Chapter 4: Sariah: Violence Wrapped in Bendable Rules

I almost didn't come. After yesterday, sitting through one of Brock's hockey games feels a little like volunteering to be tortured. But it's the last game before finals. And despite everything, despite the mating ceremony and the secrets and the fact that I'm still angry with him, I know I'd feel like a terrible friend if I skipped it.

Not that Brock is exactly winning any awards in the friendship department right now.

The stadium is already packed by the time I arrive.

Darkthorne games always are.

Students fill the bleachers shoulder to shoulder. Pack leaders occupy the private boxes overlooking the ice. 

Families, sponsors, and community members crowd every available space.

Everyone supports Darkthorne Academy sports.

Especially hockey.

Around here, hockey isn't just a sport.

It's a religion.

I pull my hood lower over my head as I make my way through the crowd.

Not because it actually hides me.

Nothing could.

I'm the only human in a stadium full of wolves.

And even if they couldn't smell it, they'd still know I don't belong.

My eyes scan the rink, searching for somewhere to sit, when a familiar jersey catches my attention- “Axton” written in silver lettering stretched across broad shoulders.

As if sensing me, Brock looks up and my stomach betrays me instantly.

He changes course and skates toward the glass, pulling off his helmet. Dark, sweaty curls fall across his forehead. 

Then he grins.

That stupid grin.

The smile that has gotten me through scraped knees, nightmares, childhood secrets, and every terrible day I've ever had. 

"Ri!" His voice carries over the noise from the crowd. 

I scan the audience and people immediately turn toward me. Because when Brock Axton calls your name, people notice. 

Heat rushes to my face but I lift a small hand and wave. His smile widens and I melt a little more. In a room full of people I only ever notice him. But it shouldn't be that way. 

And it can’t. 

Because Brock Axton never belonged to me and he never will. 

After everything I’ve learned these past few days- his mating ceremony and the fact that he never told me- his smile shouldn’t still affect me.

But it does.

A sneer sounds nearby. "Why does he even bother with her?"

I don't need to look to know it's Danika.

One of her friends laughs. "We all know she's his favorite charity case."

Danika glances in my direction making sure I heard. Making sure it landed and I’m as hurt as she wanted me to feel.

It does. But I won't let her see the affect it really has on me.

Eventually I find an empty spot near the top of the bleachers tucked away in a corner.

Perfect.

I drop into the seat and pull a blue folder from my backpack. The folder holds dozens of medical school applications.

And rejection letters.

No one knows I have these- not even Brock. 

Because the first rejection shattered something inside me. The second one made it even worse and after the third rejection letter I almost wanted to give up. Each time a university letter came in the mail I prayed for an acceptance. To anywhere. Just to feel like I belong somewhere.

Every single rejection letter feels like another door slamming in my face. 

The wolves who raised me don’t want me and the humans that I’m just like don’t want me either. And somehow I’m stuck between both worlds. 

But staying here- in this place where there isn’t anyone else like me- isn’t an option. So, I keep applying because one day I will belong somewhere. I have to. 

The buzzer blasts through the arena and the crowd immediately erupts. The warm-up is over and now it’s game time. I shove the folder back into my bag as music explodes through the speakers.

The lights dim and spotlights sweep across the rink. "Starting lineup for your Darkthorne Wolves!" I hear over the loudspeaker and the crowd loses its mind. 

One by one the starters are introduced.

Then comes the loudest reaction of all. "YOUR CAPTAIN... BROCK AXT-OOOON!"

Brock skates onto the ice and takes his place at center, ice spraying beneath his skates. I see his expression through his helmet and I know that he has his game face on. Focus and determination. There are very few things in this world that Brock loves more than hockey. 

My gaze drifts toward the private boxes noticing Alpha Axton isn’t here. He never comes to Brock’s games. 

What once could have been celebratory if Brock came out to be alpha is now sheer disappointment, so he doesn’t even bother showing up for his Omega son. 

Brock will never admit to it, but I know it bothers him. 

It doesn’t matter that Brock is captain and the best player on the damn team. It doesn’t matter that Brock has earned every ounce of respect he has. For Alpha Axton it was never enough. Because Brock won’t be taking over the pack and the Axton name dies with him. 

I was lost in a daze, noticing it’s now the opposing teams turn to skate on the ice. The energy in the arena shifts dramatically- even I can feel it. 

The energy becomes more aggressive. 

Wolves love violence and hockey is violence wrapped up in bendable rules.

The lights flash signaling the game is almost about to begin. The players start skating around the ice as smoke pours across the entrance of the rink. As if on cue, the crowd goes insane. 

A group of girls rushes toward the glass carrying signs covered in glitter. "THAT'S MY CAPTAIN!"

"BROCK AXTON!"

I cringe.

My eyes find Brock again. He’s focused and ready. 

Dangerous.

He’s already bobbing and weaving in between players trying to close in around him. They already know he’s the biggest threat on the ice. But they fail and he slips between two defenders effortlessly.

"Your boyfriend looks extra homicidal tonight."

I nearly jumped out of my seat. Ellis Lockwood drops into the seat beside me holding two sodas.

"You're not playing?" I ask, ignoring his previous comment.

"Suspended." 

I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. He says it so casually. Like he isn’t one of the team’s starters. 

Like the last game before finals isn’t one of the biggest games of the season.

"Coach says I have an attitude problem."

A laugh escapes before I can stop it. I cover my mouth awkwardly when he doesn’t reciprocate. "Do you?"

Ellis shrugs. "Depends who you ask."

Before I can respond, the crowd erupts.

Brock has the puck again and he’s skating down the center of the ice. The Darkthorne side of the arena explodes with cheers. Ellis turns toward the game, cheering, like we weren’t just having a full-blown conversation together. 

I try to focus on the game, too. But I can’t stop overthinking about why he’s even sitting next to me. There are hundreds of open seats. So why this one? 

I’ve barely spoken five words to Ellis in my whole life. And he’s usually always surrounding the group of guys who love to taunt me and leave me out and question why Brock even hangs around me. 

"Come on, baby," Ellis mutters toward the ice, breaking me from my thought spiral. 

Brock continues tearing down the center of the ice, dodging opposing players. A defender makes a sharp move trying to intercept him. But at the last second, Brock cuts left and the defender collides with another team mate. 

I smirk and the crowd erupts with chants that I know fuel his adrenaline. 

Another player reaches him and Brock drives him straight into the glass. The impact rattles the glass around this half of the rink. 

"THAT'S HOW YOU DO IT BABY!" He cups his hands, making a funnel and screams at the top of his lungs. 

"Jesus," I mutter under my breath. 

Ellis laughs, not taking his eyes off the game. "You should hear me when I'm actually playing."

I have actually seen him play, but I guess I never noticed his passion. I guess I was never looking. 

I roll my eyes and turn back toward the game. I’ve never actually watched the game. I’m usually deep into school work or my book. But something about having someone to watch it with is kind of…fun. 

Someone else on the team has the puck but they quickly pass it to Brock as he skates closer, moving toward the goal. 

He wastes no time before taking his shot and shooting, but the goalie drops and blocks it. The rebound flies loose and Brock lunges for it, desperate to take another shot. 

An opposing player sticks out his skate and Brock goes down hard not anticipating the foul. 

The whistle shrieks and I stand to my feet, worried, hoping that he didn’t get hurt. 

The crowd instantly starts booing. 

"Penalty! Tripping! Number twenty-four!" The referee points toward the penalty box.

The opposing player skates toward their team's penalty box, ripping his helmet off before getting off the ice. He turns to look at Brock giving him a smirk and letting him and everyone else know that he tripped him on purpose. 

Brock doesn’t return the pleasantry. His expression turns cold, lethal. He’s fucking pissed. 

Something twists in my stomach. 

Because I’ve seen Brock angry and this isn’t just angry. Just when I think he’s going to go after the guy who tripped him I watch his shoulders rise and then fall and I assume he’s taking a deep breath. 

He hesitates for a second and then skates to the center of the ice for the penalty shot. 

The arena falls silent and every single eye in this room is watching him. 

I watch Brock turn his head in my direction and I swear I can see his icy blue eyes from over here. 

Ellis leans in closer to me and my breath catches. “Watch this.” He says. 

Brock drops his gaze and positions his stick. The silence in the rink is deafening. 

After a brief moment- he fires- and the puck rockets into the top corner of the net and the arena explodes into cheers. 

You would have thought he just landed the winning shot with the way the entire crowd jumps to their feet, screaming his name. 

Brock skates around the rink, toward the glass and I thought toward me. But he doesn’t lift his eyes toward me this time, instead he skates up to the girls waving signs and cheering for him. One of the girls has a hand pressed against the plexiglass and Brock puts his gloved hand over hers and my heart betrays me again. 

He betrays me again. 

Brock blows them a kiss before skating back toward his position on the ice and the girls practically lose their minds. 

My stomach twists painfully. Not only from the flirting tonight but because in three short weeks he’ll stand beside another girl at his mating ceremony and the reality hits me harder than it ever has. 

Brock Axton was never mine. 

Not even a little. 

My chest hurts. 

Because I realize that’s all I ever wanted him to be. 

Mine.