Page 10 of Take All of Me

Tyler slaps a weak wrister toward the net but Dakota’s in the crease looking like he’s half-asleep, blocker side wide open. The puck sails past him, a soft goal that shouldn’t have happened, and I blow the whistle again, long and pissed. “Dakota, wake the fuck up! You’re leaving the five-hole gaping!”

Guess that’s going to be two asses I’ve got to fuck tonight. Maybe I’ll make them fuck each other as I watch and still not let them come. There’s a drawer of toys I’ve been meaning to start using. Tonight is as good as any.

I glance over at Coach sitting on the bench, arms crossed and leaning back, watching it all unfold. He’s been here forever but under him, the Hawks lost damn near every game with no direction. Just a bunch of kids flailing on the ice with no direction. They were a damn good group of players but with no one helping to guide them, it fell apart pretty fast.

Then they offered me this gig a year ago. I’d been drowning then, knee fucked from that accident, sister gone, no clue what to do with my life. Coaching was a lifeline and I grabbed it with both hands. Found my pack in Roman and Dakota, a renewed sense of purpose barking orders, and something to keep me busy when the nights got too quiet. This team’s my blood now—undefeated since I started—and I’ll be damned if I let it fall apart.

But the last few days my focus keeps shifting, tugging away from the ice and toward Dakota. He stumbled into Frostbite Hall, Friday night flushed and burning up, fever clinging to him like a bad hit. All weekend he brushed it off muttering he was fine, but I felt the heat rolling off him every time I dragged him into my bed to keep an eye on him. This morning he saw the nurse—antibiotics and a pat on the head—but one look at him now tells me that didn’t fix shit.

He’s swaying in the crease, pads sagging like they’re too heavy, and his brown eyes are glassy staring at nothing. Worse, he smells like an entire goddamn flower shop—lavender spiking so thick it’s choking out the rink’s usual stink of sweat and rubber. Something’s wrong. Bad wrong.

Practice rolls on, the clack of sticks and scrape of skates filling the rink as I pace behind the bench, eyes narrowed. Roman fires a snapshot from the right wing, high glove side, and Dakota swats it away with his blocker, but then Brogan barrels in with a slapshot. It catches Dakota square in the chest pad, a dull thud echoing, and he staggers back, a growl ripping from his throat.

“Back the fuck off, Ethan!” he snarls, shoving at our backup D-man who’d been crowding the crease.

I don’t know what the fuck is going on but when Ethan starts skating toward Dakota, I know it’s not going to be pretty. I blow the whistle, everyone halting and looking over at me. “That’s it, practice is over!” I yell, voice booming across the ice. Silence meets my whistle and then everyone’s bustling toward the edge, eager for a break.

Jace grins, tossing over his shoulder, “Kota Bug just needs a fuck, he’ll be fine!” Tyler snickers, clapping Ethan on the back as they file off, but I’m not laughing.

I step onto the ice, heading straight for the goal. Dakota’s still there, hunched over his stick, and when I get close, I see it—his eyes wide, pupils blown dark and wild. Roman glides over, ripping off his helmet. “What is going on?”

Dakota fumbles with his helmet, almost as if his fingers are shaking too hard for him to grip the metal before he lets it clatter to the ice. “I can’t fucking breathe.” His chest heaves and then he stumbles forward. I catch him, his weight slamming into me, as Roman drops beside us, tugging off Dakota’s gloves while I yank at the straps of his chest protector. The gear falls away, revealing his sweat-soaked undershirt, and a whine tears from his throat—high, desperate, not like anything I’ve heard from him before.

My instincts are screaming at me, a deep Alpha urge I can’t explain, telling me to calm him, to fix this distress ripping through him. His scent hits me full force, lavender sweetening into something thick and syrupy, clogging my lungs. “Hospital now,” I snap. “I don’t like this. Roman, help me get his skates off. I’m not waiting any longer.”

Roman nods, no argument, and we drop to our knees, working fast. I unlace Dakota’s left skate, fingers fumbling with the knots, while Roman tackles the right, cursing under his breath as Dakota sways above us.

“Fuck, he’s burning up,” Roman mutters, yanking the skate free. Dakota’s dripping sweat, face pale except for the fevered flush across his cheeks, and that whine comes again, softer but no less gutting. I stand, hooking an arm under his shoulders, and all but haul him off the ice, his legs dragging.

Roman grabs the skates and helmet, shoving them into a bag as he follows. Some of the guys linger near the boards, watching, and Tyler calls out, “Is he okay?”

“We won’t know until we get him checked out.” My words comes out sharper than I mean them to, because I’m fucking terrified.

I’m done losing people—my sister, my career—and I can’t lose Dakota too. He’s pack, my steady heartbeat when everything else went to shit, and right now I don’t know what’s happening to him. Roman jogs ahead to the car, throwing open the passenger door, and I ease Dakota inside, his head lolling against the seat. “Stay with me, Kota,” I murmur, buckling him in, my hand lingering on his chest where his heart’s racing too fast.

I can’t drive fast enough, continually looking in the rearview mirror, checking on Dakota. His breathing is picking up, his face paler than it was on the ice. Roman is curled into his side, whispering something in his ear but whatever is happening is getting worse. We’re barely into the ER, one of the doctors examining him on one of the cots when she tells me nothing is wrong.

Again.

“I don’t accept that,” I push out. “This is not some 24 hour bug or the flu. This has to be something else.” There’s a whine at the edge of my voice because I don’t know what’s going on and this is the second medical professional telling me that I just need things to run its course.

The doctor sighs, her shoulders falling as she hugs a clipboard to her chest. “I understand that this is terrifying but there are only so many tests we can do. Right now, nothing is showing up. Tox screen is clear. Heartbeat is elevated and pupils dilated but that could be caused by a myriad of things. If he’s working through some kind of cold or strain, his body is probably just reacting to it. I can prescribe something a little stronger that will allow him to relax but until the blood test comes back, there’s nothing else I can do.”

Roman leans over the bed, squeezing Dakota’s hand before looking back toward the doctor. “How long is the blood test gonna take?”

“Two days? I’ll try to get a rush on it. The only thing I can suggest for right now is rest and fluids.”

That’s not going to work, not with the hockey schedule but I don’t tell her that. Dakota’s health is more important than the game, even if I know that he’s going to try and pretend nothing is wrong and skate right back on that ice. The doctor offers us a small smile and gestures to the front desk.

“You can sign out when you’re ready. If you need a wheelchair, just call and we’ll help you out to your car. You can pick up your medication at your usual pharmacy and I’ll leave the script at the front desk.”

I turn my attention back to Dakota, stepping on the other side as I lean down to kiss him softly. He’s more receptive than usual, clinging to me as if he’s just as terrified as I am. “You’re going to be okay,” I mumble against his lips before helping him sit up. “Let’s get you back to the dorm. I’ll let your professors know you won’t be in class today.”

He just hums a response, leaning against my chest, his strength drained. There’s a billion explanations running through my head for what’s going on but I can’t seem to focus on just one. And that terrifies me a little more.

Dakota’s still unsteady as Roman and I help into his dorm room. He kept shifting in his seat the entire ride back, his hands fisting on his knees, a whine slipping out every now and then. I couldn’t tell if he was in pain or something else but he hasn’t said a word.

“Babe, I need you to be honest with me. What is going on?” My brown eyes lock on his, searching, and for the first time, I see it—fear flickering in his expression. It stops me cold, a punch to the gut I wasn’t ready for.

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