Page 7

Chapter 7

Harlow

It’s been over two weeks since I fled New York. Two weeks since I left behind everything familiar and despite the Californian sun streaming through my office window, painting golden streaks across my desk. And despite Los Angeles sprawling before me, a maze of palm trees and sleek buildings all catching the morning light, and having this job working for the Raiders hockey team, I miss home.

I pick up my cell and scroll through my phone, reading about the New York Bears’ latest game updates and what had happened.

I already saw it last night.

The footage of Carver played on repeat across sports channels. Another player slammed his body against the boards, the ensuing brawl and Carver’s fist smashing into the player’s face .

And a three games suspension for defending himself.

My thumb hovers over Carver’s profile picture. His fierce expression on the ice is a stark contrast to the gentle way he held me that night.

I hate that my heart clenches whenever I think about Carver, yet I don’t spare a second for my ex.

My phone buzzes. Another message from Colton.

“Please, Harlow. The omega meant nothing. You’re the one I want. Please come home and we can talk.”

The thought of him dating her, testing the waters before deciding I was better, causes bile to rise in my throat.

I don’t answer him–I’ve had enough.

I thought he got the message, but now it’s time to let him go.

I block his number on my phone and unfollow him on all my social media accounts. Then I reset my settings to private, push back in my chair and close my eyes.

It feels final, but good.

A breeze carries the scent of ocean salt through the open window. I smile.

It isn’t too bad here, not really.

The loneliness isn’t as bad as I expected. How could it be, living with someone like Freya? Her apartment has become my sanctuary. It’s filled with the constant aroma of fresh-baked goods and her endless chatter about customers at her bakery.

“You won’t believe what this alpha said today,” she’d told me last night as we had our nightly wine session. “Claimed my lemon bars weren’t tart enough. The nerve!”

I giggle as I think about how she’s helped with my homesickness .

At least, I’m fine until it gets to night time.

When the city quiets, and Freya’s snores echo from the next room. That’s when my thoughts drift back to New York. To Carver. To our past.

And only now do I see it.

The way Carver’s eyes followed me despite me being Colton’s girlfriend, and how he always seemed to know what I needed before I did.

I miss him more than my sisters, more than the familiar streets of Manhattan. Two years of living together, of morning coffee and shared silence, have left an emptiness I can’t explain.

But I have to forget him.

I have to forget about men who turn my head with their delicious scents. Not only Carver, but the man who took a fist to his face for me.

You’re an alpha, Harlow. Don’t give yourself more heartache.

A knock interrupts my thoughts. “Come in,” I call out.

My boss pokes his head in. “Got a minute?”

“Of course.” I straighten in my chair.

He settles into the seat across from me. “How’re you finding everything? Are you settling okay?”

“It is great.” I nod, pushing aside thoughts of my dream job - being a sports agent like my old boss. But this administrative role keeps me employed, away from New York, and that’s what matters right now. “Everyone’s been really welcoming.”

“Good to hear.” He pulls out a folder. “I need you to take this itinerary to Coach Parker. It’s for the Vegas game.”

My boss normally deals with the players. I hoped to keep well away from them. Not only hockey players, but alphas too. I get why omegas hide from them.

And I’m glad I agreed when Freya made me an account of BetasareBetter , because after flicking through hundreds of betas, I finally found someone and agreed to have a date with a beta after work tomorrow night.

“So will you take this to Coach, Harlow?” my boss asks again, bringing me out of my reverie.

“Of course.”

“Don’t let his grumpy attitude put you off. The man has had it rough. Single dad, raising his nephew after his sister passed away in childbirth.”

“That must be hard.”

“Jagger’s a great kid, though. Lights up the whole place when he’s here. He might have finished school and be there when you are.”

I smile at him as I take the paperwork from his outstretched hand, glancing at the top—Travel Itinerary—before I look at my watch. “And Coach will still be in training.”

“He will.”

“He won’t tell me off for bothering him?”

He laughs. “It’s fine. He needs the paperwork and all the details for the Las Vegas game this weekend.”

I groan as I push out my chair. “I have a massage appointment at five today.”

“You should get Ash to fit you in,” he says.

“Ash?”

“The team physiotherapist.” He picks up his phone. “Ash, do you have any appointments left this week? Preferably after four.”

My eyes widen when he asks, "Does five tomorrow work?"

I give a gentle nod.

“Yes, that’s fine,” he says. “It’s Harlow Foster.”

I smile. This is a pretty good perk of the job .

I need as much help as I can get because some days I feel like I’m eighty years old, not twenty-two.

Before Colton dumped me, he crashed his car, and I got such severe whiplash I need regular physio to keep me from going stiff.

Mom was furious that I never made a claim against him. But how could I sue my boyfriend?

I also never expected for our relationship to grind to a stunning halt.

God, I hate him.

I realize I’ve gone into some world of my own, where I’m finding another way to get back at Colton.

I’ve thought about letting him know I fucked his brother.

I thought that would be enough to hurt him and give me a sense of revenge.

But he’s found an omega. What’s the point of revenge?

How can I compare to that?

“You can go home if Coach is happy with the arrangements.”

“Thank you.” I grab my purse and the travel itinerary, my heart already beginning to race as I make my way out of the office.

I head down to the ice. The hallway leading there is lined with player photos. I pause at Oliver Bradley’s photo. Dark hair, hazel eyes, sexy tattoos, and a gorgeous face that winked at me during that Bears game a few months ago.

My body makes an involuntary shudder .

Coach Parker’s photo is at the end. His stern expression can’t hide how handsome he is. I’ve seen him from a distance with his nephew, mainly when I’ve been gawking from a window as he gets into his car.

It’s adorable how the supposedly tough coach melts around the little boy.

My hands shake as I walk through the tunnel to the ice and toward him to deliver the itinerary for the next game in Las Vegas, only three days from now.

Each step echoing in the tunnel as I approach.

There’s going to be a team full of ice hockey players on the ice. And I hate hockey players now.

Except Carver.

How could I hate him? But how do I feel about him?

Just thinking about his name sends a shiver down my spine. It’s ridiculous, really. He’s so far out of bounds it’s not funny.

An alpha, for starters—exactly the type I’ve sworn off. Not to mention he’s my ex-boyfriend’s brother.

I have to forget about him.

I have no business having anything but friendly feelings for him.

Yet here I am, palms sweating as I clutch the paperwork, while once again I let him seep into my thoughts.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves.

As I reach the end of the tunnel, the sound of skates scraping across the ice grows louder.

My steps slow as I near the ice until I pause at the entrance. I take a deep breath, steeling myself before stepping into the cold.

Coach Parker is there, of course, his dominating presence impossible to miss as he barks out his orders at the players on the ice.

He spots me almost immediately, and I swear my heart skips a beat when his gray eyes meet mine.

With a nod, he motions me over, and I make my way to the bench on unsteady legs.

He looks strangely familiar. Yet, I’m sure we must have met before at a past hockey game.

“Your travel itinerary for Vegas,” I manage to say as I hand him the paperwork, proud that my voice doesn’t waver.

“Thanks, Harlow,” he replies, his deep voice sending another involuntary shiver through me. “Mind sticking around for a few? I’d like to go over this with you once practice wraps up.”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak, and take a seat next to him on the bench.

I press my thighs together. The proximity is almost overwhelming. Heat radiates off his body, and his smell is intoxicating and strange because he smells a lot like Carver.

It takes every ounce of willpower I have to not lean into him and lick along his neck.

Which is fucking ridiculous considering I’m an alpha, too.

As we watch the players run drills, I’m acutely aware of every slight movement he makes. Our arms brush occasionally, and each time it’s like a jolt of electricity.

The air between us feels charged, thick with an undeniable chemistry that terrifies me.

Mainly because I shouldn’t be feeling this way. He’s Coach Parker, for crying out loud. Off-limits in every conceivable way. But as I sit here, sneaking glances at his strong profile and at the slight silver running through his dark blond hair, I can’t help but wonder what it would be like if things were different.

If I hadn’t sworn off alphas, if...

Alphas weren’t so desperate for omegas…

No.

I shake my head slightly, forcing those dangerous thoughts away.

But as Coach Parker turns to me, his gray eyes are now so dark they look like two pools of black ink. A small smile plays on his lips as his tongue slips out and slides over the bottom.

Was that deliberate?

I am fucked.

Because there’s no denying the spark between us.

You’re an alpha, Harlow. He’ll want an omega. He’ll hurt you just like Colton did.

“Hello,” a little voice says and I immediately lock eyes with a little boy around six years old who is holding hands with a lady I assume is the boy’s nanny.

I smile. “Hello Jagger.” I hold out my hand. “I’m Harlow.”

He’s so cute when he gives me a wide grin. “You know my name?”

“Of course, you’re famous around here. I hear you’re going to be the team captain in twenty years’ time.”

He laughs. “Uncle Parker said as long as I keep training I will be, but Olly told me he’s never giving up the role.”

As Oliver Bradley skates back to the center, our eyes lock for a moment. There’s a spark of recognition, maybe even a hint of interest in his gaze. He gives me a quick nod and a half-smile before turning his attention back to practice.

I ignore the slight flutter in my stomach.

Oliver’s certainly attractive. Dark hair, and hazel eyes that have a touch of gold shimmering in them. And the man is tatted up to his neck. Not that I know how much of his body is inked. It’s normally covered up with hockey armor .

As team captain, Oliver’s got that natural leadership quality that’s hard to ignore.

But then I remember my vow to avoid hockey players, especially alphas. I shake off the momentary connection and turn my attention back to the adorable little boy beside me.

“Well, Jagger,” I say, leaning in conspiratorially, “I think Oliver might have some competition. You seem pretty determined to me.”

“He’s called Olly.” Jagger puffs out his chest proudly. “And I practice every day! Uncle Parker says I’m getting really good at skating backwards.”

“Wow, that’s impressive!” I exclaim, genuinely charmed by his enthusiasm. “Skating backwards is tricky. I bet you’ll be zooming around on the ice in no time.”

“Yeah!” Jagger nods vigorously. “And I can almost do a hockey stop now. Wanna see?”

I glance at Coach Parker, silently asking permission. He gives a small nod, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

“I’d love to see it,” I tell Jagger. “But be careful, okay?”

“I’m always careful,” Jagger assures me with all the seriousness a small child can muster. He hops onto the ice, his little legs working hard as he skates a short distance away.

As I watch Jagger attempt his hockey stop, which is more of a wobbly slide than a true stop, but impressive for his age, I can’t help but smile. There’s something so pure about his joy and determination. It reminds me why I love this sport, despite my complicated history with it.

“He’s getting better every day,” Coach Parker says softly beside me, pride clear in his voice.

I turn to him, our eyes meeting, and for a moment, I think I recognize him as more than the hockey coach, but I accept it’s just the warmth in Coach Parker’s gaze. But before I can say anything, Jagger comes sliding back towards us, his face split in a wide grin.

“Did you see? Did you see?” he asks excitedly.

I force myself to look away from Coach Parker, focusing on Jagger instead. “I sure did! That was amazing, Jagger. You’re going to be stopping on a dime before you know it.”

As Jagger chatters excitedly about his progress, I notice movement from the corner of my eye. Oliver is gliding towards us, his powerful strokes eating up the ice effortlessly.

He comes to a smooth stop at the boards, removing his helmet and running a hand through his sweat-dampened dark hair.

“Hey there, little man,” Oliver greets Jagger with a grin before turning his attention to me. “Harlow, right? Colton Sinclair’s ex. It's been a long time.” He holds out his sweaty palm.

I laugh. "A few months." Our eyes lock as I take it, and I feel an immediate spark of electricity. His intense gaze holds mine, and I find myself momentarily tongue-tied.

"You remember?"

“Y-yeah, I remember.” I finally manage, inwardly cursing my lack of manners. “Nice to meet you, Oliver.”

“And you.” He grins as he leans against the boards, his body angled towards me. “So, what brings you here today?”

Before I can answer, Coach Parker clears his throat. I glance at him, surprised to see a slight frown on his face.

“Bradley,” he says, his tone professional, but with an edge I can’t quite place. “Why don’t you take Jagger for a few laps? I need to go over some paperwork with Harlow.”

Oliver’s eyes flick between Coach Parker and me, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “Sure thing, Coach,” he says, reaching out to ruffle Jagger’s hair. “Come on, buddy. Let’s show everyone how it’s done. ”

As Oliver skates away with an eager Jagger in tow, Coach Parker turns to me. “So, let me check this travel itinerary.”

We spend five minutes going over the details, but I’m acutely aware of the time ticking away. Finally, I have to interrupt.

“I’m sorry, but I really need to leave. I have an appointment with my physio.”

Concern flashes across his face. “Is everything alright?”

I hesitate, then decide a brief explanation can’t hurt. “It’s just some ongoing treatment. I was in a car accident a while back, which left me with some lingering issues.”

His brow furrows. “Ah yes, that was with Colton Sinclair, wasn’t it? I’ve heard all about it.”

Another mention of Colton’s name sends a jolt through me, and I feel my walls slam back into place. “Yeah, I don’t want to talk about him,” I say, my tone cooler than I intended.

Coach Parker looks taken aback by my sudden shift in demeanor. My tone is harsh, but the thought that he might be interested in Colton because of his rising star in the hockey world and my contact with him stings more than I care to admit.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” he breathes. His hand presses on my shoulder. Goosebumps scattering from where it lands. And I’m sure I can smell a sweet, tropical smell on him. A strange choice of cologne for an alpha.

Unless it’s his scent.

I force a smile as I stand, already backing away. “It’s fine. I really need to go.”

Without waiting for a response, I turn and hurry towards the exit, feeling Coach Parker’s eyes on me as I go. It isn’t only my emotions that are a tangled mess, my body is heating and I’m wet from being so close to him.

Why does this keep happening to me?