Page 66 of Puck Your Charity

Finn roars. His hips stutter against mine. He pumps a hot, pulsing load of seed deep into me.

We stay locked together in the center of his bed. Finn wraps his arms around me and rolls us onto our sides, pulling the thick burnt-orange quilt over our bodies. He keeps me tucked against his chest, his nose buried in my hair.

I listen to the steady, comforting beat of his heart. The exhaustion finally claims me. I fall asleep wrapped in his arms, feeling content and knowing what I have to do. I have talk to Victor.

Chapter 20

April means the Alpha Cup Playoffs start, and the whole vibe in the mansion shifted overnight.

We stopped treating hockey like a game, and now it feels like survival. Everyone skates faster at practice while the hits leave worse bruises, making tempers run short. As a goalie, my entire mindset usually narrows down to a tiny, focused window where I ignore the outside world and just track the puck.

But this year, my focus splits in two.

Tossing a few tailored road suits onto my mattress, I pack my duffel bag for the trip since we play the first two games out of town. The league mandates strict dress codes for travel days,forcing us to wear expensive suits on the plane. Grabbing my lucky ties, I shove them into a side pocket.

Hitting the road usually just means boring hotel rooms, terrible plane food, and a lot of card games with the guys. But this week, leaving the city felt completely wrong. Taking a road trip meant leaving Olive behind in the east wing.

A few days ago, we actually discussed hiring a team of private security guards to watch the house. Malcolm wanted to change the locks while Victor paced holes in the living room rug, stressing over her safety.

We all looked at each other and agreed right then and there. She comes with us.

She lost her job at the hospital, so nothing ties her to the city right now. We made a new rule for the pack. Where we go, she goes.

Getting her on the team jet meant dealing with a ton of annoying corporate rules. The NHAL hates unauthorized guests traveling with the team during the playoffs. Sneaking someone onto the plane gets you fined, and it can even get you suspended for a game. We had to get her officially cleared with management.

The league requires hard proof of a real scent-match before they let an Omega hang around the locker rooms or the restricted zones. They sent a certified league nurse to our house a few days ago to get the paperwork started.

Sitting around the kitchen island, the nurse brought out the needles and drew vials of blood from me, Malcolm, Lawrence, and Victor first before asking Olive for her arm. Malcolm stood behind her stool, resting a hand on her shoulder, and she leaned right into his touch while the nurse took the sample.

They ran a fast panel on our pheromones. Waiting for the results stressed me out. My instincts knew she belonged to us, but dealing with corporate red tape always puts me on edge. Younever know when some suit in a front office will try to ruin your life over a technicality.

When the email from the lab hit our inboxes the next morning, the results confirmed a perfect match across the board. The league registered us in their database, making it official. Olive stopped being a guest in our house and now holds approved pack status with the NHAL.

I zip my toiletry bag shut and toss it into my duffel.

Downstairs, the foyer sounds chaotic. Lawrence stands near the front doors fixing the cuffs on his expensive gray suit while Malcolm hands our travel itineraries to the private driver. Off to the side, Victor stares at the floor and keeps quiet, since the tension between him and Olive still casts a shadow over the house.

Dropping my bag next to Lawrence's luggage, footsteps padding down the hallway catch my attention.

Olive steps into the foyer wearing black leggings and one of my oversized Iron Wolves hoodies. The gray cotton swallows her small frame with the sleeves hanging way past her hands. Pulling the hood up, she buries her face in the fabric and breathes in my ozone scent, a relaxed, sleepy smile touching her lips.

A fierce, protective thrill hits my chest. She wears my clothes to feel safe.

"The car is ready." Malcolm looks at Olive. His dark eyes soften instantly, his whole posture relaxing when he sees her.

"I call a window seat." Olive laughs and runs to the car.

Victor flinches, but he keeps his mouth shut.

Loading into the black SUV, the drive to the private airfield takes twenty minutes. The car stays mostly quiet. Olive leans her head against my shoulder and dozes off while we navigate the city traffic, so I wrap my arm around her to enjoy the quiet weight of her leaning against me.

We pull up to the tarmac. The Iron Wolves jet sits waiting for us, gleaming under the afternoon sun. The team logo stretches across the tail.

Boarding the plane is always a mess of teammates, coaches, and equipment bags. The other guys on the roster notice Olive right away. A few of them look curious, but they catch my glare and keep moving. They know better than to crowd the starting line's new Omega.

The cabin smells like expensive cologne and stale coffee. We skip the main seating area and head straight to the private suite in the back of the jet.

I shove my bag into the overhead bin.