Page 42

THIRTY-SIX

Playing: it’s not u it’s me by Bea Miller

“I literally never thought I’d see the day where you willingly step foot inside a hockey arena,” Rory huffs before almost colliding with someone. She maneuvers around them with a sneer.

“That’s not true. I used to come all the time at the beginning of the year.” I tut at her, taking her hand before leading us to our seats. I spot Ciro already sitting there, reserving two seats beside him with his leg. The gesture is quite clever. And cute.

“You missed my obvious use of the word willingly .” She says her next words softer. “Dickwad made you feel bad for missing his games. Your pack hasn’t. They just want you to be happy, which is why we’re here on a Saturday instead of at home under cozy blankets and watching Rent.”

“Don’t call them that,” I say in a whispered panic. We’re still a good distance away from Ciro, but it’s not nearly enough for this conversation.

Rory laughs in response. “I won’t buy into your delusion. You’ve been hanging out with them for weeks now. This thing with them is not casual. You’re going at your pace, yes, but it wouldn’t hurt to finally add the label.”

She does have a point. We’ve settled into a routine these past few weeks. Atlas walks me to class, we all text almost all hours of the day, Kendall tutors me even outside of tutoring hours, so we’re together every weekend, hanging out and getting to know each other better.

It’s been heaven.

Which makes my brain think it’s too good to be true.

“It’s my fault there’s no label yet,” I whisper, because it’s true. “I’m terrified… but that’s neither here nor there because this hockey game is not the place to discuss this.”

“When will it be?” she retorts.

I bite my lip and mutter, “Maybe after I’ve been intimate with the prime. Which I haven’t. That seems like a pretty important step.”

Rory’s mouth gaps. We are about a foot away from Ciro now. He’s staring at his phone, oblivious to our arrival.

“You haven’t fucked the prime yet?!”

Well shit.

Ciro’s eyes shoot towards us, one of his eyebrows soaring into his hairline.

“Thanks, Cranny,” I say under my breath as Ciro moves his legs. Rory winces and mutters an almost incoherent sorry as we take our seats.

“You two seem to be having a lovely conversation. One that a particular beta would be very happy to be a part of.” Ciro keeps his body towards me and rests his elbow on the back of his chair. His jesting grin causes butterflies to tease my stomach.

“I don’t think that would be appropriate.” I cross my legs and turn my attention to the ice.

“Come on, if anyone knows what the hold up is, it’s Ciro!

Go ahead, ask him.” I give Rory a sideways glare and plead for her to shut up but she doesn’t notice my disdain.

“I always thought it was the prime who was intimate with the scent match first, but I must be wrong. Now that I think about it, it does sound awfully traditional.”

I find myself giving a little omega growl, which finally warrants my best friend’s attention. When she sees my face, she nods her understanding. “I’m, uh, going to get you some nachos.” She shoots out of her chair and jets.

Finally.

My scowl transforms into a happy smile at the idea of nachos.

“You two are something else,” Ciro laughs before throwing his arm around my chair.

“You don’t want to talk about it, so I won’t pry.

But you might want to talk to Atlas about it.

He won’t push unless you make the first move, I guarantee it.

” He gives me a reassuring smile. “I’m really glad you’re here.

These games will be much more fun with you beside me. ”

I give him a weak smile, but nod nonetheless.

I haven’t been to a hockey game since the night Derek showed his true colors.

Before, it was because of nerves. Running into him and having to hear his backwards logic on who I am and what I want.

Now, it’s because I want to support my boys.

They love hockey, and I want to be there for them despite my fears.

Still, my body is holding onto anxiety. I may be here, and I may be doing the scary thing, but it is still terrifying. Like danger is lurking around every icy corner.

Maybe talking about my situation with Atlas would be a welcome distraction, but I’m not sure he would be okay with me discussing our sex life (or lack thereof) with these two.

“Will you help me when I get confused?” I ask him.

He looks me in the eye and scoffs, “You’re acting like I understand it, too. I haven’t done my homework, I just pretend. Let’s just pretend together.”

I snort at his words. “Yeah. That sounds like fun.”

“The goalie is kind of hot. Ciro, who is that?” I choke on my Reese’s cup at Rory’s words.

She came back with all sorts of apologies in the shape of snacks. I had already forgiven her, but she doesn’t need to know that.

“How can you even tell he’s hot? He’s got on the most gear.”

“Are those not his real shoulders?” She squints her eyes towards the player in question.

Ciro chuckles under his breath. “That’s Everett. And”—he pauses and searches the rink before nodding—“yep, there’s his partner-in-crime right behind him.” Another player skates over to Everett. They talk to each other so lightheartedly, you can almost see their smiles through their helmets.

“Partner in crime?” Rory questions.

“Yeah, they’re tied at the hip. Dax and Everett are brothers of ours.

Frat brothers, I mean.” He tosses a piece of popcorn in his mouth and practically inhales it before continuing.

“Their chemistry on the ice has helped the team the past few years. Dax is good at protecting the goalie, but some people doubt he’d be nearly as good if the goalie wasn’t Everett. ”

I tilt my head slightly to look at them from an angle. “Are they pack?”

“No, I don’t think so. They both live at Alpha Xi.” When Rory shoots him a confused glance, he elaborates. “Established packs aren’t allowed to live in campus housing.”

Rory asks a few more questions about their fraternity, but I can’t stop staring at Atlas and the way he demands respect from his teammates; I’ve noticed several of them seek out his advice right before a new play.

It’s so different to watch him in his element in person.

Not to mention, I can feel his dominance from here; the passion he bears for this game is evident in every action and move he takes. It’s insanely attractive.

I’m never going to miss another game again.

Not to mention the absolute joy on his face after receiving what Ciro called a ‘hat trick.’ Apparently it’s a big deal, which was evident by the way the arena erupted in cheers. The energy was high, and I could easily see how someone could fall in love with it.

Suddenly, I’m brought out of my thoughts by the heightened noise around us as people start to stand and shout down at the ice. I widen my eyes and look to Ciro, who looks just as confused. We all stand to peer over the heads in front of us so we can see what the commotion is all about.

Then we see it. Two men on our own team seem to be tucked in a heated argument. Atlas skates over in a hurry.

“Holy shit,” Ciro says as he pulls me closer into him, wrapping his arm around my shoulder.

It takes me a second to understand what’s happening, but then I see the number 4, with Kirkpatrick on the back of the jersey.

Derek Kirkpatrick .

He grabs his teammate by the shoulder, and they spin as they wait for the other to make the first move. Atlas is trying to pull them apart. When the other teammate’s back is to me, I gasp.

Wolfe, 7.

Atlas succeeds in pulling Uriah off him. They both try to walk away, but Derek is tugging on Atlas and spewing more venom. I can see spit flying through his face guard.

Then suddenly, a fist flies and I flinch, wrapping my hand around Ciro’s arm on instinct. The fight reignites as Atlas is now the one wrestling with Derek. More of the team starts to rush for them, making a combined effort to pull them apart.

There’s blood on the ice, and my body fills with fury. I’m running before I can even hear Ciro’s protests.

Because no one touches my fucking pack.