Page 28

Maya

The game kicks off, my nerves already on edge, but a smile is stretched across my face. Our players hit the ice, enthusiasm pouring through the stadium. My dad’s jacket hugs me almost as if he’s back for just a little bit to see that I’m here; coaching, leading, after four years away. I jump in like I never left but instead of mumbling plays and corrections from the stands, I’m on the other side of the glass and this is my team.

“Riley, cut center! Tanner, flank!” It’s like breathing again, the game waking something I thought Nox stole. Holt’s flashing signs and I’m calling adjustments, our signals not quite synced, but it’s our first game, and we’ll get there.

Brogan skates by, flipping a middle finger at one of Holt’s calls, like he’s saying we’re contradicting each other. And then the crowd roars as Riley snaps a shot but it’s saved, the score still zero on both sides. I didn’t expect for this to be an easy game but we’re nearing half time and it doesn’t look like the other team is slowing down.

However, there’s a problem, a pattern that’s creeping up and it doesn’t sit right with me. The other team’s targeting Brogan, side checking him hard, their shoulders slamming him into the boards. First hit, he shakes it off. Second, he grimaces, but keeps moving. Third, I catch a wince, his eyes narrowing, and by the fourth, my chest tightens, because he’s hurting, shrugging off pain like it’s nothing, but it’s not—his shoulder’s tense, his stride slower, and I know he’s fighting to hide it. They’re playing dirty, not quite breaking rules—side checks are legal, just aggressive—but it’s a deliberate plan to wear him down and I hate seeing him take it, hate that I can’t stop it without pulling him.

I shout another play, trying to shift focus—“Tanner, pull left! Riley, screen!”—but my eyes are on Brogan, tracking every move, and that’s when I hear a low growl, cutting through the rink’s noise. Roman’s just on the outside, his gaze flickering at the one player who’s been targeting Brogan the most. Even through the helmet, I can see Roman’s nostrils flare, his instincts telling him to protect his mate rather than just to let it go.

“Timeout,” I call, the referee blowing their whistle as our players skate up to the glass. Brogan just shakes his head, telling me that he’ll be fine. I’m not convinced but I’m also not going to call him out in front of the others. “We’re switching to a different play,” I say, drawing lines across my board for them to follow. “I know you see them ganging up on Brogan. They’re fast on their feet, but we can play smarter. We’ve gotta break their wall of defense.” I look up, meeting their eyes as they nod, murmurs of agreement rising. “Brogan,” I say, softer, my gaze locking on him, “are you good?”

“Could be better, coach,” he muses.

“Then get back out there.”

Holt moves, narrowly catching Roman by the helmet, dragging Roman back to us as the new Alpha’s growl deepens, a warning that prickles my skin. I step forward, my voice cutting through his tension. “Hey, deep breaths. I have no idea how it feels to be this protective over someone, but if you act out on the ice, they’ll throw you out. Use that anger wisely, but if it gets too much, sit your ass right next to me.”

Roman’s jaw tightens, his growl fading. “They’re trying to get us both thrown out,” he says. “Brogan for an injury, and me…” He trails off, and I frown, confused, because—what?

“Is there something I’m missing?” I ask, glancing between him and Holt.

Holt chuckles, easing the edge of my worry. “Roman was the golden boy a few years back. That’s probably what you’re used to seeing. He’s not so golden anymore and he’s got a temper. I told you before—the way they are with you isn’t their usual.” He nods at Roman. “Ro, go skate. Remember you’ve got an entire team to help Brogan.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” he muses before skating off.

The game surges back to life and I’m already back to shouting. “Push left! Jenkins, now!” My voice blends with Holt’s signs, closer to perfect as we ease back into the game. We’re so fucking close but it’s just not enough. But then my worst nightmare happens with half-time’s seconds away. Brogan gets slammed, a brutal side check that sends him crashing to the ice. He doesn’t get up and the crowd hushes, a collective gasp swallowing the rink.

I slap my hands over my mouth, a choked sound escaping as I lunge forward, my boots slipping toward the ice, but Holt’s arm catches me. “Maya,” he murmurs against my head as he pulls me back into his chest, reminding me that without permission, coaches aren’t allowed out there.

The medical team rushes over, Roman already there to help lift Brogan. He’s breathing from what I can see but his face is pale as they carry him, the team rushing to the locker rooms, the buzzer sounding half-time like a death knell.

Tears burn my eyes as I follow, fear clawing through my chest as I wonder how badly he’s hurt. Those weren’t soft hits and I can’t even remember if he hit his head. The locker room’s chaos, everyone worried about their captain, Brogan already sitting up on the bench, leaning back against the wall. “I’m fine,” he whispers, trying to force a smile and failing.

Roman’s beside him, peeling off Brogan’s helmet with careful hands. “You’re not fucking fine,” he snaps. “Your eyes are unfocused.” Two medical professionals are there, hurriedly checking his vitals, and I’m frozen, terrified that it’s so much worse than it looks.

One of the doctors looks up, grinning at Roman, casual despite the tension. “Nice to see you again, Roman.”

I frown, some of the players halting as he twists to me and Holt to explain. “He’s the doctor I saw when… yeah, not the point,” Roman mutters. “Yeah, hi, Lincoln. Wish we were seeing each other on better circumstances.”

Lincoln chuckles, agreeing with a nod as he continues running through a series of tests and checks. “Looks like he got hit pretty hard. With how often he’s been getting hit, I wouldn’t advise putting him back out there.”

Roman fists his hands at his side, his jaw ticking before he stalks off toward the showers. I’m torn between trying to calm that storm and ensure that Brogan is okay. Holt leans close, lips brushing against my ear. “I got Brogan. You check on Roman.” I open my mouth to protest, but Holt shakes his head. “Gorgeous, Roman’s pissed and he’s having a hard time controlling his pheromones. Doesn’t matter if I’m his Alpha—he’ll take my presence as a threat. Work your charm. Brogan will be okay.”

I blow out a deep breath and comply, following Roman’s footsteps to find him bent over, his head stuck under the spray of a shower. “Roman?”

He spins around, flinging cold droplets that hit my face and I realize it’s freezing water, like he’s punishing himself, trying to cool the fire I see in his brown eyes.

“They’re doing that shit on purpose.” His hands flex, like he’s itching to hit something, someone.

“Yes, they are,” I murmur, meeting his gaze, because I need him to actually hear me. “But I’m worried about you right now. I know you’re not handling this shit well, and I see you keep checking out 47.” The guy who’s been leading these assaults on Brogan didn’t go unnoticed but I’m also not going to have Roman attacking someone on the ice. “Don’t touch him. Don’t fucking touch him. Beat him at his own game and win. We’ve got an entire half to show them their cheap tricks don’t work.”

Roman’s jaw tightens as he steps closer, water soaking through his shirt. “I just…” His resolve is breaking, his instincts trying to force their way through and in his own silent way, he’s asking for help.

I press a hand against his chest, meeting his gaze, challenging him to step down. It takes a few moments before he relaxes against me, letting out a heavy breath and it’s all I need. “If I had tried to play Nox at his own game, I’d still be with him. Words didn’t work on him and while I shouldn’t have been so reckless, the surgery that took his bite from my neck not only saved my life but made a point.” My throat tightens, shame creeping in, because I’ve buried the fight that cost me so much, that left me scarred, inside and out.

Roman’s eyes soften, pain flickering through his expression as his hand hovers over my neck, fingers trembling, not quite touching where the scar lies. “You’re beautiful regardless, Maya.”

“So, all of you keep telling me,” I tease, but there’s truth in it. Slowly, I step back and peel off my dad’s jacket, letting it fall to one of the benches outside the shower. And then the sweatshirt follows, my scar fully on display, a story I’m done hiding. I slip the jacket back on before grinning back up at Roman, vulnerable in front of him. “Let’s be strong together, okay? Show them they don’t get to dictate our choices, hmm?”

Roman’s shoulders ease, his gaze darting to my shoulder and then back to my face. “Yeah, I think I can do that.”

“And if you feel like beating the shit out of one of them, come meet me at the glass, yeah?”

“I can do that,” he repeats, pulling me into his chest and pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Let’s get back to the ice so I can whoop their ass. Figuratively.”

Brogan is still there when Roman and I enter the main area of the locker room, a sloppy grin spreading across his lips. His eyes are clearer but he still looks like he’s about to fall over, my chest aching at how much pain he’s probably in with the ice sitting on his shoulder. The team has cleared out but Holt is there, helping Brogan to his feet. “Lincoln mentioned he’s cleared for play. He didn’t hit his head but I’m not sure I wanna put him out there after that last hit.”

Brogan stumbles forward, my heart lurching in my chest. “Yeah, no, it’s not worth the risk. Brogan’s out. Miles is in.” I want to apologize to Brogan, saying that this has nothing to do with my feelings but he’s already one step ahead of me, throwing an arm over my shoulder when I get close enough.

“Good call, coach. I’m not gonna pass out, but the wind might blow me over. I’m good, though, just a little dizzy. Doc said to come through if anything persists.”

That gives me enough confidence to help him walk back out to the box and rest him down on the bench, Roman throwing me a grin as he steps out onto the ice. I gesture to Miles to get ready and then glance back at Holt, hoping that we come out of this game in one piece.

And maybe with a little luck, a win.