her and crack it open, holding it out.