Page 10 of Puck Your Charity

The harsh morning glare hits my face and forces my eyes open.

A restless, agitated hum vibrates in my chest.

Kicking the tangled sheets off my legs, I roll out of the king-sized bed. I didn't sleep at all last night. Tossing and turning didn't do a damn thing. My inner Alpha refused to settle down.

The image of a fierce, petite hospital worker burns in my brain. Olive. Her name tastes like a raw demand on my tongue. Picturing her dark, sleek bob and those warm brown eyes sends a jolt through me. I remember protective stance she took in front of that kid’s hospital room.

She looked small enough to tuck under my chin, but she commanded the hallway like a seasoned general. She glared at Victor with enough heat to melt ice.

Showing up unannounced to stalk a hospital worker screams unhinged. Sam gives me the perfect excuse. He is my way back in. Bringing the kid a care package makes me look like the generous goalie, not the feral Alpha desperate for another hit of a girl's sweet scent.

I need to make a good impression. Stepping into the walk-in shower, scalding water beats the tension out of my shoulders. Scrubbing my skin with body wash helps clear my head. Smelling like crisp ozone beats smelling like stale sweat and a pissy attitude. Drying off, I put some real effort into getting dressed. A fitted black henley clings to my chest. Dark denim hugs my thighs. Pulling my favorite boots on, I run a hand through my messy auburn hair.

Walking out of my bedroom, my boots hit the hardwood floor of the upstairs landing. Alpha trying to find a place to belong. Then Maverick Jensen and Leo retired. Malcolm, Lawrence, and Victor moved up from the second line to fill the gaps. The three of them already formed a tight-knit unit, but they brought me right into the fold. Victor acts like a prick most days, but we get along fine. They became my brothers.

Today, the house feels empty. My nose searches for something else. A phantom trace of warm apple pie and cinnamon haunts my senses. Catching a tiny whiff of it right before Olive bolted from the room yesterday drove me crazy. My rational brain tells me she's a Beta. She lacks the anatomy to produce a scent like that.

My inner Alpha calls bullshit on all that logic. Humming with a possessive, territorial frequency, my gut tells me that sweet scent belongs to us.

Taking the stairs two at a time, I head down to the chef’s kitchen.

Lawrence stands at the marble island, flipping a row of eggs in a cast-iron skillet. He wears a pair of black sweatpants and nothing else. Malcolm sits on a barstool across from him, nursing a steaming mug of black coffee. His long dark hair hangs in a braid over his shoulder.

Walking straight past them, I open the hall closet. Grabbing a canvas team tote bag, I start stuffing it with merch from the promotional boxes. A brand-new folded Iron Wolves jersey goes in first, followed by a gold and black snapback hat and a plush wolf mascot. Snagging a silver sharpie from the junk drawer, I sign my name across the gold numbers on the jersey.

Malcolm takes a slow sip of his coffee. He squints, checking out my rigid posture and clenched jaw. "You look like you want to punch a hole through a brick wall."

"I didn't sleep." Zipping the tote bag shut, I let out a frustrated breath. "My head is a mess."

Lawrence slides the cooked eggs onto a ceramic plate. "Victor's stunt yesterday got under your skin. He acted like a prick."

"He acted like a coward." Slinging the canvas bag over my shoulder feels good. "But we leave Victor to his own demons. I care about the kid. Sam deserves better than a botched Make-A-Wish visit. I'm going back to the hospital to drop this gear off."

"You plan to drive all the way back into the city on your one day off just to give a kid a goodie basket?"

"Yeah." Snatching my keys off the counter, I keep walking.

Lawrence leans his hip against the stove. A knowing smirk touches his lips. "Sure, Finn. Tell the angry brunette with the brown eyes we said hello."

My jaw clenches tight. They see right through my excuse. Playing the role of the peacemaker in this pack comes naturally to me. I act as the emotional bridge, smoothing over Victor'sabrasive edges and keeping Malcolm's intensity grounded. Caring about the kid makes sense for me.

But the feral, distracted energy rolling off my skin tells a different story.

I keep my mouth shut. Turning my back on them, I walk out to the massive garage.

Climbing into the driver’s seat of my black Jeep, I slam the door shut. The engine roars to life. Gripping the leather steering wheel turns my knuckles white. My foot presses harder on the gas pedal while I take the winding roads down to the city.

Traffic stalls on the interstate, feeding my agitation. Every red brake light feels like a personal insult.

My mind loops back to Olive. Remembering the bizarre flush on her cheeks makes my chest tight. Her breath hitched right before she tripped over the trash can.

My gut twists. A Beta catching a stomach bug shouldn't make my Alpha claw at the walls of my chest. It shouldn't make me want to rip a hospital apart just to pull her into my lap and check her temperature myself.

The towering glass structure of the hospital comes into view. Pulling into the parking garage, I throw the Jeep into park. Grabbing the tote bag off the passenger seat, I kill the engine. I don't know what kind of instinct just tripped in my system, but finding that fierce, beautiful woman is the only way to make this agonizing hum stop.

The sliding glass doors of the main hospital entrance hiss open. A blast of air conditioning hits my face, carrying the stench of bleach and sterile alcohol. I ignore the nasty smell and head straight for the elevators.

A few nurses point and whisper as I cross the lobby. I keep my head down and my expression neutral. Wearing a fitted henley and jeans helps me blend in a little, but it's hard to hide a hockey goalie frame in a space meant for sick kids.