Page 8 of Puck Your Bunny

It's almost laughable. Emmett and Hale would have lost their minds with excitement if they knew three star hockey players were my second match. Even Brendan would have been impressed back when he was himself. He loved watching the Reapers play.

But a new pack can’t happen. My life is here, in this house, with the medical equipment and the quiet routines. Nothing is going to disrupt this safe space or force Brendan out of my world.

Chapter 4

Ihaven't slept a single fucking wink.

My boots thud in a relentless rhythm against the rubber floor of the locker room. Pacing from the showers to the main exit doors and back keeps me from climbing the walls. Heat burns under my skin. I curl my hands into tight fists. The muscles in my arms wind up, ready to snap.

It's barely seven in the morning. The team's private practice facility is too quiet, but the air inside our locker room chokes us with tension. It smells like stale sweat, expensive hockey tape, and the sour edge of three frustrated Alphas.

Stopping for a second, I drag both hands over my face. Hitting something sounds real good right now. Getting on the ice and checking someone into the boards until my shoulders go numb might burn off this energy.

Squeezing my eyes shut only makes it worse. The scent of lavender and honeysuckle floods my memory. It hits the back of my throat with the acidic edge of panic rolling off her last night.

My teeth grind together as my jaw locks tight.

Glaring at the stalls lined up along the wall brings me back to the present. Last night, we just stood there and watched our match turn around and run away. Wally threw his arm out to block me from going after her, forcing me to stay put.

It was a massive mistake. Chasing her down was the right move. Pulling her out of that crowd, wrapping her in my jacket, and keeping her there until we figured out why she smelled like our entire world would have fixed this.

Wally sits on the wooden bench in the center of the room, staring at his phone screen. He stays frozen in place for twenty minutes. His jaw remains locked tight. The calm, collected captain of our team is gone. He looks ready to snap.

Simon sits in front of his stall, knocking his knuckles against the wooden bench.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The sound grates on my last nerve. I shoot him a glare. "Cut it out. You're driving me crazy."

Simon drops his hand to his side and glares right back at me. His blue eyes are bloodshot. He looks just as wrecked as I feel. The charming PR golden boy vanished the second that Omega disappeared into the crowded lounge.

"You pacing a hole in the floor makes my headache worse, Kel." His voice is rough and stripped of its usual humor.

I cross my arms over my chest and face the entrance. We need Henry. He shows up early for the morning skate to get some extra time in the weight room. He serves as our only connection to the red-haired Omega who shattered our reality last night. We only know her first name and her friendship with his sister.

The double doors swing open, sending an echo down the hallway. Footsteps approach the locker room.

I straighten up and crack my neck to the side. The familiar pop of my joints settles my nerves a fraction. Wally looks up from his phone. Simon pushes up from the bench and stands tall.

Years of playing on the same line lets us coordinate our movements in silence. The three of us operate as a single unit on and off the ice.

Henry walks through the doorway carrying a duffel bag over his shoulder and a massive protein shake in his hand. He wears a pair of gray sweatpants and a backwards ball cap. He looks well-rested with a relaxed, easy smile on his face.

His boots halt the second he spots us staring at him.

The smile drops off his face. He takes one look at my scowl, shifts his gaze to Wally's dead stare, and then checks Simon's tense posture.

Henry swallows hard. His Adam's apple bobs in his throat. He tightens his grip on the strap of his duffel bag. Veering left, he aims straight for his designated stall in the corner of the room to steer clear of us.

I step right into his path.

Crossing my arms over my chest lets my size do the talking. I stand six-foot-four and carry enough muscle to drop guys twice his size. Wally steps up to my right side, blocking the path to the benches. Simon shifts to my left, cutting off the exit back out to the hallway.

We trap him in a neat, suffocating triangle.

Henry looks between the three of us with his brows pulled together. He shifts his weight. The sudden spike of stress in his scent betrays the casual act he tries to put on.

"Uh, hey guys." He points a thumb at the exit Simon is blocking. "What's going on? You need something?"