Page 55

Chapter

Thirty-Five

AIDAN

T he puck slides across the ice like it's on fucking rails, and I snatch it out of the air with my glove before Vancouver's center can even blink.

The crowd groans, and I can't help the shit-eating grin that spreads across my face.

We're demolishing these assholes, and Lexie's watching from the VIP box. Life doesn't get much better.

"Nice save, rookie!" Zayn calls as he skates past, tapping my pads with his stick.

I flip the puck to Dmitri, who starts the breakout with that ease that makes him so fucking dangerous. Everything's clicking tonight. We're moving like one organism, five bodies with a single mind, and Vancouver can't keep up.

But something's off.

I track the play as it develops, ready for the inevitable shot that'll come my way, but my eyes keep drifting to Darren. He's in position, doing all the right things, but there's an offness with the way he's moving. Like he's fighting against his own body instead of working with it.

The whistle blows for an offside, and I take the opportunity to skate out to the blue line, pretending to adjust my gear while really getting a better look at our omega defenseman.

Up close, it's worse. Sweat's pouring off him in rivers, way more than it should be even with the intensity of the game.

His face is flushed, and not the good kind of flushed from exertion.

"You good, Brick?" I ask, keeping my voice low.

He doesn't look at me, just nods sharply. "Fine. Get back in your net."

But he's not fine. I've spent enough time around Darren to know his tells.

The way his jaw clenches when he's fighting an injury.

The slight tremor in his hands that he's trying to hide by gripping his stick tighter.

The way he keeps shifting his weight on the ice like his gear suddenly doesn't fit right.

Fuck .

The ref drops the puck, and I scramble back to my crease, but my focus is split now. Half on the game, half on Darren. He wins a battle along the boards, but when he pivots to make the outlet pass, he stumbles. Just for a second, barely noticeable to anyone not watching for it, but I see it.

My heart drops.

No. Not here. Not now.

Vancouver gets a shot off, and I make the save on autopilot, my body moving without conscious thought while my brain tailspins.

Darren's been on suppressants for months.

We all knew they weren't a permanent solution, but he's been so careful.

Why now? Why in the middle of a fucking game in a hostile arena with thousands of people watching?

The play continues, but I can't shake the dread building in my chest. Every time Darren touches the puck, I hold my breath. Every hit he takes makes me want to charge out of my net and protect him. Which is insane. He's Darren fucking Malloy, The Brick. He doesn't need protection.

Except maybe he does.

The second period ends with us up 3-0, but I barely register Jax's goal. All I can see is Darren practically collapsing on the bench, Jax leaning over him with that captain's concern that usually means someone's about to get benched.

I can't hear what they're saying from my end of the ice, but I can read body language well enough. Darren's shaking his head, stubborn as always. Jax is commanding. Probably trying to get him off the ice.

Come on, Darren. Just listen to him for once.

But no. Of course not. When the third period starts, Darren's back out there, and now I'm genuinely panicked. Because I'm not the only one who's noticed something's wrong.

Vancouver's players are predators, just like us. They smell weakness like blood in the water. I see it in the way their biggest defenseman—Brennan, I think—keeps eyeing Darren. The way their forwards are suddenly targeting him specifically, testing him with little shoves and jabs after the whistle.

They don't know what's wrong yet, but they know he's a target.

"Heads up, boys," I mutter to myself, tracking the play as Vancouver brings it into our zone.

Darren moves to challenge their winger, but he's half a second too slow. The winger blows past him, and I have to make a desperation save to keep it out of the net. The crowd roars, smelling blood, and I see Darren slam his stick against the boards in frustration.

That's when it happens.

Brennan skates past Darren after the whistle, close enough that I see him lean in and whisper something. I can't hear the words, but I see Darren's whole body go rigid. See the way Brennan's eyes widen, then narrow with predatory interest.

"Oh fuck," I breathe.

Brennan knows. The way he's suddenly circling Darren like a shark, the way his nostrils flare as he obviously scents the air. He fucking knows.

I want to scream a warning, but the play's already restarting. Darren wins the faceoff, but his movements are getting more erratic. The flush on his face is deeper now, and even from my crease, I can see the way his chest heaves with each breath.

Kowalski is conversing with his linemate, who looks at Darren and nods. Then they both look at their bench, and I see their coach's eyes go wide.

Shit. Shit shit shit.

"Time!" I scream, slamming my stick against the post. "We need time!"

But the refs don't hear me over the crowd noise, or maybe they just don't care. The play continues, and now Vancouver's players are actively hunting Darren. Not trying to score, not trying to win. Just hunting.

Jax must sense it too because he's suddenly shadowing Darren, trying to shield him without making it obvious. Dmitri's doing the same on the other side. Even Zayn's dropped back from his usual aggressive positioning.

We're trying to protect our omega, but it's too late.

Brennan gets position on Darren in the corner, and instead of playing the puck, he presses close, his lips forming around words that make Darren drop his gloves and shove him. Hard.

The whistle blows, but Brennan's laughing. "Holy shit, boys!" he shouts, loud enough for the whole arena to hear. "Malloy's in heat! He's a fucking omega!"

Time stops.

The arena goes silent for a heartbeat, even if most of them probably can't hear what was said. But everyone on the ice heard.

Then there's chaos.

The Vancouver bench erupts. Their players are banging their sticks, shouting, and I see at least two of them struggling against their own instincts. The crowd's going insane, some booing, some cheering, most just shocked.

And Darren...

Darren looks like he wants to die.

He's backed against the boards, stick raised defensively, but his whole body is shaking now. The omega in heat pheromones must be pouring off him because I can see our own guys fighting their reactions.

"Get him off the ice!" Jax roars, but it's too late.

Vancouver's enforcer loses it. I see the moment his control snaps, see his eyes go dark and feral as pure alpha instinct takes over. He charges at Darren with a sound that's more animal than human.

I don't think. I just move.

My goalie gear weighs a ton, but adrenaline makes me faster than I've ever been. I launch myself across the ice, catching Morris with a body check that would make Dmitri proud. We go down in a tangle of limbs and equipment, but I'm already swinging before we hit the ice.

My blocker connects with his jaw, snapping his head back. My glove hand finds his throat. And then I'm just... gone. Lost in a red haze of protective fury that burns through every rational thought.

This fucker tried to hurt Darren. Tried to attack my packmate. My omega.

Mine to protect.

I hit him again. And again. His helmet comes off somewhere in the struggle, and my blocker finds his nose, his cheek, his eye.

Blood splatters across the ice, across my jersey, across everything.

He's trying to fight back, but I've got leverage and rage and primal alpha instincts driving me forward.

"Aidan! Aidan, stop!"

Hands grab at me, trying to pull me off, but I shake them away. Morris's face is a mess of blood and bruises, but I can't stop. Won't stop. He tried to hurt what's mine.

" AIDAN, STOP !"

Jax's alpha bark cuts through the rage, and suddenly Dmitri's arms are around me, physically lifting me off Morris's limp form. I struggle against him, still trying to get at the Vancouver player, but Dmitri's stronger than me. Stronger than anyone.

"Enough," he says in my ear, his accent thick. "It is enough, Aidan. You got him."

The red haze starts to clear, and I see what I've done. Morris isn't moving. There's so much blood on the ice it looks like someone spilled paint. The refs are blowing their whistles frantically, and both benches have emptied onto the ice.

But worse than all of that is Darren.

Zayn's got him at the bench, physically holding him back from the ice while also standing in the way of anyone who might think of following in Morris’s footsteps.

He's clearly deep in heat now, no hiding it.

His face is flushed, his eyes glazed, and the way he's pressing back against Zayn isn't about trying to get free.

It's about seeking contact, seeking an alpha's touch.

The whole arena can see it. The cameras are definitely rolling. There's no taking this back.

My eyes track to the VIP box and lock instantly on Lexie. She's still there, still watching, her eyes wide with shock and concern. I don't know if she's afraid of me after what she saw me do to Morris, or just afraid for Darren. Maybe both.

The thought makes my soul ache. Have I made things worse for Darren and lost her?

"Get him to the locker room," Jax orders Zayn, his captain's authority cutting through the chaos. " Now !"

Zayn doesn't need to be told twice. He practically carries Darren off the ice, and I can hear the crowd's mixed reaction. Every possible emotion rolled into a roar that makes my ears ring.

Dmitri still has me in a gripping bear hug, and I realize I'm shaking. Not from exertion or adrenaline, but from the magnitude of what just happened.

"Is Morris...?" I can't finish the question.

"Alive," Dmitri confirms. "But he wouldn't have been if you'd kept going."

The Vancouver trainer is on the ice now, working on Morris while the refs try to restore order and the medics rush onto the ice.

I can see them conferring, probably trying to figure out what the fuck to do.

There's no protocol for this. No rule book entry for "what to do when an omega goes into heat during a game and violence erupts between alphas. "

"Aidan." Jax is in front of me now, his gray eyes serious. "You need to get off the ice. Now."

I nod, suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline's wearing off, leaving me feeling hollow and scared. "Jax, I?—"

"Not now," he cuts me off. "Locker room. Go."

Dmitri releases me, and I skate toward the tunnel on legs that feel like jelly. The crowd's booing now, throwing things onto the ice. I don't know if it's for me, for Darren, or for the whole situation. Maybe all three.

As I reach the tunnel, I turn back to look at the ice one more time.

It's chaos. Our second string and Jones are going at it with the other team, the refs pulling them apart.

Both coaches are screaming. The fans are going wild.

And there's still a puddle of Morris's blood staining the ice where I left him.

Maybe I'm supposed to regret it now that the adrenaline is worn off, but I fucking don't.

All I can think about is Darren and Lexie watching from the stands. How scared they must be. How vulnerable. And how the whole fucking world just watched us fall apart on national television.

The media's going to have a field day. The league's going to lose their minds.

And, fuck, what's this going to do to Darren?

I stumble into the tunnel, my skates clicking against the concrete as I head for the locker room. Behind me, I can hear the arena announcer trying to restore calm, but it's pointless.

Everyone knows.

The league knows. The fans know. The whole fucking world knows.

Darren Malloy, The Brick, is an omega who just went into heat during a professional hockey game. And I nearly beat a man to death defending him.

There's no coming back from this.