Page 34 of Puck Your Neighbor

"So," Jenson says, breaking the comfortable silence. "We were thinking, maybe a little picnic to celebrate the win?"

"In the nest," Leo adds, his hand squeezing my thigh gently. "What do you think, sweetheart?"

My heart swells. My nest. The place I'd built for myself, a sanctuary from the world, is now our nest. And the thought, instead of terrifying me, fills me with a warmth I haven't felt in years.

I nod, smiling. "Sounds perfect," I sign.

"Any requests?" Maverick asks, turning more fully in his seat to look at me, his eyes warm and full of concern.

I think for a moment, then sign, "Barbecue?"

He grins. "You got it."

We stop at a local BBQ place. Maverick goes into to get our to-go order. It takes a bit, but the rock music fills the car as we wait. He comes back out with a grin. The smoky, savory scent of barbecue fills the car as soon as he opens the door. It makes my stomach rumble.

It's then a short drive home. My apartment feels different now, infused with their presence, their scents: cedar, cinnamon, sandalwood, and amber. It feels more like a home than it ever has before.

They spread a blanket in the middle of my nest, a colorful patchwork of fabric, and start unpacking the food. There's pulled pork, brisket, ribs, coleslaw, mac and cheese, and cornbread - a feast fit for a king, or in this case, three hungry hockey players and one very grateful omega.

Maverick gestures to the spread with a flourish."Alright, dig in."

We settle onto the blanket, the four of us a cozy circle in the middle of the nest. The food is delicious, the best barbecue I've ever tasted. Or maybe it just tastes better because I'm sharing it with them.

Jenson chuckles under his breath, and we glance toward him. He glances up at us. "Remember that time in juniors, Leo, when you filled Coach's rink with balloons?"

Leo groans, burying his face in his hands. "Oh, god, not this story again."

Maverick laughs, a deep, rumbling sound. "It's a classic. You have to tell her."

"It was not a classic," Leo insists, but there's a smile playing on his lips. "It was a disaster."

"It was hilarious," Jenson counters, grinning. "So, Anya, picture this: we're in juniors, playing for the Thunder Bay Bombers-"

"Terrible name," Leo interjects.

Jenson ignores him. "And we had this coach, Coach Thompson. Toughest guy you'd ever meet. Drilled us like we were in the army. Anyway, Leo here decides it would be funny to play a prank on him."

"In my defense," Leo says, holding up his hands, "he was being a real jerk that week. Extra drills, extra conditioning, for no reason."

"So, what did you do?" I sign, intrigued by the story.

"I may have," Leo begins, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "enlisted the help of a few...friends...to fill the entire rink, like, the whole rink, with balloons. We're talking hundreds of balloons."

My eyes widen. "Hundreds?" I sign, incredulous.

"Hundreds," Maverick confirms, nodding. "It took them all night. They snuck into the rink after hours."

"We had to crawl through the ventilation system," Leo adds, with a dramatic shudder. "It was dusty, and I'm pretty sure I saw a rat."

"The best part," Jenson continues, "was Coach Thompson's face when he walked in the next morning. He just stood there, staring at the balloons, for like, a full minute. Didn't say a word."

"Then he exploded," Leo says, his voice dropping to a low, serious tone. "'Who did this?!' he roared. 'I will find out who's responsible!'"

"And of course," Maverick says, "everyone just pointed at Leo."

Leo throws his hands up in mock surrender. "I was betrayed! By my own teammates!"

"You deserved it," Jenson says, laughing. "He made us run suicides until we puked for a week."

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