A beat passes. None of them have a script for this moment. It’s almost funny, if you ignore the fact that my entire body is in a state of emergency.
Connor is last to speak. “You looked good on the ice.” I want to claw his eyes out for being so calm. “It’s nice to see you back.”
I almost snort. “Yeah, well, I’m here to skate. That’s all.”
Another awkward beat. I can taste the apology they’re not saying, and I hate it. I wish I couldn’t.
“We, uh—” Zev glances at Fowler, who shrugs helplessly. “We just wanted to make sure you’re okay. After… last time.”
That does it. My anger, which had been a tight, humming buttamedbeast in my chest, snaps. “After what? After you all made it your personal mission to destroy my prep camp? Or after you decided being scent-matched to an omega was too ‘too much’ to risk when she didn’t even express desire for something long term?”
Fowler’s mouth opens, then closes. He looks at Zev, who looks at Connor, who looks at the floor.
I keep going. “Here’s the deal. I don’t care what happened at prep camp. I don’t care if you’re sorry, or if you regret it, or whatever. I’m here to skate with Connor because I’m a professional, and that’s what the show needs. Otherwise, I want nothing to do with any of you. Which should be easy since you want nothing to do with me. You made that pretty fucking clear.”
Connor pales. Zev’s lips press together so hard they’re nearly blue. Fowler looks wounded.
I don’t care.
Zev nods. “Got it. We’ll keep our distance.”
“Please do.” I return to my pizza, hands shaking so badly the slice nearly falls apart in my grip. There’s so much left to say, but I don’t want to deal with any of it.
They linger for a moment longer, and then all three drift away, back to their table, then out the door. I force myself to wait a whole two minutes before I exhale.
Charlotte returns, sees the look on my face, and immediately guesses. “They came over?”
I nod, my throat tight.
She slides into the seat beside me. “Are you okay?”
I want to say yes. I want to say it doesn’t matter, that I’m better off. Instead, I say, “I don’t know.”
Charlotte bumps my shoulder. “Well, if they fucked up that bad, they can live with it. You don’t owe them anything.”
She plucks a mozzarella stick from the plate and offers it to me. “C’mon. Cheese heals all wounds.”
It doesn’t, not really. But it does help. We finish the pizza in relative silence, my thoughts spinning around what I said and I didn’t say. Nothing is ever really finished when it comes to alphas, omegas, and everything they refuse to admit.
Outside, the night is cool, and the walk back to the apartment is easy. I can almost pretend that I’m just another girl, on another summer night, with nothing to prove and nothing to hide. But under my skin, everything is electric, aching, and alive just from beingnearmy alphas.
I nearly choke on air.
Myalphas.
Oh, fuck. No, no, no, no, no.
They are not mine. I donotwant them.
So what happens if scent-matches reallyarefate?
CHAPTER 4
ZEV
The hardest part of leaving the NHL isn’t missing the games. It’s missing the near-constant puck-to-the-face adrenaline. It quickly becomes a driving force for waking up every day while you’re in it. Now that I’m out I find summoning motivation much harder.
I left the NHL for good reason—in solidarity with Fowler—but it took me a long time to find a new driving force. Especially this early in the morning.
