Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

S he didn’t look at me the entire meeting, and I might be pouting about it while I’m on the ice.

“What’s your problem, Nilsen?” Mikael Martel asks as he skates past me.

The two of us together are our strongest line of defense, and I know we’re going to need it this year with the subpar Connery taking over the goal. I understand why Alexi’s Omega can’t play professionally anymore, but did they really have to replace him with his dickhead brother?

“Fuck off,” I growl at Martel.

“God, I forgot what a ray of sunshine you are,” he says.

“Like you’re any better.”

The new offensive line coach, and our ex-captain, skates by. “He did get better once he bonded Charlotte and started popping babies out left and right,” Alexi says, pushing Martel on the ice.

“We really couldn’t get fucking rid of you? We’re not even on your line. Go bother someone else,” Martel complains, skating away.

“Cheer up, Nilsen. Now that I’m not on the team, you can be the most handsome,” Alexi says, and it nearly makes me crack a smile.

No man should be as charming as he is. The large Russian grins at me as he starts barking orders at his new offensive line. Eli Beckford is going to be the staple of the line and the team, and I just hope the rookies can keep up with our new captain.

I don’t see her beautiful, long, red hair or the stunning green dress she was wearing anywhere in the practice stands, and it makes my mood sour even more. I, of course, saw her over the various summer parties and team parties I forced myself to go to just to see her, but it’s been nearly two months.

Two months with no sunshine.

I shouldn’t be pining after the coach's daughter, she shouldn’t be the main motivator as to why I re-signed with the Foxes, truly, it’s pathetic. But I don’t care. I want the little Omega to be mine.

I have a five year contract that prevents her father from killing me; I’d be an expensive motherfucker to murder as one of his most senior players.

Even as badly as I want her, she has to make the first move. Sure, we flirt, so there’s a clear attraction there. Not to mention her fucking scent—I may be eating peach ring candies because they remind me of her. In general, Sloane is a very bubbly, outgoing person, and I don’t want to misconstrue her friendly nature as anything other than that.

I refuse to be a bastard, especially to an Omega so lovely.

A shoulder bumps into mine, and I scoff, my daydreams of Sloane ripped away from me as the lesser Connery heads to the goal.

Our feud started my rookie year in the NHL, and I hate the overconfident playboy dickhead who thinks he’s above everyone else. His pretty face has been plastered all over league pages and online. I think his face could use a good bruising, if I’m being honest. His pretty face should be rearranged to match his rotten insides.

He doesn’t speak as he goes to the goal. Does he think for a second he’s just going to bump into me and there isn’t going to be any repercussions? He needs to learn whose team this is. His contract is only for this season, so he’s fucking replaceable.

I skate over to where he’s cutting the crease.

“We gonna have a fucking problem, Connery?” I ask.

His helmet is off, his pretty boy face on full display as he cocks a grin at me.

“I don’t know. Do you plan on being a shitty teammate again?” he asks, and I narrow my eyes at him.

“I wasn’t the problem when we were in Washington, and you know it,” I grate back.

“Do I? Because I remember you getting traded for… what was it? Irreconcilable differences? Or because no one on the team could deal with your shitty attitude.”

“At least I’m not coming on this team as a hand-me-down to your more talented brother.”

Max Connery looks around, grins, and shucks off his gloves. I do the same, and before I can even take the left one off, his fist is colliding with my face.

“Motherfucker,” I hiss, grabbing his jersey and swinging back.

We’ve completely disrupted the goal, unhitching it from its placement as we bang against the wall holding each other's jerseys. It takes Beckford, Martel, Coach Applegate, and Max’s brother, Owen, to pull us off one another.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. It’s the first day of practice,” Coach yells, tugging Connery by his jersey.

“He started it,” I say.

Coach rolls his eyes. “Grow the fuck up. Go get your nose cleaned up. You with me,” he barks, dragging Connery off to the side to talk with him.

I grumble under my breath, and Alexi Bandnin laughs next to me. “I also wanted to fuck the goalie last year. I get it.”

“The hell are you talking about?”

“You can’t tell me that wasn’t sexually charged.”

I blink at my previous team captain in horror. “I think you took one too many hits to the head.”

He shrugs and whistles. “If you say so, Nilsen.” He skates away, heading back to the front line, and I shake my head and skate off the ice.

My nose isn’t broken, but it is bleeding. I’ll get that asshole back the next time. The idea of him being the goalie, the person I’m supposed to protect and work with on the ice, is disgusting.

Come hell or high water, I’m going to make it my mission to find a better first string for the Foxes. I’d try to convince his brother to come out of retirement, but that would be selfish and harmful. Owen Connery all but ripped his body to shreds playing in the NHL as an Omega. It’s time for him to step away along with Alexi.

I can’t blame them for leaving this behind when they’ve built their perfect pack. I’m not ready to leave hockey anytime soon, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want an Omega or a pack. I understand that things would be difficult with my schedule, but that’s why you create a pack. When I’m not around, other members of the pack would be there for her.

I grimace as I think about sharing, which is not one of my strengths. Especially when it comes to the Omega I have in mind.

It’s like my conscience makes her appear as she turns the corner and gasps when she sees me.

“Oh my God, what happened? Practice just started,” she says.

Her pretty lips part as she approaches me. She’s already a tiny little thing, but when I’m wearing my skates, I tower over her.

“The new goalie and I got into it,” I tell her.

“Come on, I’ll clean you up.”

I decide then that I will milk this injury for all that it’s worth. She leads me down the hall, her boots clicking against the floor as we get to the locker room. She grabs the first aid kit and points for me to sit on the bench.

When I sit, she’s eye to eye with me.

Her dark green eyes remind me of a dewy forest as she looks back at me. Her scent isn’t as thick as it usually is, and she must notice that I’m trying to scent her.

“I’m wearing deodorizers,” she blurts out as she grabs some gauze and starts blotting my nose.

“I wasn’t?—”

“You weren’t what? Trying to scent me, Bram?”

She smirks at me, knowing that I’m completely caught.

“You didn’t wear them last year,” I mention, realizing after the fact I probably sound like a creep who was constantly trying to get a whiff of her—which I was—but she doesn’t need to know that.

“It was part of the deal, my father allowing me to come back and work this year. I think after last year with Owen getting drugged and a few years prior to that with Charlotte, he’s worried about my safety.”

“You have the whole team looking out for you,” I tell her, meaning it truly.

Not only do the new guys fear Coach Applegate, but the more tenured players respect him and have a soft spot for Sloane.

“It doesn’t matter. In the end, I got my way,” she says with a shrug, still cleaning my nose.

“I imagine that happens a lot.”

“What makes you say that?” She smirks, knowing she already has me hook, line, and sinker.

“Because if you’d ask me to jump right now, I’d ask how high.”

“Because I’m the coach's daughter?” she asks.

“No, because you’re you,” I reply easily, and she pulls her hand away from my face to search my eyes, before going back to her work and grabbing Neosporin and a Band-Aid.

We’ve flirted every time we’re in the same room, but this feels significant, different in a way I’m not sure how to explain. Could she actually want to take this beyond simple workplace flirting to something more? It’s something I've fantasized about but didn’t know it was actually possible.

“I’m a very modern Omega, but there are some things I just can’t bring myself to do, one of which is making the first move. So if you’ve been looking for the right opportunity, now's the time.”

I blink at her as she finishes up with my nose and looks at me.

“Go on a date with me.”

“Is that a demand or a question?”

I smile. She’s going to be the death of me, and I’ll happily walk myself into my grave. “Sloane, I’d love to take you on a date if you’d be interested.”

She smiles. “I’d love to.”

“Sunday?”

“I’m free Sunday. Do you also want to ask for my number?” she suggests, and I nod my head.

Months of teasing me last season and months apart from the off season and she’s finally giving me an in? I’ll take whatever I can get.

Sloane grabs a Post-it and writes her number down and hands it to me.

“I think it’s best we keep this between us?”

I nod, feeling completely dumbfounded as I look down at her number.

Did I really think I had a chance? No, not really. Sloane can have any Alpha she wants wrapped around her finger within minutes, and somehow she's choosing me to have at her beck and call.

I stand up from the bench, bending my neck to look down at her. I’m not going to fuck this up.

“How's your nose now?” she asks in a soft voice.

“Never better.”

“So Sunday?”

“Sunday,” I reply, placing the note safely in my locker. “I’ve got to get back to practice.”

“Of course. Oh, and Bram?”

“Yeah?” I turn around to face her.

“My favorite flowers are peonies, I don’t eat red meat, and I get car sick with long car rides.” She says the last bit shyly.

I tap my head with my finger like I’m locking all that knowledge in. “Noted. I’ll text you about Sunday.”

“Okay,” she says, some of the overconfident facade falling away as her genuine excitement takes over.

The smile on her face? I put that there, and I plan on doing a hell of a lot more than making that woman smile. I plan on making her mine.