Page 47 of Take All of Me

No one thinks it’s funny anymore.

I’m back in Holt’s car, my body buzzing with my mates’ bonds, their emotions pulsing like heartbeats. Dakota’s practically glued to me, sprawled across the backseat, his head in my lap, his fingers tracing my thigh, driving me up the wall as Roman and Holt take turns nursing their bites on his shoulders. I almost begged them to pull over, to fuck me on the side of the road, but Roman’s fingers, slipping under my skirt, curling inside my pussy, held me over until we reached my dorm.

Brogan was waiting when we got back, fucking me hard and fast into the bed as I fell apart under him. But now, reality’s back and I’m sitting across from a police officer in a sterile campus office, my hands twisting in my lap. Holt pushed for a protective order against Nox, even though he hasn’t shown up, no texts, no calls, nothing since last week. I didn’t want to make it a big thing, but I’m tired of worrying, of glancing over my shoulder, of Nox’s shadow tainting this happiness.

Roman’s beside me, his arm protective around my shoulder, his warmth a shield as I explain why I need this—Nox’s threats, the two incidents on campus, his grip on my arm, his whispered promises to find me. I hand over evidence—texts, a blurry photofrom that night, my scar a silent witness—and my voice shakes, but I’m as confident as I can be because I’m done letting him control me. The officer, a woman with kind eyes, nods, jotting it all down as Roman’s hand tightens around me, drowning my fear.

“I’ll get this filed,” the officer says, looking up, “and see if we can’t get a judge to sign off sooner rather than later. We’ve had reports on Nox Carter and he’s not allowed on campus.” She pauses, her voice softening. “I do have good news, though. He’s been arrested, currently held on bail.”

“Wait, he hasn’t paid it?”

“Apparently, he doesn’t have the funds. Ties into the whole—allegedly—dealing fakes, and now he’s hounded for money he doesn’t have. The friends he keeps spouting about want nothing to do with him or maybe he never had the connections in the first place” Her words sink in, relief washing through me, tentative but real, because he’s stuck, for now, his power crumbling.

“But he could always find me,” I say, fear creeping back in. “He had connections with the police, and…”

The officer shakes her head, her eyes steady. “He hasn’t called or shown up with any of those connections, Maya, so I’m thinking whatever he was doing to get to you wasn’t lawful.”

I thank her, not able to leave the office fast enough as Roman guides me outside. He turns me to face him, searching my face. “How you feeling?”

“Good,” I say, grinning, the weight lifting from all the bullshit Nox kept throwing at us. “Really good. Good enough to win this week.”

Roman laughs, his purr rumbling as he slings his arm around my shoulder. “That’s my girl,” he says, pulling me close, his lips brushing my temple. “Let’s go show Holt we’ve still got a little energy left, yeah?”

The last game before winter break has the rink pulsing with energy, the crowd roaring, the ice gleaming under bright lights. There’s so many emotions swirling through my new bonds—trust, love, excitement, thrumming through me like a heartbeat, tying me to them. I’ve still got my dad’s jacket wrapped around me, my curls loose around my shoulders, my scar on shoulder in full display.

I narrowly passed my classes, the last few weeks full stolen moments of kisses, cuddles, and more love than I ever thought possible, my pack’s attention a warmth I never knew I could have. Holt’s given me more responsibility, trusting me with plays and strategies, until I feel like this ismyteam, my role, my home, and I’ve stepped into the coach’s shoes, ready to truly take on the responsibility. The dean’s mentioned that the position is open for me if I want, that I just have to take it and after today, I think I might finally be ready.

The guys have flourished, their synergy on the ice a testament to our work. Brogan’s still adorably shy around Roman, their kisses soft and tentative, not going much further, and I’m okay with that, happy they’ve found a a balance. We’ve been living out of my dorm or Dakota’s these past weeks, our pack a messy, perfect tangle of blankets, laughter, and hilarious mishaps as we navigate these new designations and bonds.

It’s no secret I’m Holt and Roman’s Beta, bonded to Dakota, claimed by their bites on my lip and ear, but Brogan steals me away for moments that just ours. I’ve fallen in love in a way I never thought I could, and now, as the game starts, I’m dreaming of Christmas with my mates, a family, a future, my finger tracing my bitten lip, Holt’s purr humming in my ear as our bonds hums with love.

The game kicks just like the last few, but the energy is different, heightened, renewed even. We’re screaming plays, Holt’s voice steady beside me, my hands signing signals—breakaway, Roman!screen, Dakota!—our teamwork seamless, my pride fierce for a team I’ve helped grow over the past few weeks.

It’s a tough game, the other team fast and physical, blocking shots, but I gave my men a challenge: every successful play, I owe them a kiss, and they’re fighting, hungry, not just for the win, but for me, forus. The first period’s brutal, but then Roman dekes, fires, and—score!—the puck slams past the goalie, the crowd erupting through the stands.

“Fuck yeah!” I yell, scribbling something in my notebook for later, as Holt wraps an arm around my shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to my head.We can win this,I tell myself.

The second goal comes fast, Tanner’s wrist shot clean, the team’s momentum soaring with every play that succeeds. Halftime hits, the team skating over but my mates get to us first, hair sweat-slicked against their foreheads. Roman and Brogan reach me first, smothering me in kisses before Dakota steals me, bending me backward as he kisses the life out of me, trying to outdo the others.

“Mine,” Dakota growls as he pulls back. I playfully swat at his chest, the rest of the team grinning at our display of love. My cheeks heat under their stares as I rumble through a few more plays, letting them know that we got this if we just keep up this momentum. We throw together some awful ass, hand in the middle, go-team chant before they’re back on the ice and I’m holding my breath, praying for a win.

There’s two minutes left on the clock, the score tied, the crowd’s roar a heartbeat in my ears. The players are tired, their skates slowing, but I’m watching, every move, every pass, my heart pounding, my team fighting for this win, for me, for us. Holt leans over, tapping the notebook in my head. “Use the play, gorgeous.”

I hesitate. “We’ve only practiced it a few times.” Doubt creeps in because we haven’t gotten it perfect. No matter how many times we try, it always falls apart. I’m beginning to think it’s something wrong with the play and not that the team can’t get it.

“Trust they’ll do it right when it counts,” Holt offers, his hand squeezing mine.

I raise my hand, flashing the rocker sign, grimacing, because—god, I hate Logan’s idea.

I mutter to Holt, “I still hate that, should’ve never let them choose the sign.”

Logan catches it, patting his helmet, and then signals the team. They shift, my play unfolding, my heart in my throat. One minute left, there’s no time for mistakes—either we score, or it’s overtime and that’s the last thing I want right now.

The other team is already starting to scramble, unable to keep up with what’s happening as I scream internally for this to work. The Hawks are working my play and just as the buzzer blares, Roman fires, the puck soaring, and—goal!—it slams past the goalie, the net rippling.

The crowd explodes, my shriek tearing free as I turn and throw myself at Holt, his arms catching me, his lips crashing into mine. “Oh my god, it worked!” I gasp, tears gathering in my eyes, my heart so full it hurts.

The moment Holt lets me down, I gather my father’s jacket a little tighter around my shoulders, pressing a small kiss just inside the collar. “I did it, Dad.”

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