“I shouldn’t have to come here and fight to be respected,” she continued. “I’ve worked my ass off to build my reputation, and I would have that with or without this fucking story. I’m here because I’m the one who called those assholes out for what they did because Lana deserved justice.”
Her voice sharpened further.
“Whatever your issues are, you need to work them out and leave me out of it.”
“Or what?” I challenged. “Are you going to run to the owners?”
Her eyes narrowed into icy, little slits, her jaw clenched as she faced off with me. “I don’t have to. My stories will speak for themselves.”
For one brief second, I was triumphant. Her visible annoyance felt like a win.
But the moment the door slammed closed behind her, her words sank in.
I was teaching my team to disrespect her.
This team had already shown the world they didn’t know how to treat an omega, and here I was doing something painfully similar.
Disgust twisted my stomach. What kind of alpha was I?
Unable to stay here a second longer, I stormed out of the office. The frustration turned inward as I tore through the building.
The words tumbled around in my head, taunting me as I slid my helmet on and revved the engine of the motorcycle to life.
I was so in my head that I drove right past my house and through the city. The rumble of the engine and the wind tearing past me wasn’t enough to chase away the ugly truth she’d dragged to the surface.
Did I have my own biases toward omegas?
I would’ve said hell no if anyone asked me that before. Now, the truth was obvious.
When the fuck had I gotten so jaded?
I’d been elated when I got this phone call. This position was one that I’d been dreaming of.
Now, here I was, flushing it down the drain because my ego took a hit.
It took several more miles before I finally landed on the cold, hard facts.
This omega scared the shit out of me. She was the human embodiment of my job being on the line. What she wrote in those articles could make or break my entire career. She wanted the truth, and I’d given her some fucked up version of myself.
I was every bit the old man she called me. Past my prime at forty-three. I had no pack, no omega, and nothing other than this to show I’d made something of my life outside of hockey.
There was no family waiting for me when I got home tonight. It was just an empty, little apartment with barely any personality.
I’d married my career, and I’d made peace with that.
At least I thought I had.
I continued spiraling through the shittiest night of sleep I’d had in years, through morning coffee that tasted bitter and far too strong, and all the way through the drive back to the arena.
My heart dropped when I walked into my office to find it already open and the owner of the Narwhals sitting in my chair.
Jeremiah Kingsford looked completely at peace as he looked down at his phone. Dread rumbled in my stomach.
She’d called my boss and told him what an asshole I was. That I was being combative and refusing to work with her.
I was about to lose my job over my own fucking ego.
“Mr. Kingsford,” I greeted carefully. “What can I do for you?”
