Page 18 of Take All of Me

The door clicks shut, Holt’s gaze softening, thumb brushing my neck. “I’m just as confused,” he admits, quieter now. “Maybe less but my instincts are all out of whack. Every time you make a noise, turn around, look at something, need something, I’m on alert. I’m not gonna get all protective and drag you off the ice, but I’m also not stupid. These weeks, days, leading up to yourheat—they’re gonna be your most difficult, and all this is new to you.”

I sag further, his hand still massaging my neck, and I realize how much I love this—the softness of his touch, the way it cuts through my chaos. “What are you asking of me?”

“To be honest with me. To tell me what you need. This isn’t something we can keep from the team or the administration. You don’t have to tell everyone, and I’ll buy you an entire supply of scent blockers if that’s what you want, but I need you not to lie to me anymore, Dakota.”

I nod, swallowing hard. “Yeah. I can do that.”

He leans forward, kissing me softly, his lips warm against mine. When he pulls back, the worry has lessened, replaced that stoic smile I love so much. “Great, now remember that sign I gave you last year to let me know if something’s wrong?” I reach up, tapping my helmet lightly and he nods, relief flickering in his eyes. “Use it. For the love of God, use it. I don’t fucking care why, but you use it, and either me or Roman will be there.”

I agree, a quick jerk of my head, and he kisses me again, deeper this time, his hand sliding to my jaw. “Come out when you’re ready,” he says, stepping back. “I gotta help introduce Maya to the team.”

“I’ve got this,” I tell myself, hoping the little confidence pep talk will keep me from falling into a blubbering mess needing a knot. The heat is just barely at bay but I’m not ready to give up on hockey just yet. Grabbing my helmet, I shove out of the locker room, my goalie pads creaking with every step.

The air shifts as I hit the corridor, cooler, laced with the sharp bite of ice, and Roman’s there, leaning against the wall with a soft smile curving his lips. His citrus scent hits me, calming me even further. “You good?”

I snort, adjusting my glove. “You left pretty fast when Holt told you to,” I say, half-teasing, half-calling him out.

Roman shrugs, unbothered, pushing off the wall to fall into step beside me. “I’m all for you fucking each other but I also know you’re not dealing with this change as well as you’re trying to make us believe. Didn’t know if you’d want me to stay.”

I pause, turning to face him, helmet dangling from my hand. “You’re still my Beta.”

Roman’s grin softens and he steps closer, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Oh yeah, I’m not going anywhere, Kota Bug,” he jokes, the old nickname pulling a laugh from me despite the heat still simmering under my skin. “I’m just saying—you were pretty out of it this morning and it looked painful.”

“No, it’s more… disconcerting,” I admit, searching for the right word. “I’m not in control of any of these changes, so it’s a lot of freaking out about what’s going on in my head and not being present. Like, I remember Maya being there then getting knotted, but everything else was just a hazy blur of need. I’ve never looked forward to the end of the season before, but I am now, because I need to figure all this out.”

“We got you, Kota. You won’t have to deal with all of this on your own. Now, let’s go show Maya some skill on the ice. Brogan thought he was some hot shit getting her team, but I’m not about to let him win.”

I laugh, the sound echoing off the concrete walls, and nudge him with my elbow. “You’re not even gonna let her win?” I tease, raising a brow.

Roman’s eyes glint, all mischief and determination. “I’ve been waiting four years to show her my skills,” he declares, puffing out his chest. “Brogan’s going down!” We’re both laughing now, as we step out of the tunnel and onto the rink’s edge, the other guys waving us over.

The moment Maya’s face comes into view, it’s like everything is perfect. Like all I needed was the myriad of their scents together, in one place to settle my nerves. The hard part will begetting Maya to realize that this is exactly where she belongs, on the ice, with us,with me.

Maya

My clipboard is clutched tight against my chest as we stand at the edge of the rink, Holt introducing me to the Northvale Hawks. The guys are lined up, a mix of broad shoulders and eager grins, their skates scraping the ice in restless anticipation. One by one, they shake my hand—firm grips, wide eyes, big smiles that make my stomach flutter with nerves and something warmer, something like belonging. A lanky winger named Ethan steps forward, his glove off, and asks, “You gonna run one of your father’s plays?”

I shake my head, a small smile tugging at my lips. “No, I’ve got some of my own.”

Brogan, leaning on his stick nearby, pipes up. “And they’re just as cryptic as her father’s,” he teases, “but when she explained it, it all made sense.”

I beam at that, his words sparking a glow in my chest, and I meet his hazel eyes, grateful for the backup. Holt clears his throat, drawing everyone’s attention, and starts pointing out who I’ll have for the scrimmage—Brogan included, along with Ethan, a stocky defenseman named Sam, and a few others. “Brogan, you’re team captain. Maya, I’ll give you ten minutes to go over a few things, then we’ll start. First point wins.” He pauses, brown eyes locking on mine. “Doesn’t have to be perfect—just to see how our coaching styles mesh.”

I nod, swallowing the nerves clawing up my throat, and Holt takes his group toward the goal, barking orders as they spread out. I turn to my team, clipboard in hand, and lead them to the bench, where a whiteboard’s propped up. I brace for resistance—some dumb joke, a jab about my dad, anything to undermine me—but there’s none. They crowd around, wildly attentive, nodding as I sketch a play, lines and arrows flowing in the standard hockey shorthand, not Dad’s chaotic scribbles.

Ethan squints, then lights up. “We’ve never seen a play like that before.”

Sam chimes in, scratching his helmet. “Yeah, we have—in one of her father’s videos. It’s a little different, but yeah, you really are his daughter. They won’t know what’s coming.”

That gets a smile out of me, Brogan leaning a little closer from behind me. “And that’s the point. Holt took the players he knows best—ones who think on their feet, move at a moment’s notice, always looking to him for signs. They’re the ones who run our plays. He’s giving Maya a chance to work hers out, and he’s gonna see if he can counter them in real time.”

“That makes this a little more fun, then,” I agree.

Sam pipes up, smirking at Brogan. “Oh, and he’s being modest about all this shit. Brogan’s literally our team captain so…” I blink, surprised, and glance at Brogan, who shrugs, a faint flush creeping up his neck.

Ethan jumps in, unbothered. “Well, there’s Roman and Logan, that Alpha over there but yeah, Brogan isheadcaptain. He likes to pretend not to be important.” He gestures to the board, “I think we’ve got a good chance of catching Holt off guard.”

I quickly wipe off the board. “We’ll run two versions of this. If I tap my shoulder, we switch to the second, got it?” They all agree, heads bobbing, and Sam reaches out, going to pat my shoulder in some teammate gesture. I flinch back, eyes wide, because it’s too fucking close to my neck, to that scar Nox left. I reach up to check it, my hoodie covering everything but that doesn’t change how unnerved I am.

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