Page 20 of Puck Your Nanny

Another miss.

The puck sails past my outstretched pad and slaps against the back of the net.

“Calvin!” Coach’s voice is pure fury. “What was that? You’re playing like a fucking rookie!”

I grind my teeth. I have to get it together. I need to prove myself, to show Coach, and myself, that I’m still the best goalie on the ice.

I breathe deep, focusing on the shooter, the angle of his stick, the slightest movement of his blade. The next shot comes, arocket of a slap shot, and I react. My body moves on instinct, glove flashing up, snatching the puck mid-air. The next shot, a tricky backhander; I deflect it with my blocker, tracking the rebound. My body remembers what my mind is struggling to grasp. Save after save, I force myself back into rhythm, pushing Daisy to the back of my thoughts.

But she lingers. Every break, every pause, she’s there. Her scent, her face, the way William curls against her when she holds him. It’s like an invisible thread, yanking me away from the ice, dragging me back to her.

The whistle blows again. Another drill over. I skate to the bench. Nate left early this morning, too, to deal with more funeral details. Peter’s off handling business, like always, but he should be home sometime today. Which means Daisy’s at the house alone with William.

A surge of protectiveness flares in my chest, sharp and instinctual. It makes no sense. She’s a Beta. There’s no reason for this. But my inner Alpha doesn’t care about reason. It’s restless, pacing, urging me home.

Must protect.

Coach’s voice snaps me out of it. “Alright, you lazy Alphas! Suicide sprints! Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!" He claps hard. "You call yourselves professionals? You look like a bunch of amateurs out there!”

I groan inwardly, then push off, joining the others at the goal line. Suicide sprints. Full speed, no slowing down. The first few strides burn through my legs, my skates digging into the ice as I force my body forward. The rush of air fills my lungs, but it isn’t enough. My thighs scream, my chest tightens, but I keep going. Faster. Harder. The physical strain pulls me into the moment, drowning out everything else. The ice, the motion, the burn—it's all that matters. It has to be.

Lap after lap, I force my body to keep moving, pushing through the ache in my legs. My breath comes in sharp bursts, chest heaving, lungs burning with every stride. The ice blurs beneath me, my skates cutting deep as I fight through the exhaustion. This drill is brutal, punishing, designed to break us down, to test who can endure.

Coach’s whistle cuts through the air, but he doesn’t call for a stop. A test to see which ones of us are pussies and will stop first. I refuse to be the one who slows down. I push harder, grinding my teeth, willing my body to keep going. Faster. Stronger. I have to outlast this. I have to prove myself. I have to drown out everything but the ice beneath me.

Finally, the whistle blows. The end of practice. I sag against the boards, gasping for air, sweat dripping down my face.

“Shower up!” Coach claps his hands. “And get the hell out of my sight! I expect to see a lot more effort tomorrow!”

Normally, I’d hit the showers, take my time. But today, the thought of lingering is unbearable. The protective instinct has taken root, sinking its claws into me.

I strip off my gear in record time, ignoring the glances from my teammates. I pull my clothes over my damp skin, grab my bag, and head for the exit.

I need to get home. I need to see her. I know she’s fine, but that knowledge doesn’t stop the gnawing, primal urge. It doesn’t stop the irrational feeling that I need to be there. I feel like I’m losing my mind, and the only way to quiet the beast inside me is to get back to the house.

Back to Daisy.

The drive home passes in a blur, my thoughts racing even faster than they were during practice. I keep picturing alphas who aren't in our pack breaking in to try and hurt Daisy. But after a long twenty minutes, I pull into the driveway and kill the engine.

I leap out, striding toward the front door. The moment I shove it open, her scent crashes into me—stronger, richer than it was yesterday, wrapping around me like an invisible tether pulling me in. My Alpha stirs more, needing to see and be near her.

"Daisy?" My voice comes out rough.

"In here!" Her voice carries down from upstairs.

I take the stairs two at a time, reaching the nursery doorway in seconds.

Daisy is stretched out on the floor, lying on the knitted blanket Stacey made for William. He’s on his stomach, legs kicking, head bobbing up with effort. Tummy time. She faces him, her expression warm, encouragement shining in her eyes as she coaxes him along.

"That's it. You can do it, lift that head, kick those legs." Her fingers brush along his back.

Seeing her interact with William and being a motherly figure to him shouldn't turn me on, but God help me it is.

"Hey." I step into the room.

Daisy looks up, startled, then smiles. "Hey. You're back early."

"Yeah, well." I shrug, trying to appear casual, ignoring the way my pulse has doubled in the last two seconds. "Coach decided we'd suffered enough." I pause, looking from her to William. "How's he doing?"

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