Page 17 of Take All of Me

I’m not sure how long I stare at the paper, wishing I could go back when the door creaks open. I don’t flinch, something instinctual telling me the presence is safe, Brogan popping up beside me a moment later. With him this close, I catch his fresh rain scent, one I’ve missed, one that calms a part of me, my body remembering what my mind tried to push away.

“A lot of nostalgia in this room, yeah?”

I nod, holding up the red binder, a grin tugging at my lips. “I found my notebook.”

He steps closer, peering over my shoulder, and chuckles. “Oh, you mean those papers full of craziness? Nobody can read that, Maya.”

I laugh, pointing at a page of randomly placed lines and arrows that’d baffle anyone else. “This one’s a cycle play,” I explain,tracing the path. “You fake a dump-in, pull the goalie out, then swing it back for a one-timer.”

His eyes widen, genuinely intrigued, and he asks, “Why would you write it down like that? It’s so much easier to just…”

“It’s how my father taught me,” I shrug, his laugh filling the room.

He leans against the desk now, a grin spreading across his lips, “The guys are pumped you’re here, all talking about ‘the legacy.’ We all fought to be on your team, by the way.”

“But none of them know me.”

“We know enough. You being here’s bringing a morale we’ve been missing. Don’t worry, though—I called dibs, which means Roman and Dakota are with Holt.” Confusion floods my face, Brogan then explaining. “We… kinda meshtoowell? So, we’re not allowed to scrimmage together anymore. Always have to be on separate teams. Since Roman and I both play offense, I’m either with Dakota or on the other side.”

“Makes sense,” I murmur.

“Holt sent me in here to give you a pep talk, but I’m feeling you don’t really need one.”

I look up at him, his hazel eyes bright with faith. “I’d say you’re doing a fine job,” I tease.

He pauses, just before he leaves, turning back to face me. “Just one thing, Maya, and this doesn’t have anything to do with the hockey stuff. I’m not gonna call this fate or whatever other hoodoo bullshit’s out there, but I’m gonna court you. You good with that?”

“Isn’t courting for Omegas?”

“Betas like pretty stuff too,” he says, a playful glint in his eyes. “Besides, I’m feeling like your last relationship was a little lax with all the romance, so I’m hoping to make up for it.”

“I… I don’t know,” I stammer, meeting his gaze. “Can you just go slow?”

“I’m good with that. Anything else, coach?”

I wrinkle my nose, heat creeping up my cheeks. “Don’t make a big show out of it. I don’t want all the attention, and with… Dakota.” I trail off.

“My relationship with you is separate from them. I’m well aware of what they want—they’ve talked about it enough over the years. We’re all adults. Slow and quiet. I think I can do that, coach.” He winks, adding, “See you out on the ice,” and slips out, leaving me with my thoughts and the binder.

My walls are cracking, carefully being torn down by these men. A few years ago, I’d be quickly rebuilding, trying to guard my heart. But I want this peace, this happiness so fucking bad that I’m starting to wonder if it’s okay to be vulnerable again.

Dakota

I yank on my goalie gear, the familiar weight of pads settling over my shoulders, but my hands shake as I fumble with the straps. Holt looms over me in the locker room, all broad shoulders and furrowed brows, his mahogany scent sharp with worry. “Fuck, I’m good,” I snap, trying to sound convincing, but my voice wavers, betraying the heat still simmering beneath my skin.

Holt crosses his arms, not buying it. “Sweetheart, you look like you’re gonna pass out again.”

I huff, reaching up to my scent gland, fingers brushing the patch of skin now slathered with the cream he grabbed from the clinic. It dulls the lavender flood pouring off me, thank god, because I don’t need to smell like a whole-ass flower shop out there. No telling what the other guys would do—unmatedOmega, fresh-presented, ripe for the taking. It’s dangerous as fuck, but I wasn’t about to sit at home, curled up in my nest like some fragile thing. I’m still me, still the Hawks’ goalie, heat or no heat.

I stand, legs wobbling under the bulk of my gear, and Holt’s there in a flash, hands steadying my hips. “I’ll be okay,” I insist, meeting his brown eyes, trying to mean it. “I’m just hot, but otherwise I feel fine. If that changes, I’ll let you know,Alpha.” I smirk, tossing the title out to lighten the mood, but Holt’s not smiling. His jaw tightens, worry etching deeper lines into his face.

“You were in a daze all morning,” he growls. “Do you even remember going all caveman on Maya before flattening me on the bed for a knot? Your pheromones are out of control, Kota, and I’m worried something could happen to you.” His words hit hard, stirring a flicker of shame, because yeah, I remember—bits and pieces, anyway. Maya’s lips, her vanilla scent, then Holt’s knot filling me.

But that doesn’t mean he gets to go all Alpha on me like those needy little Omegas love. “I’m not a damn puppet for you…”

Holt moves fast, gently wrapping a hand around my throat, his palm warm against my pulse. “No but you are my Omega.” His touch sends a shiver through me, and I sag, instincts immediately settling. The door swings open, and Roman pokes his head in, but Holt doesn’t look away. “Give us a minute, Ro.”

Roman’s eyes flick between us. “Yep, yep, absolutely,” he chirps, popping back out like he’s dodging a bullet.

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