Page 17 of Pack Plus Three

“You got me an armchair so I would be comfy?” she asked in a broken voice.

“Yeah.” I nodded, watching her with wide eyes. “If you don’t like it, I can return it! I be—oomph!” I was cut off by a petite, pregnant omega throwing herself at me. Her bump was so big, she couldn’t fully get her arms around me.

“I love it,” she sobbed.

Looking down at her with panic, I gently brushed her hair out of her face. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying? I can get a different color if you want?”

“No! I’m crying because it’s perfect. Stupid pregnancy hormones. You got me a chair!” She pulled back and furiously wiped at the tears. Even with a blotchy, tear-stained face, she was beautiful. “This isn’t getting you out of explaining what the hell is going on,” she grumbled, padding towards the chair and sitting down with a moan. “Oh, this is lovely,” she admitted, running her hands up and down her arms.

A wave of pride and joy washed over me. She liked the gift I had gotten her! She wiggled her ass deeper into the seat, a smile breaking out across her face. Now she could be near me while I cooked for her—it was perfect.

Keeping her in my eyeline, I went to the fridge, pulling out all the necessary vegetables to make the spicy noodle dish that I knew was likely to be a hit, if her recent palate was anything to go by.

“What do you want to know?” I asked as I started chopping up the various ingredients.

“So, you play hockey professionally?” she asked.

“Yes, I have for four years now.”

“But you want to be a contractor full time? That seems like a major career jump. How did you get into hockey? What does your pack think of it?”

“I played in high school and was recruited during college for the Chargers. I like the game well enough, but it isn’t what excites me. The benefits couldn’t be ignored, though. My pack loves that I play hockey.”

“But do you love it? From the sounds of it, you’re not a fan. You always talk about building things with such excitement, yet you’ve never mentioned hockey to me.” She blushed. “Then again, I don’t want to assume you talk to me about everything. We aren’t exactly close?—”

“Daisy.” I said her name firmly, stopping her rambling. “I talk to you more than I talk to my own packmates. Whatever this is”—I waved my spatula between the two of us—“is important to me, okay?”

She bit her lip as her blush deepened. “Okay,” she said as a small smile broke out on her face.

I sighed deeply. The last thing I wanted to do was to lie to Daisy. She deserved the truth. “As a player in the NHL, all of my packmates are entitled to my health insurance, and one of my packmates is sick, so I have to keep playing.”

Daisy’s face dropped. “Oh no, are they okay?”

I grimaced. “Yes and no. Nate has severing sickness.”

“Oh shit,” Daisy cursed, and if not for the severity of the situation, I would have laughed. Her eyes widened as she realized what she had just said. “Shoot! I meant shoot!” She looked down at her belly, talking to her unborn baby. “I’m going to give this baby a potty mouth, aren’t I?” She groaned.

I laughed. “I’m sure the little squirt will survive.”

“Severing sickness?” she asked. “How? Isn’t that super rare and super fatal?”

“The survival rate is something stupid, like seven percent, but somehow, Nate pulled through. He hadn’t been bonded to his mate Jilly for even a full twenty-four hours when she died in a nasty car crash. The resulting sickness for Nate has been...intense, to say the least. With regular medication, he’s practically back to normal.”

“A broken heart never truly heals, though,” Daisy murmured.

She was right there; Nate had never really been the same.

“Anyway, the meds that keep him normal are expensive...”

“So, you’re doing a job you hate to pay for his healthcare?” Daisy asked, mouth agape. “Are your packmates really okay with that?”

“They don’t know,” I admitted. “As far as they’re concerned, I love hockey. Nate would insist I quit if he knew, health be damned. I love the belligerent ass too much to let that happen.” I dished up a large bowl of the noodles, adding a set of chopsticks and passing them to Daisy, who took them with a hungry look. Making a mental note to meal prep her some easy spicy foods, I dished up my own plate. She had mentioned she wasn’t cooking for herself because the smell of raw ingredients didn’t agree with her—but I had my theory that it was because she was struggling financially.

One way or another, I had to help her.

Chapter 9

Daisy

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