Page 11 of Finding the Forward: Part One
Them, apparently.
Music blared as I entered the large weight room. A different team greeted me. The New York Knights shared the training facility with the skate smash team, the Manhattan Maimers.
The scents coming from the room overpowered me–as usual. Which was why I liked to use the small weight room. While both leagues were technically mixed-designation, they were alpha-heavy because of the violence and intensity. All the industrial cleaner, de-scenter, and filters in the world couldn’t make the weight room smell like anything other than sweaty alpha.
“Hey.” I waved from the doorway when a few of them noticed me. I hadn’t seen much of them since we’d had so many away games to start.
The Maimers were a newer team to the Professional Skate Smash League and still finding their way. They were young, fun, energetic, and loved to prank us. Skate smash was a few weeks behind hockey schedule-wise and they were starting pre-season.
“Double D! Are you lost? Or did Grif lose his cat again?” Rusty waved, spotting someone with light-brown Dutch braids as she bench-pressed.
My nickname was ‘Double D’ because I wasDean Donovan.
“Yes, I’m looking for Lucky.” I grinned. During the PHL finals, Grif had somehow acquired an invisible cat. It was hysterical to see him scold teammates for nearly sitting on Lucky.
“The rookies might know.” Rusty laughed and looked at the person she was spotting. The tattooed Maimers’ captain and I went way back–she’d been with the Pyros when I was with the Aces. Like here, the teams shared a facility. Her bright red hair was short with shaved sides.
I took another drink of my latte. Geez, I must be getting old–the brunette bench-pressing didn’t look old enough to play pro sports.
“There you are,” Jonas said, coming behind me.
My alpha mate played defense. His job was to protectme.We’d met while playing at BosTec, the Boston Institute of Technology. He’d been a year ahead of Grif and me.
“Rusty, stop heckling my omega, or I’ll hide your skates.” Jonas Soeng put a tattooed arm around me. He wore his blue-dyed hair shaved on the sides and longer on top. Handsome in a bad-boy way, he had a scar that ran from temple to jaw, along with lots of tattoos and piercings.
While it wasn’t uncommon for packmates to play together, Jonas and I were currently the only public alpha-omega mated pair in the PHL. We’d mated a couple of years ago after a jealous teammate had outed me when I played for the Philadelphia Aces.
PHL rules said an alpha-omega pair had to be kept together, even without a pack contract. Bonding with him after my asshole teammate outed me helped me to leave the Aces without making too many enemies.
Previously, we’d been waiting to get onto the same team. I wasbigfor an omega. Not as big as Grif, who was larger than anyone on the team. But I was six-foot-one and broad-shouldered enough that most people thought I was an alpha on sight. Hiding as beta hadn’t been too difficult.
Until fucking Beau Bachman outed me. Asshole.
Rusty smirked at Jonas. “Are you still mad that we put happy faces on all your pucks last season? You know, we’re going to be doing the ice bath challenge on local university campuses again. The Knights are always welcome to join us. Our socials exploded last time you helped.”
“Oh? You want to see me soaking wet?” I laughed, striking a pose.
“Haze the Hurricane, then,” she teased.
“Now, that could be fun,” Jonas chuckled. He’d put his eyebrow ring and tongue ring back in–he took them out for practice and games.
“Yeah, I don’t have a death wish. Smell you later, Rusty Nails.” I waved as Jonas and I set off arm in arm.
Grif sat in the locker room downstairs, half-dressed, frowning as he talked on his phone. Most people figured he was all muscle–a tank to bulldoze people and handle the on-ice fights. However, he hadskillsand could handle a puck like no one’s business.
“You don’t know? Can you–” Grif’s shoulders slumped as one hand rubbed his neatly trimmed red beard as he spoke on the phone. “Okay. I see. Thanks.” He ended the call.
“Everything okay?” I sat down next to him and leaned my head on his bicep, which held the pack tattoo all four of us had. It was a Celtic knot composed mostly of sticks and pucks. I’d designed it myself.
It was right above the matching Celtic armband tattoos we got one night while young and drunk. We had infinity hearts tattooed on our chests when we’d married this summer. He also had a Griffin tattoo with music notes on one arm and a boat with jellybeans on the sails on the other.
“I’m fine,” he sighed, laying his head on top of mine.
Sure.
Jonas was my bonded alpha. Grif was mysoul.We’d been together since the third grade–back when we figured we’d grow up to be alphas. Even when we tested as betas in middle school, we never thought we’d be omegas. We were too big and weren’t afraid to be violent.
We’d married over the summer. Instead of rings, we’d gotten ring tattoos, which I’d also designed–an intricate band of knotwork with a puck at the center like a stone.
