Page 66

Chapter

Forty-Two

LEXIE

T he rhythmic click-clack of my knitting needles fills the studio space, each stitch feeling like another minuscule act of defiance.

My fingers work the yarn in Grizzlies colors, of course, while my mind recaps everything that's happened in the past week.

The league's gone radio silent. The team's on probation. And we're all just... waiting.

Fuck waiting.

I shift on my stool, surveying the banner spread across my cutting table. Twenty feet of hand-knitted protest that's taken me four days of barely sleeping to complete. The letters stand bold against the background.

PLAY LIKE AN OMEGA.

Each letter is perfectly formed, each stitch a middle finger to everyone who thinks Darren doesn't belong on the ice.

My phone buzzes with another news alert. I ignore it. They're all the same anyway, just speculation about whether the league will cave, whether Darren will ever play again, whether the pack's ultimatum was just posturing. As if my boys would bluff about something like this.

The studio door chimes and Jessica breezes in carrying two coffees and what smells like stress-baked goods from Aidan.

He's been supplying our entire social circle with muffins since Vancouver.

Pretty sure the first basket broke Luke's brain, but to be fair, I'm not sure how I would react if my idol was sending me home baked goods either.

"Holy shit," she breathes, setting everything down to get a better look at the banner. "Lex, this is incredible."

"It's almost done." I secure the final stitch, then stand to stretch my aching back. "Just need to reinforce the edges so it doesn't sag when we hold it up."

"We?" Jessica's eyebrows climb toward her hairline.

"At the next game." I take one of the coffees, grateful for the caffeine hit. "Whether it's the Grizzlies playing or whatever scab team they throw together, we're going to be there. Front row. Making sure everyone knows exactly where we stand."

Jessica's grin turns wicked. "Count me in. And I'll bring reinforcements."

"Yeah?"

"Oh yeah." She pulls out her phone, scrolling through what looks like group chats.

"You have no idea how many people are pissed about this.

Half the wives and girlfriends in the league are ready to riot.

That's what happens when you piss off a bunch of omegas.

Dan's wife… you know, from the team chat?

She's already organizing a protest outside league headquarters. "

My throat tightens. I knew there was support online, but this...

"Look at this," Jessica continues, shoving her phone in my face. "The hashtag #LetDarrenPlay has been trending for three days. And check out the fan art."

I scroll through image after image. Darren depicted as a warrior. The whole pack drawn like superheroes protecting him. One particularly beautiful piece shows him mid-check on the ice with the omega symbol on his jersey like a badge of honor instead of something to hide.

"And this." Jessica swipes to another screen. "A petition to officially allow omegas in the league. It's got over two hundred thousand signatures already."

"Fuck." I sink onto my stool, overwhelmed. "The guys need to see this."

"They haven't?"

"They've been avoiding social media. Jax's orders. Said it would just mess with their heads while they wait for the league's decision."

Jessica snorts. "Since when does Zayn follow orders about anything?"

"Since Jax threatened to hide his hair products if anyone so much as opened a news feed.”

That gets a laugh. "Smart man." She helps herself to one of Aidan's muffins—blueberry lemon, from the smell. "So, subject change. Have you given any more thought to the move?"

Heat floods my cheeks. Right. That.

"The moving truck's booked for next week," I admit, focusing very hard on my coffee. "Tuesday, actually."

Jessica squeals—actually fucking squeals—and launches herself at me. I barely manage to save my coffee from becoming a casualty of her enthusiasm.

"Oh my god, it's really happening! You're moving in with your pack!"

"It's not that big a deal," I mutter, but we both know I'm lying. It's huge. Massive. Terrifying and exciting and about a dozen other emotions I can't even name.

"Not a big deal?" Jessica pulls back to stare at me. "Six months ago you were convinced you'd die alone surrounded by sweaters. Now you're moving in with five professional hockey players who worship the ground you walk on. That's the biggest deal!"

"When you put it like that..."

"I'm so fucking happy for you." Her eyes are suspiciously bright. "You deserve this, Lex. All of it. The pack, the house, the ridiculous amount of orgasms I'm sure you're having?—"

"Jessica!"

"What? I've seen how they look at you. Like you're their personal goddess. And that house has excellent soundproofing, which I'm sure you'll appreciate."

I bury my burning face in my hands. "I hate you."

"You love me." She steals another bite of muffin. "Have you figured out which room you're taking? Or are you just gonna rotate through all their beds like some kind of sexual timeshare?"

"We're converting one of the rooms into my space," I explain, still talking to my hands because looking at my sister right now might kill me. "Somewhere I can work on designs, have my own area when I need it. But yeah, the sleeping arrangements are... flexible."

"I'll bet they are."

My phone buzzes before I can throw something at her. Dmitri's name lights up the screen.

DMITRI: Can I pick you up? Need to discuss something at the house.

My stomach drops. This is it. They've heard from the league.

LEXIE: Something important?

DMITRI: Yes.

I sigh. Coming from Dmitri, it's practically a novel, but I've gotten to know all their little quirks and learned that Dmitri will send a one-word text immediately followed by gathering me into his arms and kissing me like he hasn't seen me for a whole year.

"What's wrong?" Jessica reads my expression too well.

"Dmitri wants to pick me up. Says they need to discuss something at the house."

"The verdict from the league?"

"Maybe." I'm already gathering my things, hands shaking slightly. "Can you?—"

"I'll lock up," she assures me. "Go. And text me the second you know anything."

I'm out the door before she finishes talking, standing on the sidewalk like an idiot because I didn't think to ask how long Dmitri would be. But I should have known better. His black SUV rounds the corner less than two minutes later.

Dmitri's out and opening my door before I can reach for the handle. He looks... nervous? Which is terrifying because Dmitri doesn't do nervous. Dmitri does stoic and occasionally murderous.

His expression lightens when he spots me, and a genuine smile graces that handsome face. He pulls me into his arms and off the ground, kissing me breathless. "Now there is a sight for sore eyes."

I smile up at him, dazed. "You're quite a sight yourself, handsome. Let's get going."

He opens the door for me, helping me into the car before getting in on the driver's side.

"Is it bad?" I ask as he pulls into traffic. "Just tell me if it's bad."

"Don't know," he admits, and fuck, even his accent is thicker with stress. "The letter came an hour ago. From the league. Jax called everyone together, and I was closest to you."

Warmth unfurls in my chest. "You waited for me?"

His massive hand finds mine across the console. "Of course we waited. You're pack."

"I'm not technically pack yet," I point out. "Not until I move in."

"Technicality," he dismisses. "You have been ours since that first dinner. Just took time to make official."

God, this man. Six feet five inches of muscle who could snap someone in half without breaking a sweat, and he turns me into emotional mush with a few words.

"I can't wait to be living there," I admit. "Waking up with all of you every day. Well, when you're not traveling."

"Me too," he says, seeming to be visibly restraining himself from going faster. He never speeds with me in the car, even though I can tell it physically pains him sometimes. "Don't like you being alone. It's not safe."

I have to laugh. "I've lived alone for years, Dmitri. I think I can handle it for a few more days."

"Still don't like it.” His jaw sets in that stubborn way I'm learning means argument is pointless. "We should have moved you in after Vancouver."

"You guys have been at my place every night," I point out. "Sometimes more than one of you. I'm hardly ever actually alone."

A grin cracks his serious expression. "It's not the same. At the house, we can protect you properly. Make sure you eat enough. Make sure you sleep."

"Make sure I'm thoroughly fucked?" I offer.

He chokes on air. I can't believe I actually rendered Dmitri speechless.

"What? We both know that's part of the appeal. All of you, one house, thick walls..."

"Woman," he growls, but his ears are pink. "Save that talk for when I'm not driving, unless you want me to pull over and knot you on the side of the road."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," I tease, squeezing his hand. "But Tuesday can't come fast enough."

"Agreed," he says fervently. Then, quieter. "It will be good. Having you home."

Home. The word settles in my chest like a promise.

The pack house comes into view, and my nerves kick back into high gear. Through the windows, I can see movement, all of them waiting inside.

We head inside to find organized chaos. Zayn's pacing a hole in the living room carpet. Aidan's stress-baking has reached critical mass, and the kitchen counter practically groans under the weight of enough pastries to feed an army. Jax stands by the window, spine rigid.

And Darren sits on the couch, holding an envelope like it might explode.

They all turn when we enter, and I'm immediately engulfed. Zayn reaches me first, pulling me against him hard enough to steal my breath.

"Thank fuck you're here," he mutters into my hair.

By the time I've been passed around to everyone, and kissed utterly breathless, I'm settled on the couch between Darren and Dmitri. The letter sits on the coffee table like a live grenade.

"So," I say when the silence stretches too long. "We doing this?"

Darren picks up the envelope with hands that barely shake. The return address is official, intimidating. League headquarters. The seal unbroken.

Here we go. The moment of truth.