“They need to get him off the ice.”
“He’s fucking lost it.”
“Where the hell are the refs?”
The moment I move to signal for a line change, time slows to a crawl. Player fifty-four comes barrelling down the ice, his roar echoing around the bustling arena, loud enough to silence the crowd. Boone catches the first hit. His body slams into the glass before crumbling to the ice. Smith barely has time to react before another brutal collision sends him sprawling. Holden squares his shoulders, digging his skates into the ice, but it’s futile. Fifty-four throws his head back before launching forward, his helmet colliding with Holden’s. The sickening crack echoes around us as the Beta collapses into a heap, unmoving. The rest of the Gators try to stop him, the referees moving in beside them, but it’s too late. Boone goes down next, and I stare wide-eyed at the fucking dickhead doing everything in his power to get fired. If I have anything to do with it, he will be after this. I can see it in his eyes when he skates past the bench. All the lights are on, but there’s no one home behind those eyes of his. They’ve got to get him off the ice. He’s a fucking loose cannon.
I see the determination on Sasha’s face. No hesitation. No fear. Just purpose as he digs his skates into the ice and prepares forthe brutality of a completely feral Alpha. Sasha may very well be one of the best in the league, but strength means very little against an Alpha who no longer possesses his sanity.
Their collision steals the breath from my lungs. Sticks fly across the ice, gloves are thrown at their feet, and the game is completely forgotten.
For one horrifying moment, I think that Sasha can restrain him. At least long enough for an emergency response to deploy a fucking sedative. But a single flip of his hand has fifty-four gaining the advantage. He tears free, his elbow rising, and I watch, utterly mortified as it catches Sasha across the side of the head. His chin strap snaps, the helmet flying off, and my heart beats frantically behind my ribs as I watch everything unfold. Something cracks, sickening and wet, and blood immediately pours down the side of Sasha’s face.
Players, referees, and security surge forward as the unhinged asshole continues barreling toward the net. Toward our Goalie.
Sebastian doesn’t look scared. He looks ready. If I had known what the next few seconds would cost us, I never would have encouraged my players to keep pushing him out. Maybe I would have screamed for the officials to stop the game. Maybe I would have demanded they take him off the eyes before he could do serious damage.
I can only watch with my heart lodged somewhere between my lungs and my throat as the Alpha collides with Seb, the pair crashing violently through the net. The way Seb lands has my stomach dropping, the entire arena going silent as he collapses to the ice seconds before league medical staff deploy a tranquilizer, finally bringing the corrupt Alpha down.
I don’t think. I just act. Clearing the boards, I keep Seb in my line of sight. I can already see the players that had once been rendered unconscious stir, medics attending to them to checkfor signs of concussions. But all I can see is my goalie. The Alpha was injured on my watch.
I did this.
I egged on a beast, making my entire team a target.
There is already a neck brace fitted around Sebastian’s neck when I collapse to the ice beside him. Medics bark instructions to one another, trying to do everything they can to control the pain roaring through his body. Finding his limp hand, I grip it tightly. His eyes open, flicking over to mine. They are wet with tears, fear evident in his gentle green irises.
“This isn’t good, Coach,” he rasps, gritting his teeth as he is maneuvered onto a backboard and up onto a stretcher. His fingers tighten around mine, his face going pale as one of the paramedics slips during the transfer.
“Be fucking careful!” I snap, panic clawing up my throat. “You, get some fucking painkillers into him right the fuck now!” My voice is a growl, the sound so at odds with my Omega designation. Not a single soul ignores me. One of the paramedics pulls a bottle of what I am assuming is morphine from their bag, drawing out enough to knock out an elephant before injecting it into his thigh, and I watch as some of the agony slowly leaves Sebastian’s face.
“WHERE THE FUCK IS THAT CUNT? I WILL FUCKING KILL HIM!”
I gasp, turning to find a barely restrained Sasha fighting against five players who are barely holding him back. Blood pours down the side of his face. One eye is already starting to swell shut, but that isn't what's making fear skitter down my spine. His pupils are blown. His scent is thick enough that even from here, I can feel it pressing against my skin. And little by little, I watch yet another player surrender to his primal form. Sebastian grips my hand, turning my attention from the mess I no doubt have to clean up.
“Go. Go settle him down, Coach.”
I jump as a gentle hand lands on my shoulder.
Dominic.
“Lennon. Go. I’ve got it from here. Sasha needs his Coach. He needs you.”
His eyes remain fixed on his packmate, fighting who knows how many grown ass Alphas struggling to keep their captain restrained. He’s beyond furious, and I don’t blame him. That fucker hurt Holden. And now Sebastian.
“Lennon. Go before we lose him too.”
Chapter Thirteen
Sasha
My fury has become something solid in my chest, heavy enough that it feels like it is crushing my lungs as they burn with every breath I force into them. It’s consuming. I can barely separate where I end and where it begins, because all I can see is Holden, writhing on the ice in pain, all because of a fucking asshole Alpha gone rogue. Then there’s Seb. My goalie. One of my best friends. His body folding into that net while those terrified green eyes gaze up at our coach in pain, searching for answers, but knowing those answers in the same breath.
I know the difference between pain and injury. The difference between bruises and the kind of damage that ruins an entire NHL career. The grief and pain written across his face are way too familiar to me. I’ve seen it before. Not on some stranger, or some actor on TV.
I saw it in my father the night his life fell apart. I saw it in the hospital bed after Patrick destroyed his life. My life. In the way my father gripped my mother’s hand so tightly, his knuckles turned white while the doctors talked in circles around him,using words I didn’t understand back then. But ones I came to know all too well.
Herniated discs, spinal fusion, and permanent nerve damage.
