Page 15 of Puck Your Bunny

Sprinting down the hallway leaves the rubber flooring squeaking under our shoes. We blow past the weight room and the sports therapy offices. Coach yells a question at us from his open office door, but we push past without stopping. We hit the double glass doors at the front entrance and shove them open.

A spring breeze hits us the second we step outside. The parking lot sits half empty in the afternoon light. Wally hits the unlock button on his key fob, flashing the headlights of his black SUV in the distance.

Running across the asphalt, I rip the back door open and dive into the backseat. Kel takes the front passenger side. Wally slides behind the wheel and hits the ignition before his door shuts. The engine roars to life.

Wally throws the SUV into reverse and slams his foot on the gas. The tires squeal against the pavement as he whips the wheel around, throws it into drive, and floors it toward the exit gate.

Adrenaline makes my hands shake.

Wally's phone pings with a text message. Grabbing it from the console, he shoves it into the phone mount on the dashboard. He pulls up the navigation app and taps the address Kristy sent.

"Fifteen minutes." Wally tightens his grip on the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white. "It's on the edge of the city limits."

Kel stares out the windshield with a flexed jaw. "Drive faster."

Wally swerves around a slow-moving sedan and runs a yellow stoplight. Pushing the SUV ten miles over the speed limit lets him dodge traffic with aggressive focus.

Leaning forward rests my forearms on the back of their seats. Panic builds a suffocating knot in my throat. Voicing the words forces us to face the reality of our plan.

"We are showing up unannounced." I look between the two of them. "Kristy kept us a secret."

Kel turns his head to glare over his shoulder. "Forget that. She needs us."

"I know she needs us." The words slip out tight and frustrated. "But bolting from the lounge was her only response to us. Now we plan to show up at her house while she rides out a Heat. She is vulnerable."

Wally keeps his eyes on the road. "Sitting in a locker room while my mate dies from a broken bond is off the table. If she kicks us off the property, I will sleep on her front porch until she changes her mind."

"Forcing a knot is a guaranteed disaster." The absolute truth hangs in the air. "You know how this works. Rejecting the claim during a Heat makes the trauma worse. It accelerates the rejection sickness."

Silence thickens the air in the SUV.

The stakes feel brutal. We play a dangerous game with her life. The deep instinct to claim a mate acts like a powerful drug, clouding our judgment. It makes an Alpha want to kick down doors and take what belongs to them. But Vayda is broken. Her body expects the pack she lost, leaving us as strangers pushing into her safe space.

Kel lets out a long, frustrated breath and rubs the back of his neck. "Then we ease up. Offering our help lets her know we exist for her. Asking us to leave means we step back. But checking on her with my own eyes is my only option. I have to know she’s breathing."

Slumping back into the leather seat, I stare out the tinted window at the passing city. The buildings blur together in a gray smear.

My chest tightens with genuine terror. Knowing her name, her red hair, and her sad blue eyes makes up my entire list of facts. Yet the thought of losing her crushes me. The idea of missing the chance to know her as an actual person feels so tragic, making a world without her impossible to comprehend.

Catching her scent shifted my entire existence. The universe handed me a perfect match and dangled her over a cliff. Screaming at me is fine. Throwing things at my head and telling me to go straight to hell is acceptable.

Making sure she survives is my only goal.

Wally takes a hard right turn, sending the tires screeching against the asphalt. The main highway falls behind us as we enter a residential neighborhood.

The transition feels jarring. Older, single-story houses and chain-link fences replace the massive, glass-fronted high-rises and expensive restaurants of the city center. Cars park on the cracked streets, narrowing the lanes and forcing Wally to slow down.

Tension in the car spikes higher with every single block we pass. Kel taps his foot against the floorboard in a rapid, relentless rhythm. Wally’s white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel never falters. I wipe my sweaty palms on the thighs of my jeans.

Scanning the small houses reveals peeling paint, overgrown lawns, and cracked driveways. The stark difference in our lives hits me. Our massive luxury penthouse downtown runs on multi-million dollar hockey contracts, complete with private chefs and team doctors on call.

She lives out here on the edge of the city, fighting an intense war inside her own body just to survive another day. This neighborhood paints a picture of extreme struggle. The contrast makes me sick to my stomach. Packing up everything she owns and moving her into our space tonight sounds perfect, but a massive mountain of trust stands in our way.

The navigation app chimes, its mechanical voice announcing our destination on the left.

Wally hits the brakes, sliding the SUV to a stop next to the curb.

A small house with faded yellow siding fills the window. A driveway of cracked concrete leads toward an attached garage. The front yard is neat, showing off budding spring flower beds.