Page 70

Chapter

Forty-Five

LEXIE

T he last cardboard box sits on my apartment floor like a punctuation mark at the end of a very long sentence. I trace my fingers along its taped edges, wondering how an entire life can be condensed into corrugated containers and bubble wrap.

Years of independence, four failed relationships, and one thriving business, all packed up and ready to merge with five hockey players who have somehow convinced me that the girl who never belonged anywhere always belonged with them.

"That the last one?" Dmitri's voice rumbles from the doorway, his massive frame blocking most of the morning light. He's wearing a gray henley that stretches across his chest in ways that should be illegal before noon.

"Yeah." I stand, brushing dust from my jeans. "Just my crafting supplies. The fragile stuff."

He nods, moving into the room with that particular grace he somehow possesses despite being a giant wall of muscle. "I'll take this while you lock up."

I nod, grateful for the chance to say goodbye to this place that was my home for so long. Now, my home isn't four walls and a collection of furniture. It's a pack.

The house looks strange without my things.

Bigger. My footsteps echo on the hardwood floors.

The kitchen where I taught myself to cook after Mark left, because ordering takeout for one felt too pathetic.

The living room window where I used to sit with my morning coffee, watching the world wake up and telling myself I was content with solitude.

I wasn't lying to myself, exactly. I was content. But contentment and happiness aren't the same thing, and I didn't realize the difference until five ridiculously attractive hockey players crashed into my life and showed me what I was missing.

"You good?" Aidan appears beside me, because apparently I've been standing in my empty living room having an existential crisis for longer than I thought. He's got a smudge of dust on his nose and his Grizzlies T-shirt is damp with sweat from hauling boxes.

"Just saying goodbye," I tell him, reaching up to wipe the dust away. His skin is warm under my thumb.

"Having second thoughts?" There's vulnerability in his green eyes that makes my heart squeeze. For all his confidence on the ice, Aidan still sometimes looks at me like I might disappear.

"No." The word comes out firm, certain. "No second thoughts. Just... acknowledging the moment, you know?"

He relaxes, that sunshine smile breaking across his face. "Good. Because Zayn already reorganized his entire closet to make room for your clothes when you stay in his room, and you know how he feels about his wardrobe organization system."

I laugh, the sound bouncing off the empty walls. "He didn't have to do that. I have a whole room, and the nesting space."

"Yeah, well." Aidan shrugs, but his grin turns mischievous. "He may have gotten into a competition with Jax about who could make more space for you. There was a spreadsheet involved. Color coded."

"Oh my god." I press my hand to my mouth, caught between horror and delight. "Please tell me you're joking."

"Dmitri has photos." He takes my hand, tugging me toward the door. "Come on. Let's get out of here before you start overthinking."

He knows me too well already. I let him lead me out, pausing only to drop my keys in the letterbox like I arranged with the agent. The click of metal on metal sounds final. No going back now. Not that I want to.

Outside, the moving truck idles at the curb, already mostly empty.

Jax supervises the last of the unloading, directing Zayn and Darren with the kind of efficiency that makes him such an effective captain.

My guys are all in various states of dishevelment, hair mussed and clothes dusty from the morning's work.

My guys. The thought still sometimes catches me off guard, how easily I've started thinking of them as mine. How naturally they've woven themselves into the fabric of my life.

The unloading process goes just as smoothly, with a lot more goofing around, as if the guys are all relieved to have me officially in the mansion.

As if I'd change my mind when I'm wearing their marks.

But if there's one thing I've learned, it's that alphas are all instinct, and I really don't mind.

Not when those instincts are always geared toward making sure I feel safe and cherished.

"Where does this one go?" Aidan holds up a box labeled "WINTER CLOTHES" in my handwriting.

"Guest room closet," I call out. "Top shelf, if there's room."

He hefts the box easily, muscles flexing under his fitted T-shirt.

"I know exactly where this one goes," Zayn says in a mischievous tone that always means trouble.

Before I can process the words, he's setting the box in his hands down and stalking toward me with intent in those dark eyes. I yelp as he scoops me into his arms and sets me on the counter. My back hits the kitchen cabinet as he cages me in, hands braced on either side of my hips.

"Zayn," I breathe, but it's not a protest. Can't be, not when he's looking at me like I'm something precious and edible all at once.

"Been wanting to do this all morning," he murmurs against my lips. "Watching you in those jeans, bending over boxes, driving me fucking crazy."

His mouth finds mine before I can respond, the kiss deep and claiming. I taste coffee and cinnamon on his tongue, feel the controlled hunger in the way his hands grip my waist. My fingers find his hair, messing up the carefully styled strands, and he groans into my mouth.

"Get a room," Darren calls out, but there's amusement in his voice. "Oh wait, you have five now."

Zayn pulls back just enough to smirk. "Jealous, Brick?"

"Of you mauling our girl in the kitchen? Nah." Darren sets down his box, wiping sweat from his forehead. "I'll have my turn later."

The casual possessiveness in his voice makes heat pool low in my belly. Our girl . Like I've always belonged to them.

"Speaking of mauling," Aidan appears in the doorway, mock outrage on his face. "Are you seriously hogging our good luck charm before the game? We have a system, Copeland."

"Snooze you lose, rookie." Zayn presses a kiss to his mark on my throat, the sensitive skin still tender from two nights ago. The contact sends sparks through my nervous system, the pack bond humming with satisfaction.

"There's plenty of me to go around," I manage, though my voice comes out breathier than intended. "And we have hours before the game."

"About that." Jax enters with Dmitri close behind, and suddenly my spacious kitchen feels very small with five large hockey players filling it. "You ready for tonight?"

This isn't just any game. This is Darren's return to the ice as an openly omega player. The league's test run. The night that could change everything.

"I'm ready." I slide off the counter, smoothing down my shirt. "Are you?"

They exchange glances, that wordless communication thing they do that used to make me feel like an outsider but now just feels like home.

"We're ready," Darren says, but there's tension in his shoulders that belies the confidence in his voice. "Team's been solid in practice. Media training was... well, it was bullshit, but we got through it."

"And my surprise?" I can't help the grin that spreads across my face. "Still want to know what it is?"

"You're really not going to tell us?" Aidan looks like a kicked puppy. "Not even a hint?"

"Nope." I pop the 'p' sound, enjoying their frustration perhaps a bit too much. "But I should mention, I won't need the VIP box seat tonight. You can give it to someone else."

The silence that follows is deafening. Five pairs of eyes stare at me with varying degrees of alarm.

"What do you mean you won't need the seat?" Jax's captain voice is in full effect. "Where else would you be?"

"Don't worry, I'll be there." I pat his chest soothingly. "Wouldn't miss it for the world. It's just part of the surprise."

"Lexie." Dmitri's voice carries that rumbling concern that means he's about to go into protective mode. "Is it safe? This surprise?"

"Completely safe," I assure him. "You'll just have to trust me."

They don't look entirely convinced, but before anyone can argue further, my phone buzzes with a text. Jessica, letting me know the last batch of jerseys is ready for pickup. Perfect timing.

"I actually need to run to the studio for a bit," I say, grabbing my purse. "Last minute surprise prep."

"Want company?" Darren offers, but I shake my head.

"You guys finish getting the truck back. I'll be home in time for pre-game dinner."

Home. The word slips out so easily now. Not my apartment, not their house. Home.

"Fine," Zayn says, but he pulls me in for another kiss, this one softer but no less intense. "But we don't like it."

"You'll forgive me when you see what I've planned," I promise.

One by one, they each steal a kiss, as if they can't let me leave without that contact. By the time I make it to my car, my lips are tingling and my head is spinning in the best way.

The drive to my studio gives me time to mentally review everything. The fan chat exploded when I posted about the banner. What started as a plan to hold up a twenty-foot " PLAY LIKE AN OMEGA " sign has morphed into something so much bigger.

Hundreds of fans have been messaging, wanting to show support.

When I mentioned making custom jerseys with Darren's number and "OMEGA" on the nameplate, the requests poured in faster than I could handle.

The official team store sold out of his jersey within hours of the announcement that he'd be playing, so I've been coordinating with my new assistant, three local print shops, and a handful of seamstresses to fill orders.

It's been chaos, but the good kind. The kind that means something is changing.

My studio buzzes with activity when I arrive. Tanya, my new assistant, has boxes of jerseys stacked along one wall, each labeled with order numbers.

"Last batch just arrived," she says, not looking up from her laptop. "That makes six hundred and forty-seven custom jerseys, not counting the ones for tonight's flash mob."

"Flash mob is a strong term," I protest, but she's not wrong. What started as me and Jessica planning to unveil a banner has turned into a coordinated effort involving over two hundred fans.

"You've started a movement, boss." Tanya finally looks up, grinning. "Own it."

A movement. The words sit heavy and thrilling in my chest. I think about Darren's face when he sees the arena filled with fans wearing his number, proud omegas and supportive allies alike declaring that designation doesn't determine worth.

"The banner's ready?" I ask, moving to check the carefully folded fabric.

"Reinforced edges, just like you asked."

I run my fingers over the stitches, each one placed with intention. This banner represents hours of work, but more than that, it represents hope. Change. A future where players like Darren don't have to hide who they are.

"You sure you don't want to tell them?" Tanya asks. "Your guys are going to flip when they see this."

My guys. Even my assistant has picked up on it, how naturally they've become a unit in my mind.

"That's kind of the point," I admit. "They've been carrying so much pressure about tonight. I want them to see that they're not alone. That there's an army of support behind them."

My phone buzzes with texts from the group chat. Zayn sending pictures of my things being unpacked, Aidan complaining about Zayn hogging my extra boxes to store in his closet, Dmitri sending a single emoji that somehow conveys both exasperation and fondness.

"Go," Tanya says, making shooing motions. "I've got this handled. The volunteers know where to meet, the jerseys are sorted for distribution, and the banner's ready for transport. You need to be with your pack before the game."

My pack. The words still give me a little thrill.

That's never going to get old.