Page 5

Chapter

Four

JAX

H ospital waiting rooms are built for misery. The stale air, the uncomfortable chairs, the fluorescent lights that make everyone look half-dead. It’s all designed to make time crawl. We’ve been here for four hours, and it feels like forty.

I stand with my back against the wall, arms crossed, watching my teammates—my pack—cycle through various stages of anxiety.

Aidan paces, his lanky frame vibrating with nervous energy.

Every few minutes, he runs his hand through his light brown hair, messing up the dyed blue streak that matches our team colors.

Dmitri sits motionless in a corner chair, his massive frame making the furniture look child-sized, pale blue eyes fixed on the middle distance.

Only the occasional twitch of his jaw betrays his concern.

Zayn’s the worst of us, somehow taking up more space than even Dmitri despite his leaner build.

He alternates between scrolling through his phone and launching into theories about what’s happening with Darren.

He hasn’t stopped moving since we arrived, like a shark that will die if it stays still or shuts up for two seconds.

“This is bullshit,” Zayn mutters, loud enough for all of us to hear. “Four fucking hours and they can’t tell us anything?”

I don’t respond. Leadership isn’t always about having answers. Sometimes it’s about knowing when to shut up and let people process. And right now, we’re all processing the impossible.

The scent lingers in my nostrils hours later.

Woodsmoke, rich and earthy. Not light and sweet like most omegas, but unmistakable all the same.

I remember the moment on the ice when I leaned in close to Darren, expecting the neutral beta scent I’ve known for years.

Instead, I got hit with that warm woodsmoke aroma that triggered something primitive in my brain. Alpha recognizing omega.

My omega.

Impossible, but undeniable.

We’re all scent matched. Even Darren. I knew he belonged to our pack from the moment we met, but it’s always been… different. Subtler.

Now…

“You all smelled it too, right?” Zayn finally says what we’ve been dancing around. “That wasn’t just some weird concussion hallucination?”

Dmitri’s massive shoulders tense. “You’d have to be the one with the concussion to have a hallucination, bratan . But it makes no sense.”

“Makes perfect sense,” Zayn counters, dropping into the chair beside the winger. “Explains why he’s such an asshole sometimes. Repressed omega tendencies.”

Dmitri’s eyes narrow. “You are not funny.”

“Who’s laughing? I’m dead serious.”

“He cannot be an omega,” Dmitri says with the absolute certainty that makes him so intimidating on the ice.

Even if he knows as well as the rest of us do that somehow, the impossible has happened.

Knowing doesn’t make it any easier to process, though.

“Darren is a beta. He’s always been a beta.

You don’t just present at twenty-seven.”

“Well something fucking changed,” Zayn snaps. “You think I’m imagining what I smelled? We all noticed it.”

I push off from the wall. This conversation isn’t helping anyone, least of all Darren, who’s behind those doors being poked and prodded and God knows what else.

“It doesn’t matter right now,” I say, my voice cutting through their argument. “We don’t have all the facts. What we know is our teammate took a serious hit protecting our net, and he’s hurt. Everything else is secondary.”

They both look at me, alpha programming responding to the authority in my tone. Even Zayn, who challenges me at every turn, backs down slightly.

“Jax is right,” Aidan chimes in, his younger voice breaking the awkward tension in the room. “My cousin got a concussion last year and smelled weird for like a week after. Could be temporary.”

I don’t believe that for a second, but I nod gratefully at the kid. At twenty-two, Aidan’s seven years my junior, but he’s got good instincts. Knows how to smooth things over, and in this pack, that makes him a godsend.

The door to the examination area swings open, and we all straighten as a doctor approaches. She’s middle-aged with silver streaking her dark hair, wearing the slightly harried expression of someone who’s been on shift too long. Her eyes sweep across our group, recognition flickering briefly.

“You’re here for Darren Malloy?” she asks, though she has to know who we are. The Grizzlies practice jerseys we’re still wearing aren’t exactly subtle. Neither is the streak of Darren’s blood on my sleeve from when I was holding him.

“Yes,” I step forward. “How is he?”

“Are you family?” she asks, clipboard clutched to her chest like a shield.

“Pack,” I answer without hesitation. “I’m Jax Lawson, team captain.” I pull out my ID, which shows our pack affiliation, Pack Lawson. The same one listed in Darren’s records.

She examines it briefly, then nods. “I’m Dr. Casell.

First of all, let me reassure you that Mr. Malloy is stable.

The concussion is severe but not life-threatening.

We’ve done a full workup, including blood tests and a CT scan, and.

..” She pauses, choosing her next words carefully.

“There have been some unusual developments.”

“He’s an omega,” Zayn says bluntly.

An alpha’s scent can pick up more than any scan. At least when it comes to that.

Dr. Casell’s eyebrows rise slightly. “Yes. As unconventional as it is, Mr. Malloy appears to have presented as an omega. We suspect the severe head trauma may have triggered a latent presentation.”

“That’s not possible,” Dmitri rumbles. “He’s not some twenty-year-old kid.”

“It’s rare,” Dr. Casell corrects, “but not unprecedented. There have been documented cases of late presentations following significant physical trauma or extreme psychological stress.” She glances at her clipboard.

“Sometimes all of the above. Has Mr. Malloy experienced any major life changes or stressors recently?”

I think about the last few months, the trade rumors that circled Darren during the off-season, the new contract negotiations that nearly fell through, his ongoing rivalry with Zayn. Nothing out of the ordinary for a professional athlete, but cumulative stress is still stress.

“Nothing unusual for our line of work,” I answer diplomatically.

“How is this even possible?” Aidan asks, his light freckles standing out against his paler-than-usual skin. “Everyone in Darren’s family is a beta, right?”

“Darren was adopted,” I say, the words leaving my mouth before I remember it’s not common knowledge.

Not even to our newest pack member. Darren mentioned it once, drunk after a playoff elimination two years ago.

“He never knew his biological parents, only that his mother was a beta. No information about his father.”

Dr. Casell nods. “That would explain it. An alpha-beta pairing can, in extremely rare cases, produce an omega or an alpha. These cases often present late, and physical trauma can be a triggering factor.” She tucks her clipboard under her arm.

“For what it’s worth, the tests are conclusive.

Mr. Malloy’s hormonal profile shows classic omega markers, albeit at early stages. ”

Aidan steps forward, worry etched across his face. “But he’s going to be okay, right? I mean, aside from the... omega thing.”

A flicker of sympathy crosses Dr. Casell’s face. “The concussion will heal with proper rest. As for his status change… physically, he’ll adapt. His body will go through changes as his hormonal system stabilizes. His first heat could arrive within weeks or months.”

Heat. The word goes off like a bomb. I’ve been around enough omegas to know what that means for Darren.

Vulnerability, need, biological imperatives no amount of suppressants can fully control.

The thought of Darren Malloy, the man who once played through a broken rib without telling anyone, experiencing that kind of vulnerability is almost impossible to imagine.

“Considering his new status,” Dr. Casell continues, her tone carefully neutral, “his continued career in the NHL would be inadvisable at best. There are significant health risks for omegas in contact sports, even males, particularly when it?—”

“We’re taking this one step at a time,” I cut in, bristling at the way she’s already writing Darren’s career obituary. “Can we see him?”

Dr. Casell studies me for a moment, then nods.

“Of course. He’s awake, but keep in mind he’s still processing the concussion.

We thought it would be best for people he knows to break the news about the designation without a bunch of medical professionals crowding him, but it may take him some time to adjust to this new reality. ”

On the one hand, I’m glad we get to break the news to him. On the other… holy shit, we have to break the news that Darren is an omega.

To Darren.

This is not going to go well.

She leads us down a short hallway to a private room, pausing at the door. “Try not to overwhelm him,” she adds before pushing it open.

Darren looks smaller somehow, propped up in the hospital bed with monitors beeping steadily beside him. The bruise spreading across his temple has darkened to an ugly purple, and a bandage covers the gash where his helmet strap cut into his chin.

He looks up when we come in, his eyes widening as they drift over each of us.

“Darren?” Aidan asks warily, moving closer to the bed like Darren might shatter if he moves too quickly. “Do you remember us?”

Darren blinks at him. “Who… who are you people?”

A look of panic flashes across Aidan’s face, and he exchanges a look with the others, who clearly haven’t picked up on his telltale sarcasm.

“You don’t remember?” Zayn asks, an edge in his tone anyone else might mistake for anger, but I can tell he’s as worried as the rest of us. He might be an asshole on and off the ice, but he’s still an alpha. He still cares for his pack.