Page 92 of Broken Ice
The series with the Houston Grizzlies was a bloodbath. It went to seven games, their whole team beat up by the time the final buzzer rung.
They lost by one stupid goal.
Beau had no idea if it would have felt better if it’d been a blowout, but it fucking stung to get so close. Those final few minutes with their goalie pulled, slamming pucks at the Grizzlies’ goalie desperately, hoping to get a Hail Mary and push it to overtime, were the most heart-racing moments of his life.
Hearing the horn sound, cutting their playoff hopes short, the Grizzlies celebrating all around them, was devastating.
Pavel patted all of them on the back, one by one, in the locker room. He looked exhausted, jaw clenched in pain from his bruised ribs, but he had a word of encouragement for every man in that room.
“We fought till the very end,” he said. “We’re at the edge of success. We didn’t make it this year, but damned if every other team out there doesn’t know what we’re made of, now.”
The guys managed a cheer even as some of them had to sit in the stalls for a while, letting it all sink in.
No matter how torturous the loss was, at least Beau got to go home with Emilio. Bones sore and heart aching, he still got to crawl into bed with him at the end of the day, his Alpha’s scent in his nose.
“I fucking hate bears,” Emilio muttered late that night, curled up under the sheets with Beau.
Beau snorted, wiggling closer.
“They look stupid. Why are their snouts like that? What are they so fucking big for, anyway?”
Beau cracked up a little hysterically. “And what’s with all the sleeping in winter? Like, get a job,” he joined in.
“Yeah! Hockey is a winter sport. Bears would suck at it. Go fish some salmon, you losers.”
Beau couldn’t stop giggling into Emilio’s neck as he kept grumbling to himself.
It wasn’t a Stanley Cup, but Beau wouldn’t have traded that year for anything.
EPILOGUE
Beau smiled as he saw Emilio’s name flashing on the screen of his phone. They hadn’t planned to call, but he was always happy to hear his Alpha’s voice.
After the team had licked their wounds together in the aftermath of being kicked out of the playoffs, Emilio and Beau had decided to each go to their respective homes for a few weeks before Beau went over to Sweden. Emilio’s rut always hit in the middle of June, so they both wanted to make sure to be together for it—not just for Emilio’s sake, but to bond during it.
Beau’s parents thought he was going a little fast, but Beau knew in the very core of him that Emilio was the person for him. He didn’t want to think about team dynamics or the dangers of being traded away from each other—he knew they could withstand anything life threw at them.
It’d only been four days since they parted, but Beau already missed him fiercely. It was just weird to not have Emilio around. It was as if one of his senses was always straining, trying to catch a glimpse of Emilio, and never finding him.
Phone calls made up for some of it, although nothing could replace having Emilio’s scent in his nose.
“Hey, babe,” Beau greeted a little distractedly. It was nine in the morning in Mississauga, meaning it had to be three in the afternoon in Örnsköldsvik, and he was just about to head out to train with Noah.
There was a moment of rustling silence and then a wet gasp. “Beau.”
Beau froze, keys dangling from his hand. That hadnotsounded good. “Emilio? What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Please, please…” His voice trembled. “Where are you?”
Beau’s throat closed up with fear. Was Emilio hurt? He had to force the words out past the panic. “I’m home. What is it? Are you hurt?”
“I’m…my rut’s come early.”
Relief washed through Beau—Emilio wasn’t dying—quickly followed by concern.
Emilio had told him how intense his ruts were, how paranoid he became, his usual intensity ratcheting up to borderline unmanageable levels.
Now that Emilio had an Omega—unbitten, at that—the experience would be even worse.
