Page 128 of Power Shift

“It’s an honour for you to be our first,” Jasper declares.

It’s Landon who gives me what I’m too scared to dig for. He has a deeper insight into my mind than I could have ever expected.

“And only. You’ll be the only one.”

I force my eyes open until I can focus on each of them. “Is that a promise? I take my promises seriously. If you say yes and then break it?—”

With a ferocity that muzzles me, Landon swoops in and kisses me. He forces the worry from my consciousness and replaces it with a declaration of forever.

“I promise, Briar.”

41

DASH

I escapedinto my room as soon as I could. As much as I want to be around my pack, I just can’t right now. I need a distraction. A break from the sweetness of Briar’s scent and the reminder that I messed up. Not only with her, but with Landon, Ronan, and Jasper too.

They needed my support just as much as Landon did, but I chose him over them. I chose him over Briar.

My head is a mess as I tighten my grip on the Xbox controller and lean over my knees, keeping my eyes on the TV. I’m not playing goalie today and instead opted for a defenseman so I could have an excuse to digitally beat someone up. It’s not as good as doing it for real, but I’ve never gotten into a physical fight anyway. I’d wind up minced beta meat beneath a heavy fist if I attempted it.

Ronan’s the fighter out of the four of us. He always has been, although he’s settled more over the years. His anger was ramped up during his teen years because of the rush of alpha hormones and his natural distaste for most people, so there was never a need for the rest of us to practice.

With everything coming to light about the danger Briar’s in, maybe we should have tried anyway.

I zone out, relying on muscle memory to control my fingers as they dart around the controller, pressing buttons that lead my player into a brawl with a random defenseman on the other team. My headphones are snug to my ears and the top of my head, blocking out all noise from around me so I can focus on the bass-heavy song playing.

My throat is sticky, the tightness in my chest not loosening even after my player gets placed in the penalty box and a loading screen appears in front of me.

I skip through the replay footage of the fight and settle back for my next shift. Even virtually, it feels wrong not playing as a goalie. For twenty years, I’ve played that position, ever since my dad enrolled me in hockey when I started elementary school. It’s in my blood. Sometimes, I feel more at ease with a big-ass helmet on my head and a pair of pads on my legs. It’s my armour.

My next shift starts, and I skate up the ice, ramming into everyone that comes close to me. It’s something that would only be allowed in a video game, and right now, I take advantage of the lack of whistles.

I’m staring hard enough at the screen for my eyes to water when there’s a tap on my shoulder. I watch in slow motion as my controller slips through my fingers and soars through the air, whacking the front of my dresser. Its back tab opens, and the batteries scatter across the hardwood before rolling onto the rug beside my bed.

I jump off the couch and whirl around, surprise controlling my limbs. It’s so goddamn dark in here just the way I like it while I play, and that doesn’t help. The person standing a few feet back is masked in shadows, and only when they rush forward with their hands up do I settle.

“Briar?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I said hi and knocked, but the door was open, and I saw you had headphones on. I’m heading to bed and just wanted to say goodnight,” she rambles, voice higher-pitched than usual. “Maybe I should have taken your concentration as a sign to leave you alone.”

“No!” It tears past my lips, and my cheeks heat with embarrassment. “I mean, it’s all good. I was just playing.”

She looks past me at the TV and the game that’s paused itself due to my controller batteries being on the carpet.

“You like hockey enough to play it in your free time on top of how often you’re on the ice?”

I gnaw on that. “Haven’t you ever loved something so much that you never get bored of it?”

“Outside of work? I love to paint, but I wouldn’t say that I’ve never gotten bored of it before.”

Nodding, I sit back down and wave to my couch, silently offering her a seat on it. She smiles and joins me, leaving only a couple of inches between our bodies.

Her scent is still sweeter than usual, a sign that her heat is approaching fast. There’s a restlessness in my chest, a flutter kicking up behind my ribs that demands I get closer. It could be the pull of her incoming pheromones or . . . something else. Something that I’ve been denying myself.

“The only thing I’ve ever felt that with is hockey. But I guess that’s what happens when you grow up playing it. It’s engrained in me,” I say.

She folds her hands in her lap. “Did you always love it?”

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