Page 26

Chapter 26

Carver

The ice beneath my skates feels different here in LA. Harder. Colder. Or maybe it’s just Oliver’s death glares making everything feel more intense.

“Left wing, Bradley!” Coach Parker’s voice echoes across the rink. “Stop showboating and pass the damn puck!”

Oliver flips me off as he skates past, but there’s a smirk playing on his lips. He knows what he’s doing. He’s trying to prove he’s still the top dog, even with me here.

The puck slides between us, and I snatch it before he can react.

“Fuck you, Sinclair!” He slams into my side, but I hold my ground.

The familiar coconut scent of my sweat mingles with the sharp bite of ice as I drive toward the goal .

My stick connects, sending the puck flying past Martin’s glove.

“That’s how it’s done,” I call over my shoulder.

Coach Parker’s whistle pierces the air. “Reynolds! Get your head out of your ass and watch your defense!” His voice carries that edge it’s had since Mrs. Jenkins showed up yesterday. “You’re leaving holes big enough to drive a truck through!”

Reynolds, a rookie, shrinks under Parker’s intensity. We all know this isn’t really about hockey. The custody battle for Jagger has everyone on edge, especially Parker.

“Take ten, everyone while I make a call,” Coach yells.

Oliver circles back, spraying ice as he stops beside me. “You may have followed your omega here. And we may allow you into our pack, but this is still my team.”

“Our team,” I correct him, watching Parker storm off the ice toward his office. “And right now, we need to focus on being a team. For Parker. For Jagger.”

“Since when did you become such a team player?” Oliver raises an eyebrow.

“Since I found my pack.” The words come out before I can stop them, and Oliver’s expression shifts from antagonistic to something more complex.

He nods once, then skates away, leaving me to wonder if maybe we’re all finally figuring this out.

Ten minutes later, I’m still leaning against the boards, watching the rookies run drills. Oliver now stands next to me, his usual cockiness replaced by genuine concern as he talks about Harlow.

“Did you know that Jake called her and threatened to expose her if she testified for Parker?”

"No." My fingers tighten on the rail. “That bastard.”

“Asher told me it spooked her pretty bad. ”

“Of course it did. This isn’t just about Jagger anymore.” I run a hand through my sweat-dampened hair. “The DRA takes illegal implants seriously. Depending on what he says could implicate her and then she could face criminal charges. Only scent blockers are legal now.”

I watch Reynolds fumble another pass. “We need to work together on this. All of us. Keep her safe.”

Oliver nods, and something shifts between us. The territorial tension eases, replaced by a shared purpose. It feels…right. Natural. Like a pack.

“Carver?” a familiar voice calls from behind us.

I turn to find Bardot, her scent of amaretto, and vanilla tinged with worry. “Have either of you seen Harlow? She’s not answering her phone, and I’m leaving for the airport soon.”

Oliver and I exchange glances. He pulls his phone from his bag, thumbing through messages.

“Asher was the last one to see her,” Oliver says. “This morning before work.”

I keep one eye on Reynolds’ sloppy defense while trying to focus on Bardot. “Is your mother back in town?”

“No, she had an emergency case and can’t return until next week.” Bardot leans against the boards, watching the rookies on the ice. “It was an omega having triplets and Mom wouldn’t let the girl do it alone.”

Behind us, Oliver’s phone chirps. I strain to hear his conversation while pretending to watch Martin block a shot.

“What do you mean upset?” Oliver’s voice drops low. “Asher, define upset.”

I point at the ice, making a show of analyzing the play. Reynolds needs work on his left side coverage .

“I hope Harlow forgives Mom. She’s been doing some really valuable work,” Bardot continues. “Secretly funding omega rights groups. There’s this new research into safer suppressants she’s backing.”

“That’s brave of her.” I wince as Reynolds misses another block and the puck slides past him.

Coach Parker’s whistle tears through the air again.

“Yeah, well...” Bardot’s voice softens. “After what happened to our grandmother, can you blame her for being overprotective? The trauma, it's just...”

Behind us, Asher’s voice crackles through Oliver’s phone. “She seemed off this morning. Wouldn’t look at me when I left.”

Bardot must overhear the conversation too, because she says, “I haven’t been able to talk to Harlow all day.” She sighs as she glances at her watch. “And she’s not returning my calls, either.”

My chest tightens. Something’s wrong. I can feel it in my bones, in that space where my connection to Harlow lives.

“Your mother did what she thought was right,” I tell Bardot, but my attention is fully on Oliver now as he ends his call with Asher.

I watch as Parker approaches, his eyes fixed on Bardot. He takes a deep breath through his nose, and a smile breaks across his face.

“Really?” I ask.

"She smells nice. Not like Harlow, but still I like it."

“I smell better than Harlow.” Bardot rolls her eyes, but her lips twitch with amusement.

“So you’ve removed the implant,” Parker says.

She nods. “I’m going to try being who I really am.” Bardot tucks her hair behind her ear. “No more implants. Mom said she is going to monitor me, but I have to take heat blockers for a few months, so I don’t go into an unexpected heat before my body has the time to adjust.”

Oliver claps his hands together. “That’s fantastic news! We need to celebrate with Harlow.” Oliver turns to Parker. “Did you call Harlow? Asher mentioned he was going to ask you to check on her.”

Parker’s expression darkens. “Yeah, I tried twice this morning. No answer. Figured I’d catch her at home later.”

“She’s not there,” Bardot cuts in, wringing her hands. “And she’s not picking up for me, either.”

My heart slams against my ribs. The protective gear suddenly feels too tight, too restrictive. I yank at the straps of my chest guard and pull it off.

“What are you doing?” Oliver asks as I kick off my skates.

“Finding her.” The words come out as a growl.

Something’s wrong. I can feel it in my gut, in that space that’s been connected to Harlow since the first time I scented her.

The sound of skates scraping ice fills the silence as Oliver turns to me, his face grim. “We need to find her.”

I nod as fear churns in my gut.

“I’m coming with you.” Oliver rushes off his gear too.

“Both of you go.” Parker’s voice carries the weight of an alpha command. “I’ll handle practice. Find her.”

Half an hour later, I grip the steering wheel tight as Oliver ends the call with Asher. My knuckles turn white against the black leather.

“He’s coming. ”

“He better be quick,” I growl pressing the gas, impatiently as we wait outside the stadium, my Porsche purring beneath us.

“But she wouldn’t just leave,” Oliver mutters, drumming his fingers on my dash. “Maybe Bardot just missed her at the house. Perhaps she was in the shower.”

“Stop that.” I smack his hand away. “And she might have left if she thought she was protecting Jagger.”

“Fuck!” Oliver runs both hands through his hair. “That’s exactly what she’d do.”

Asher finally emerges, his face flushed.

“Really?” Asher eyes my car with disdain as Oliver unfolds himself from the passenger seat. “We could take my SUV.”

“Get in,” I growl. “This is faster.”

“Yeah, if we don’t mind being folded like pretzels.” Asher contorts himself into the back seat, his knees practically touching his chest. “This expensive piece of metal isn’t made for three grown men.”

“Stop whining. You’d think you were an omega right now,” Oliver says, settling back in.

“At least you’re not sharing the back with me.”

“Thank fuck for small mercies.”

Asher shifts, trying to find a comfortable position. “I might need a physio session myself after this.”

“You can treat yourself,” I say, pulling out of the lot with more speed than necessary.

“Easy there, Speed Racer.” Oliver grabs the handle above his door. “We can’t help Harlow if we’re wrapped around a pole.”

“Speaking of wrapping around things,” Asher pipes up from the back, “Oliver, move your seat up. My legs are going numb straddling your seat. ”

“Children,” I mutter, but can’t help the slight smile tugging at my lips. Even worried sick about Harlow, these idiots lighten the mood. “Both of you shut up and let me drive.”

“I’m putting my feet on your leather seats,” Asher grumbles.

I don't care about my seats right now.

My knuckles turn white on the steering wheel as I weave through LA traffic. The familiar weight of panic settles in my chest. The same feeling I had when she disappeared to LA the first time.

“Call her again,” I growl at Asher, who’s going pink as he tries to breathe in the back seat of my Porsche. “And tell me exactly what happened today.”

“My calls are going straight to voicemail,” Asher sighs, his long legs now awkwardly folded behind Oliver’s seat. “It started yesterday. We had coffee at Freya’s, then I took her home and she seemed…subdued.”

“How?” The words come out sharper than intended.

“Just...I don't know…distant. Lost in thought.” Asher shifts uncomfortably. “I should have pushed harder, asked what was amiss with her.”

“Yes, you should have.”

“Fuck off, Carver. She told us all that she wanted a night by herself. Nobody pushed her.”

Oliver’s phone chirps. “Freya says she hasn’t seen Harlow since you two were there yesterday.”

“She’s lying.” I press harder on the gas. “I can feel it.”

“Your expensive piece of metal won’t get us there any faster if you get pulled over,” Asher grumbles, bracing himself as I take a corner.

“It’ll get us there faster than your practical SUV.”

“We can still only drive the speed limit,” Asher points out, but there’s tension in his voice, too.

I growl. “Try her again. ”

Asher’s fingers tap across his phone screen. The silence that follows tells me everything.

“Voicemail?” Oliver asks.

“Yeah.” Asher leans forward between the front seats. “Look, maybe she just needs space—”

“Last time she needed space, she ran across the country,” I cut him off, memories of going back to an empty apartment flooding back. “I’m not losing her again.”

Grasping the steering wheel tighter, as the streets of LA blur past, Asher adds, “She wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye to Jagger.”

“Unless she thought it would protect him,” Oliver says quietly.

My jaw clenches. “She’s always putting everyone else first.”

“That’s our omega.” Oliver’s words make my head snap toward him.

Our omega.

Not your omega. Not my omega.

Ours.

“Yeah,” I breathe, something loosening in my chest.

Asher adds from the back, “Whatever it takes. We’ll start at Freya’s and then work our way to the airport.”

“Don’t fucking say that,” I groan. “I’ve just signed up for three years to stay in LA. If she’s moved back to New York, I’ll have to break a leg to follow her.”

Oliver turns in his seat, studying me. “You really have it bad for her, don’t you?”

“For eleven fucking years, Oliver.” The words scrape my throat raw. “I’ve loved her since the day her family moved next door to mine. And I’m not letting her go. I’ll follow her to the end of the earth if that’s what it takes for her to love me.”

The vulnerability in my voice surprises even me .

In the rearview mirror, I catch Asher and Oliver exchanging glances before they both nod.

“I trust you to find her,” Asher says softly.

The weight of their acceptance, their trust, settles over me like a warm blanket. And for the first time since Harlow revealed herself as an omega, I feel steady. Grounded.

“Yeah,” Oliver murmurs. “We’ll find her together.”