Page 18

Maya

The rink hums with pre-practice chatter, the sharp scrape of skates and clatter of sticks filling the air, but my nerves are shot. This evening is the first official practice with me as the assistant coach and I’m hyper-aware that every guy here knows dinner was canceled last night because of me. I stand by the bench, clipboard clutched tight, my stomach twisting as I brace for their stares, their questions, their pity.

I woke up safe and warm in Brogan’s arms this morning, his rain scent soothing a mini nightmare that faded when Brogan murmured Holt had dropped off grilled cheese for dinner. We didn’t talk much after that, just sat in silence, me curled in his lap as he fed me bites until silence turned to soft kisses, then to him making love to me again, like I was something precious. Him telling me that it was okay to be needy meant everything but now I’m here and I’m terrified of what the team will think.

Which is why I’m not ready for them skating out asking if I’m okay, the concern and care in their expressions making me relax just a little bit. Ethan’s already on the ice, warming up, and Sam’s joking with Logan, but my eyes keep darting to the tunnel, waiting for Dakota, Brogan, Roman, and Holt. When they emerge, my heart stumbles. Brogan’s first, hazel eyes finding mine as he crosses to me, dropping a gentle kiss on my cheek. Dakota’s next, mirroring Brogan’s kiss, Roman throwing me a quick, distracted wave that doesn’t match his usually laidback demeanor. I glance at Holt, stepping up beside me, and raise a brow, silently asking what’s up.

“Roman’ll have to explain that one to you. Nothing bad, he’s just working through some things.”

I nod, not pushing, but worry gnaws at me as Holt claps his hands, calling the team to order. “Let’s move!” he shouts and practice kicks off, drills and plays unfolding under the rink’s harsh lights. I pitch in, calling out adjustments when I see them—Ethan’s too slow on the pivot, Sam’s leaving gaps in defense—but my focus keeps splitting. Dakota’s fading, his movements sluggish, like he’s dragging himself through the plays, and Roman’s… different. He’s always intense but tonight he’s peeved, more than usual, his shoulders tense.

“Is he always that angry when he plays?” I ask Holt, keeping my voice low as we watch Roman body-check Logan harder than necessary.

Holt drags a hand down his face, exhaling hard. “Sometimes? Not in practice, though, no, not usually.”

I frown, tracking Roman’s next move, and my gut clenches when Ethan skates too close during a play, clipping Roman’s shoulder. Roman spins, shoving Ethan back, stick clattering to the ice as he pulls back a fist. I don’t think, snatching the whistle from Holt’s neck and blow it as hard as I can.

The rink freezes, players halting, confused, as I march onto the ice, trying not to slip. A wave of tangy citrus hits me, Roman’s scent flooding my nose, but I don’t stop, not until I’m in his face, slamming him against the rink’s edge with a force I didn’t know I had. “The fuck do you think you’re doing, about to hurt your own goddamn teammate?” I snap, my voice echoing across the ice.

Roman’s nostrils flare, a snarl curling his lips, his chest heaving under my hands. For a second, I think he’s going to push back but then his eyes clear, recognition softening the hard lines of his face. “Maya,” he breathes, almost a question as the snarl fades, Roman leaning his head back against the glass, his fist dropping to his side. I’m fully aware that everyone is staring, silent, watching for my next move.

When Roman doesn’t say anything else, I let some of the tension I’ve been holding out into my voice. “You can’t be pulling that shit in practice, Roman,” I snap again. “I don’t know what’s changed since yesterday, but pull that bullshit elsewhere.”

“Yes, coach.”

I expected him to say Maya or babe or a host of other things but hearing the respect warms something inside of me. Stepping back, I move to address the rest of the team. “Run the play again. Ethan, lay the fuck off him—this is practice, not some vendetta.”

Ethan tilts his head, something in his expression that I don’t understand but I dismiss it, marching back off the ice. Adrenaline is coursing through me, a spike of fear mixed with it because in no circumstance should I have waded through those guys like that. I could have fallen on my ass, gotten hit by someone who hadn’t stopped—hell, if Roman hadn’t realized it was me, he might have thrown that fist after all and it wouldn’t have landed where he had intended.

Practice resumes but it’s noticeably more tense and that’s when I realize Holt’s gaze is on me, not the players. I slide onto the bench beside him, following Roman’s movements on the ice. “I know something’s wrong, the same way something changed with Dakota. What’s going on?”

Holt sighs, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Seems biology’s not our friend. I would have wanted him to have this conversation with you but we found out Roman’s a late presenter too. I’m only telling you this because you need to understand that reaction.”

“So he’s an Omega too?” I ask, but Holt shakes his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

“No, he’s an Alpha.”

“That’s gonna be a nightmare.”

“I know but I’ve got every intention of keeping him on the straight and narrow. Was hoping we wouldn’t have an outburst, but his emotions are even more volatile than Dakota’s right now.”

I glance at Roman, weaving through a play, wondering what set him off. “What happens on game day when he lets that get the better of him?”

“You’re there.”

“I’m just his coach.”

“You’re not. You’re so much more than that, Maya.”

I focus on the plays, picking up what I need, scribbling notes and tweaking strategies, because this is my shot, my chance to prove myself. Campus is already buzzing, chatter spreading about the Hawks’ new assistant coach, whispers that we might actually win this year. It’s pressure, yeah, but it’s mine, and I’m claiming it, just like I’m starting to claim the four men settling around me.

Practice continues and I call out a few corrections, my voice steadier now, but Holt’s words linger, playing in my head on repeat. I glance at him, his focus back on the ice. “I never said thank you for yesterday.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that, gorgeous,” he muses, and my eyes widen, heart tripping over the word. I chew my bottom lip, heat creeping up my neck, and look away, focusing on the play until Holt blows the whistle, ending practice. The guys filter off, heading for the locker room, their laughter echoing, but I stay put, needing the answer to something.

“I need you to be straight with me,” I push out, halting Holt’s disappearance into the locker room with the rest of them.

“Yeah?”

I’m not even sure why I’m venturing down this road when I know that every step out of my comfort zone is making it harder to catch my breath. And yet… I have to know. “I felt that pull with Dakota, Brogan, Roman,” I admit, my cheeks warming at the truth. “I can feel it with you too, but you haven’t so much as put that on the table.” I wouldn’t have said anything until he called me ‘gorgeous’ and the way it rolled off his tongue like honey, like it belonged there.

He tilts his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Did you want me to?” he asks, voice gentle but probing, and I falter, because I don’t know—do I?

“No, I need to understand, because I’m already confused, and after yesterday with Nox, my head’s a little fucked up.”

“Maya,” he purrs, stepping closer but still giving me space, “you’re wanted—god, you’re wanted. But I also know if I was you right now, I’d be freaking the fuck out. You came back to get away from Nox, to finish your degree. You might’ve expected Dakota, maybe Brogan from what I hear, but Roman’s new territory, and you don’t even know me.” He pauses, eyes searching mine, and I feel seen, stripped bare in a way that’s both terrifying and safe. “Without all your biological impulses, it’s hard to sort what’s instinct and what’s… us, feeling drawn to you. I’m not stepping over that line until you’re ready.”

I swallow, my throat tight, because he’s right—I am freaking out, caught between want and fear, instinct and choice. “And what if I was?” I ask, voice barely above a whisper, testing, needing to know where he stands.

A laugh comes from him, a warm rumble that eases the knot in my chest. “Maya, you deserve to be loved, cherished, adored.”

“Are you saying you can’t do that?”

“I’m saying I’d be honored but there’s no rush. When you’re ready.”

There’s a quiet promise in his voice and yet, it stings like I’ve just been rejected. My brows furrow as I try to untangle my reaction. Why does ‘when you’re ready’ feel like ‘not now’? I turn away, ready to bolt, when I bump into Brogan, his broad frame blocking my escape.

He grins down at me, eyes sparkling with mischief, then glances at Holt. “Holt,” he teases, “ask her out on a date or something. You’re telling her you’re going slow, but her instincts are hearing no.”My mouth drops open, heat rushing to my face. “That’s not what—” I start, but Holt cuts me off, his grin widening.

“Would you go on a date with me?” he asks, a simple direct question that makes my heart soar, traitor that it is, even as I grumble, hating how much I want this.

“Yeah,” I mutter, “after the game. Sunday?”

“Yeah, I’ll think of something.”

I turn to Brogan, narrowing my eyes. “Are you some goddamn Beta whisperer or something?”

“Nope, just a little addicted to my new obsession, love.” That grin is still playing on his lips as he gestures to the locker rooms “The guys wanna know—are we going out for sloppy joes tonight?”

I manage a shrug, trying to stay nonchalant. “Couldn’t hurt. Time to truly meet the guys and all of that, right?” The idea of being sandwiched between all of their chaos doesn’t sound half as bad as I thought it would. The me a year ago would be appalled but it feels like I’m truly starting to belong to something that is mine, something that I’ve wanted for far longer than anything else and I’m not letting it slip through my fingers this time.