Page 9

Chapter nine

Wren

There’s a feeling in the air when something is about to go wrong. I don’t know if it was just me or if it came from upper management, but about twenty minutes before we went on the ice, the coach asked for Raider. I got the feeling then, just something out of the ordinary that triggered it.

Addams curses. “I knew it! Didn’t I tell you? I knew. I told them not to touch my stick. It’s all jacked up.” He’s a defender on the third line and as superstitious as they come. We commonly joke that he’s got more muscles than brain cells, but that’s probably being kind. He’s a strangely pale guy with blond hair, pale eyes and black shadows under his eyes.

Ramirez, our captain, gazes coolly at Addams. “Hurry and retape them, then, and stop bitching.”

I snort a laugh. Ramirez is cold under fire, a demon on the ice, and one of the strongest and calmest alphas I’ve ever met. He’s damn good at being captain. But he also has no time for superstitious nonsense. He’s two inches shorter than I, with dark eyes and dark cropped hair.

I continue preparing for the game. Pulling on my socks and shin pads. The emerald green of the locker room with the shiny wood benches creates a luxurious and cozy feel. Every player has a cubby with our numbers above it and our gear that has been cleaned and prepared is waiting for us.

About ten minutes later, Raider roars. I stand up, staring at the door. Ramirez glances at me. His silent command says it all. Do not react. Do not act .

“What the fuck is wrong with him?” Hoffsfield asks. He’s a smaller guy with a head full of dark hair and a beard. He’s the right winger on my line.

“No idea. He was fine when we got here,” Waraski says. As Raider’s defense partner, Waraski is as close to Raider as a player can get. He’s lighthearted, fun to be around, and just a genuinely nice guy with a wicked smile and bright white teeth. He has brown eyes, and his brown hair is shaggy and unkempt but looks stylish on him.

Wesley and Arthur walk in. Our assistant coaches are talking quietly to each other with concerned frowns, but when they see us watching, they stop all the conversation. Wesley is built like a player with light brown hair and friendly green eyes. He’s quiet and came to the team at the same time I did. Arthur is skinnier and wears thick glasses, but his passion for the game oozes out of him. He has black hair and dark brown eyes.

“Did you see the weird teddy bear that was delivered to Coach this morning?” Evans snickers.

“Yeah, it was fucking freaky as. Coach just said it was some of the wacko fans. Ignore it,” Addams chortles back.

I close my eyes. I don’t care about the fans or the teddy. We’ll lose tonight if we don’t have Raider. His defense is the strongest we have and the most aggressive. He’s our veteran and damned good.

Typhor Raines must have gotten to coach Smith. I feel sick just thinking about it, but we’re just hockey players. Typhor is untouchable. He’s got too much money and power. I should stop listening around corners at home, but they make it too easy.

Raider slams into the change room and starts stripping out of his gear. A moment later, our coach walks in. He’s wearing a suit, his silver hair brushed back and his blue eyes gleaming with fire. I can’t see Ryann in him at all. For a coach, he’s pretty good, certainly better than some of the team’s coaches. The Demons are a brilliant team.

Coach Patrick Smith is a beta that loves the game and is good at understanding how to bring out the best out of his players. He’s a fair and good coach, just not as great an actual person.

I can’t blame him for not being able to stand against Typhor Raines. I’ve heard the stories of what he did to his wife and daughter, and the rumours from his employees. Typhor Raines is a monster.

Raider really has got the short end of the stick. I know there’s nothing we can do, but I wish I could fix it for him.

He stops by his open locker at the back of the room, where everyone is pretending they can’t see him. My feet are moving before I can even think.

I press my chest to his back, winding my arms around his waist.

“We’ll fix it,” I whisper .

The team is behind us, and I can almost feel their eyes bugging out of their sockets. We’ve made it a point of keeping our living situation and anything else off the ice and out of the stadium.

He stays tense in my arms, breathing hard, not saying a word, but I can feel the pain pouring off him. The problem with us is we live and breathe the ice. Our entire being is devoted to this game. Who are we without it? I don’t need bonds to understand how he’s feeling. His pain is mine. It’s the teams.

I don’t know that anyone else would understand just how much this would hurt him but us.

He trembles in my arms, and I find myself doing something I’d sworn I would never do again. Protecting someone, shielding them. Caring far too fucking much.

“Raider’s being benched for the rest of the season.” Coach says the words like he’s announcing someone’s death.

In a way, he is.

The instant uproar from the team makes me feel a bit better.

“What the fuck? Why would you bench him? He’s our best defense?” Yasiv snarls. The tall forward takes an aggressive step towards the coach.

The support staff line up behind our coach, a show of support. I can tell they don’t agree either, but we follow the coach. That’s the hierarchy of the game.

But the team follows the captain.

Ramirez stands up, glaring at the coach. “You’re going to nuke our season? Because Typhor Raines told you to?”

I jolt and try to cover my surprise. Well, I hadn’t been aware the team had heard the rumours. I guess the arguments hadn’t been as behind closed doors as the staff would like.

“No, I’m saving our team.”

“You sold us out. You sold out the team,” Ramirez says coldly back.

I’m still learning about Ramirez, but the way he isn’t backing down and is protecting Raider makes me glad I came here. He’s an excellent captain.

Coach Smith glares around at all of us. “You’re hockey players. We play to win. I made the best decision for the team. Get out there on the ice and win this game.”

Everyone stands there for long, pregnant moments before they reluctantly move.

“That means you, too, Turner!” Coach Smith roars.

I turn, growling, my eyes narrowed.

“Wren, go,” Raider says faintly. The air is sour around him, and I hate this. I need to fix it.

I do not take my eyes off the coach. He takes a step back before he can help himself. I reluctantly let go of Raider, grab my stick, and walk out on my skates, ignoring the coach like he isn’t even there.

“Raines, on the bench.”

I stop and turn back. Fury blazing through me. “Excuse me?”

The coach flushes and looks down. “He needs to sit on the bench. Every game.”

“He can stay in the locker room!”

“I’M THE COACH, TURNER!”

Raider kicks off his skates, pulls off his jumper, and hurls it into the locker. He rips off the pads and then stalks out, dressed only in the undershirt and shorts he wears under his gear. I fall into step with him as we walk into the stands and into our team bench. The crowd is roaring, the green-coloured jumpers look like an ocean.

I never get used to seeing it, but today, I can’t even focus on it.

Raider goes up to the bench and sits down, folding his arms and looking pissed off. I hesitate a moment, but what can I do right now? I step onto the ice, regret and rage making my blood thump hard.

I lift my stick up as I skate around the ice. The crowd roars, but I can see the attention isn’t on us or the ice.

Raider is a fan favourite. He’s their defender. I can see the questions as the news spreads. They stop focusing on the game, the warm up, and focus on our missing defender.

Ramirez and I lock eyes. I pull my helmet on and send puck after puck at the crease. Bruce spits a few curses at me, but between Raider’s removal, the team’s sense of betrayal, and his new position taking over from Sellars, our goalie is shitting bricks. He needs the warm up.

We practice for another few minutes and then go to the bench where we listen to the coach and assistant coach piss out some prepackaged bullshit speech about teamwork and sacrifice.

The entire team is simmering. With seventeen alphas on the side and the rest betas, our tempers are heading into dangerous territory. A hockey team is a pack, whether we have bonds or not, we are a pack. And we respond to threats to our pack with all the alpha violence that is our natures.

I glance at Ramirez, who has his jaw locked. In hockey, the strongest alpha is captain because only he can temper the team. A good captain can keep a balance, a bad one can ruin a side.

Ramirez has all the makings of a good alpha, but even he might not be able to calm the storm that is about to unfold.

The umpires skate up and talk to the coach, gesturing to Raider .

“He needs to be in his jumper,” is the only thing I hear clearly.

The team bristles.

Raider simply leans back, spreads his legs, and looks as if the whole thing is supremely boring.

“Raider-” Wesley starts, but Locklean stands up, blocking the assistant coach from getting to Raider.

“Walk away,” Locklean says in a low voice. Our massive enforcer is all muscle and quiet threat. He’s the nicest guy off the ice, but, on it, he brings hell.

Wesley backs down immediately.

“Let's go play a game. We’re going to win for our brother, and, then after, get him back on the ice!” Ramirez says loudly. He turns to the umpire and stares at him, daring him to continue this pointless argument.

The umpire glances at Raider once more, and then wisely decides to back off.

We line up, going through the formalities. Bruce is beside me, looking like he might be sick.

“You’ll be fine, Bruce,” I murmur.

He gives me a weak smile before focusing on the next player. I glance at the bench. Raider’s face is expressionless, but the rage and pain inside him is clear to me.

So clear.

I daze out for the pregame rituals, and then I find myself on the other side of a face-off circle, glaring at some hockey guy wearing crimson. We’re in the center of the ice, bent over our sticks, about to clash in an explosion of power, skill, and reflexes. He’s got a lot of freckles and a slightly crooked nose. I search my memory, but I can’t for the life of me remember his name. Raider would know. He knows all the players.

I notice it all, intensely. Suddenly, it’s so damn clear. My breath is loud in my ears, and the scent of the ice is strong. I love the feel of the chill in the air, the smell that tells me I’m home.

But I feel the absence of Raider like a missing limb. It’s an itch that is driving me crazy. Without Raider on the ice with me, the enjoyment fades and doesn’t quite feel as good. Was half my love of hockey just getting to play against him?

The puck drops, and we’re off. I push hard, shoving freckles out of my way, slapping the puck hard and sending it to Evans. We skate fiercely. Uriel slams the right winger of the Titans into the boards, holding him there. Hoffsfield flicks the puck to me, and I snatch it up, putting all of my power into sending myself speeding towards the goalie.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot their huge defender. I won’t have a chance to take a shot, so I slap it down the ice and brace myself. In the next second, I’m slammed into the boards, the defender throwing all his weight into me and even digging in an elbow. I grit my teeth and hold on, struggling, trying to free myself.

But he’s yanked off. He throws a punch, and Yasiv answers it. And that sets the tone of this game.

I’m angry. We’re tied. The team is on the verge of violence, and the game is stretching on forever. I look up into the stands and see her. In the ocean of green and thousands of fans, I see her.

I don’t know how I spot her. Idly, I wonder if in a crowd of a million I’d still find her.

I reach out and grip Raider’s thigh and jerk my chin in her direction. She’s making her way towards us, Kit and Callan at her heels.

Kit is struggling, I can see it, but my heart expands as I watch him elbow the crowds back, fighting to stay close to her.

Wesley drops a hand on my shoulder before moving off. My body tightens, preparing mentally for the moment. I launch onto the ice as Marx clatters back onto the bench, breathing hard. Chasing the puck, sweeping in to steal it, it’s the same. I love it, but I’m bored. Our sticks clash, the roar of the crowd, it all fades away.

We’re tired. My muscles ache, my body hurts. It’s exhilarating, and my pack is right here, at my game.

My pack?

I knock the center’s stick up, scoop up the puck, spin around, and launch into a blistering skate towards the other net.

Red defenders skate backwards, trying to stop me while the goalie prepares himself.

“Raider,” I murmur.

Their names sound with every heartbeat. Raider. Callan. Kit. Ryann.

I spin on the ice, taking the puck with me. We’re heading left. I feint to the right. As soon as their goalie takes the bait, I send the puck into the open net.

The siren goes off, red lights flashing.

And then the game ends. The crowd goes wild, and I’m caught in the middle of a pile of my team. We won. We won for Raider.

I allow myself one moment to feel happiness and relief, and then I struggle free. We skate down to a red-faced Bruce who is almost bouncing with excitement.

“You did good, Puppy.” I crack my helmet to his. He laughs wildly, and I wish, I really wish, I still felt that excitement .

We line up and shake hands with the players from the opposite team.

And then I’m free, well, not free, but I make my way to the bench where Raider is not.

I almost run back to the locker room, where I find Raider shoving something into the storage cupboard. He whirls, his eyes wide and alarmed.

“Raider?”

He jerks like he’s been shot and licks his lips.

“Raider, what’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Uh, huh! It doesn’t look like nothing.” I’m pissed that I just spent a whole game wanting to see him, and he’s standing here lying to me, clearly unhappy I’m here.

“You just handle your own shit, Turner.”

I jerk because he’s never spoken to me like that before.

“Fine.”

“Fine!”

All through the showers, cool down, and post game rituals, I watch Raider lurking on the edge of the room. He doesn’t stray from that area, and he keeps everyone away from that room.

It’s a sneaking suspicion that just starts to grow and gets bigger. Soon, I notice his tells, the twitching cheek, the way he’s pacing back and forth, chewing on his thumbnail.

He stays there as everyone leaves.

He’s not angry or hurt or lashing out. He’s polite and friendly, much to the relief of the staff.

When the last person has gone, I march over to the closest, rip the door open, and stare at the beta who is tied up with what looks like one of our uniforms.

And she looks livid.

“Is that a jock strap in her mouth?” I whisper to Raider.

He looks vaguely ill. “It’s clean.”

“Oh, Raider, I think you might want to run,” I warn him.

He swallows hard but shakes his head as I untie Ryann. She spits as soon as the jockstrap is out of her mouth. I undo the clothing and free her.

She springs past me, kicking his legs out from under him and grabbing his finger in a hold that has him shrieking in agony while she rolls him onto his stomach.

“What the hell did you think you were doing?”

“I don’t need you to save me!” Raider shouts. “You just stay in your wig and stay out of my business!”

Ryann snarls. “If I want to help you, that’s my business.”

I feel like I’m watching some weird sex ritual .

Raider breaks free of her, and, suddenly, she’s laying on the bench with him kneeling over her.

“Don’t help me.”

Her eyes flicker with something that confuses me. “Make me.”

He growls at her, and it melts my brain.

She just smiles.

Fuck it, these two are crazy. I leave them to it.

On the way to my car, I check my messages and see one from a familiar number.

“Fuck off.”

I delete it and keep walking. This whole day can go to hell.