Page 54

Chapter

Thirty-Four

LEXIE

T he Vancouver arena locker room smells like leather, sweat, and that particular combination of disinfectant and ice that I'm starting to associate with hockey. I'm perched on a bench, trying to look like I belong here while five massive hockey players gear up around me.

The energy tonight is different from home games. It's sharper, more focused. There's something about being on enemy territory that brings out the predator in all of them and it's hotter than I care to admit.

"You're fidgeting," Zayn observes, pulling his jersey over his head. The movement makes his abs flex in a way that's frankly criminal. "Nervous?"

"I'm not fidgeting," I protest, then immediately stop bouncing my knee. Shit. "Okay, maybe a little. This is different from watching at home."

"Because you care more now," Dmitri says simply, adjusting his shoulder pads with the ease of someone who's done it a hundred times a year for over a decade. His accent is thicker when he's focused like this, preparing for battle. That's what this is for them, controlled warfare on ice.

He's right, of course.

Two weeks of individual dates, late-night phone calls, and stolen moments at my new studio have only deepened what I feel for each of them.

Just the other day, Jax took me to an art gallery and surprised me with his knowledge of contemporary sculpture.

Aidan taught me to ice skate, holding my hands and laughing when I death-gripped his arms. Zayn showed up at my studio at midnight with Thai food and helped me reorganize my inventory system.

Dmitri brought me to a Russian bakery and told me stories about his grandmother while we ate pastries that made Aidan jealous.

And Darren has been at my apartment more nights than not, sometimes just sleeping beside me, like he needs the closeness as much as I do.

"I care about all of you," I admit, watching Aidan tape his stick. "Is that weird? That I'm equally worried about each of you getting your teeth knocked out?"

"Our dental insurance is excellent," Jax says dryly, but his gray eyes are warm when they meet mine. He's already fully dressed except for his helmet, looking every inch the captain. "And no, it's not weird. It's exactly what we hoped for."

"Still," I say, standing and smoothing down my jeans. I'm wearing one of Darren's jerseys tonight. We decided to rotate whose number I wear for away games, and tonight felt right for his. "I should probably head up to the VIP box before?—"

"Wait," Darren says, crossing to me in three quick strides. He's intimidating in full gear, all bulk and padding, but his touch is gentle when he cups my face. "We need our good luck charm first."

Before I can ask what he means, he's kissing me. It's not a quick peck either. It's thorough, claiming, the kind of kiss that makes my knees weak and has me gripping his jersey for balance. When he pulls back, his eyes are dark with satisfaction.

"For luck," he says, like that explains everything.

"If that was for luck, the Grizzlies are about to have their best season ever," I manage, still breathless.

"My turn," Aidan announces, practically bouncing over. His kiss is different. Enthusiastic, sweet, with just enough heat to leave me feeling chilly after it ends. "Gotta make it a proper ritual," he says against my lips. "Can't mess with the system now."

"Since when is this a system?" I ask, but Zayn's already there, spinning me to face him.

"Since right now," he says, then proceeds to kiss me like he's trying to win a competition. His kiss is a whirlwind of heat and demand, his hand tangling in my hair, making me forget we have an audience. When he releases me, I have to blink several times to remember where I am.

"I think you broke her," Dmitri observes, but he's already moving in for his turn.

His kiss is like him. It's intense, focused, with an underlying tenderness that makes my heart do a stupid little stutter in my ribs.

He tastes like the cinnamon gum he always chews before games, and I file that detail away with all the others I've been collecting on my pack.

I mean… this pack.

They're not mine. Not yet. Not officially.

"One more," Jax says, and I turn to find him watching with that quiet intensity that still makes me shiver. He kisses me with complete control and devastating effectiveness. By the time he pulls back, I'm gripping his jersey with both hands and unsure of how to stand.

"Okay," I breathe, looking around at five very satisfied hockey players. "If you lose after that, it's definitely not my fault."

"We're not going to lose," Darren says with the kind of confidence that would be arrogance on anyone else. On him, it's just fact. "Not with our good luck charm in the building."

"Your very dizzy good luck charm," I correct, pressing a hand to my chest. "Seriously, you can't just spring a five-way kiss attack on a girl without warning."

"Seemed to work pretty well," Zayn smirks, and I resist the urge to throw something at him. Barely. Mainly myself.

"Get that perfect little ass up to the VIP box," Jax orders, but he's smiling. "We've got a game to dominate and we expect our girl to be watching."

His words make my legs jelly, and suddenly I'm not sure I'll be able to make the climb to said VIP box.

I make my way to the door on unsteady legs, pausing to look back at them one more time. They're finishing their preparations, stretching and checking equipment, and I feel a twinge of anxiety.

"Be careful out there," I say, meaning it for all of them.

"Always are," Darren replies, but there's a waver in his voice that makes me pause. Before I can analyze it, Aidan's herding me toward the door.

"Go on, you're distracting us with your gorgeous face," he says, grinning. "We'll see you after we crush Vancouver's dreams."

The walk to the VIP box feels longer than it should, probably because I'm replaying five different kisses and trying to get my heart rate under control.

The arena is already filling up, a sea of hostile Vancouver jerseys with scattered pockets of Grizzlies fans who made the trip.

The energy is electric, and I understand why the guys love this.

There's a primal quality about it, like gladiators preparing for battle, crowds baying for blood.

The VIP box is smaller than the one at home but just as well-appointed.

I settle into a seat with a perfect view of the ice, accepting a glass of wine from the attendant more out of habit than desire.

My stomach is doing gymnastics that have nothing to do with altitude and everything to do with the five men currently making their way through the tunnel.

I could get used to this, I think, watching them take the ice for warm-ups. The crowd's reaction is immediate. Boos for the visiting team mixed with grudging respect. Even Vancouver fans know they're watching something special when the Grizzlies take the ice. I just cheer louder to make up for it.

Aidan's gaze meets mine across the ice and the thousand-watt grin makes me melt.

Unfortunately, he's not the only one who notices me.

The jumbotron immediately pans over to the VIP box and locks on my expression of panic.

I give a smile that feels like it'll crack and an awkward little wave as the camera puts a heart eyes filter over my face along with a line of pink neon text that reads: Lovebird Lane.

Oh my God. This is humiliating.

But the guys are laughing their asses off already and Darren waves boldly over his head before he cups his gloved hands around his mouth and yells, "That's our girl!"

These men are going to be the death of me. Or the reason I get out of bed in the morning. It's a tossup.

The camera finally pans away to assault more unsuspecting crowd members when my phone buzzes with a text from Jessica.

JESSICA: OMG, we just saw you on the jumbotron! You bitch, I'm so jealous!

LEXIE: Wonderful. So glad my humiliation has made it all the way home.

JESSICA: Please. You're glowing and your lips are swollen. Let me guess… steamy new pregame ritual?

LEXIE: SHUT UP, JESS.

My face is red hot as I close my phone and prepare to focus on the game before Jessica can respond with more inappropriate, if startlingly accurate, speculation.

The game starts with the kind of intensity that sets my nerves off like horses in a race. Vancouver comes out aggressive, clearly hoping to establish dominance early on their home ice. But the Grizzlies are ready for it. More than ready. They're hungry.

Darren's on the ice for the opening face-off, and I find myself tracking his every movement.

There's something different about watching him play now that I know what those hands feel like on my skin, now that I've seen him vulnerable and tender in my bed.

On the ice, he's a solid wall of violence and strategic brilliance, reading plays before they develop, shutting down Vancouver's offense before it can even start.

The VIP box is filling up as some latecomers join in, and even though I don't recognize any of them from back home, we all develop a fast camaraderie that makes it a little less nerve-wracking than watching alone.

"Your boyfriend's having himself a game," the man next to me comments, and I realize I've been leaning forward in my seat, hands clenched.

"Which one?" I ask without thinking, then feel heat flood my face as he gives me a strange look.

"The defenseman. Number forty-seven. You're wearing his jersey, so I figured..."

"Oh. Yes. Right." I sit back, trying to look less like someone who just admitted to dating an entire hockey line. "He's... they're all doing great."

They are. By the end of the first period, the Grizzlies are up 2-0, both goals coming from beautiful plays that started with Darren and ended with Zayn putting the puck in the net with his signature style.

The Vancouver crowd is getting restless, their team frustrated, and I can see the other team starting to play dirty.

Little hooks and holds the refs don't catch, trying to get under the Grizzlies' skin.

"Cheap fuckers," I mutter when one of them catches Aidan with an elbow after the whistle. The man next to me laughs.

"First away game?"

"Yeah." I accept the fresh glass of wine the attendant offers, needing something to do with my hands. "It's more intense than I expected."

"Wait 'til the playoffs," he says knowingly. "This is nothing."

The second period is even better. The Grizzlies are in complete control now, passing with the kind of ease that makes it look like they're telepathic. Jax scores off a pass from Dmitri that's so pretty I actually gasp. The Vancouver goalie never had a chance.

But something's wrong.

I notice it first in the way Darren shakes his head after a whistle, like he's trying to clear it. Then in how he's skating. Still effective, but not with his usual grace. By the middle of the second period, I'm sitting forward again, that anxious knot reforming in my stomach.

Then I remember the locker room. That strange little hitch in his voice. Maybe I wasn't imagining things.

"You okay?" the man next to me asks, and I realize I've been gripping the armrest hard enough to leave marks.

"I... something's wrong with Darren," I say, tracking Darren as he goes for a change. He practically collapses on the bench, and I can see Jax leaning over to talk to him, concern evident even from this distance.

"Forty-seven? Looks like maybe equipment issue?" the woman on my other side suggests. "Or he tweaked something. Happens all the time."

But I know it's not equipment. I know it's not a minor injury. Because I can see the way the other Grizzlies are reacting. The way Aidan keeps looking over at the bench even when he's in net, the way Zayn's usual swagger has been replaced by sharp attention. Jax and Dmitri are equally on edge.

They know something's wrong too.

Darren goes back out for his next shift, but it's worse now. He's sweating more than he should be, his movements increasingly erratic. He manages to break up a play at the blue line, but when he turns to pass, he stops mid-motion, doubling over slightly.

The whistle blows over an icing call and I watch Jax skate directly to Darren, grabbing his jersey. They're having an intense conversation, Darren shaking his head, Jax clearly insisting. The refs are getting impatient, wanting to drop the puck, but Jax uses his captain privileges to call for time.

That's when I see it. The way Darren's hand goes to his stomach, the flush on his face that has nothing to do with exertion, the way he's breathing through his mouth like he can't get enough air.

"Oh no," I breathe, the pieces clicking into place with horrible clarity. "No, no, no."

"What?" The man next to me is looking at me with concern now. "What's wrong?"

But I can't answer him. Can't form words past the sudden understanding that's crashing over me like a cold wave.

The suppressants. He's been on them for months, pushing his body to maintain his beta facade, ignoring his omega biology.

And now, in the middle of a game, in front of thousands of people, surrounded by alphas and aggression and intense physical stress. ..

Darren is going into heat.