Chapter 10

# Game Day

I've never been to a hockey game before.

That's the thought running through my head as I climb the bleachers at the campus rink, clutching a hot chocolate I don't really want but bought because I needed something to do with my hands. The arena is packed—apparently our team is good this year, and Friday night games are a big deal.

I tell myself I'm here because I'm bored. Because I'm feeling better and needed to get out of my apartment. Because it's a nice night and I had nothing else to do.

Not because all three of my mates are on the ice.

"Amaya!"

I turn to see Sophie Chen waving at me from a few rows up. She's in my Calculus class—nice girl, always smiling. I didn't realize she came to hockey games.

"Hey," I say, climbing up to join her. At least I won't have to sit alone and look pathetic.

"I didn't know you were into hockey," she says as I settle beside her.

"I'm not, really. Just thought I'd check it out."

Her grin is knowing. "Right. Nothing to do with the fact that three of the team's best players are your mates?"

My face heats. "Is it that obvious?"

"Honey, the entire school knows. Those three haven't been subtle about claiming you." She nudges my shoulder. "It's actually kind of sweet. Intense, but sweet."

I don't know what to say to that, so I focus on the ice instead. The teams are warming up, players skating in circles, taking practice shots. I scan the jerseys, looking for familiar numbers.

There—number 7. Alvaro. Even from here, I can recognize the way he moves, all controlled aggression and barely contained energy. He takes a shot that slams into the goal so hard the net shakes.

Number 12 is Javier, skating backwards effortlessly, stick handling the puck like it's an extension of his body. Smooth. Precise. Everything he does looks calculated.

And number 19—Luciano. He's bigger than most players on the ice, using his size to his advantage as he checks another player during warm-ups. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to establish dominance.

The bond hums under my skin, reacting to their proximity even across the distance. I can feel their focus, their anticipation for the game. The adrenaline already starting to build.

"They're good," Sophie says. "Like, really good. Scouts have been coming to games all season."

"Scouts?"

"NHL scouts. All three of them are on the radar." She takes a sip of her drink. "Luciano especially. Enforcers like him don't come around often—big, fast, and smart enough not to take stupid penalties."

I watch Luciano slam another player against the boards during warm-ups—playful, but showing his strength. My wolf preens with pride.

Our mate. Strong. Protector.

I shove the thought away, but it's getting harder to ignore those instincts. Especially after spending the night at their apartment, letting them take care of me. Letting Alvaro hold me while I slept.

The buzzer sounds and both teams clear the ice. The game's about to start.

My heart rate picks up for no logical reason. It's just a game. Just hockey. Nothing to be nervous about.

Except I can feel them through the bond—all three of them locked in, focused, ready. And somehow that focus includes me. Even from the ice, I know they're aware I'm here.

The puck drops.

The game explodes into motion immediately. Bodies slamming into boards, skates cutting sharp turns, sticks clashing. It's faster and more violent than I expected. The crowd roars around me.

Javier has the puck, weaving through defenders like they're standing still. He passes to Alvaro, who shoots—blocked by the goalie. Luciano crashes into two opposing players trying to get the rebound, creating space.

"See what I mean?" Sophie shouts over the noise. "They play like they can read each other's minds."

She's right. There's something synchronized about the way they move together on the ice. Anticipating. Covering. Working as a unit.

Like a pack, my wolf whispers.

Ten minutes into the first period, an opposing player—big guy, number 23—slams into Alvaro hard enough to send him into the boards. It's a clean hit, technically legal, but aggressive.

Alvaro pops back up immediately, getting in the guy's face. I can see him talking, though I can't hear the words. Whatever he says makes number 23 shove him.

That's when Luciano appears.

He doesn't say anything. Just skates over and positions himself between Alvaro and the other player, a wall of muscle and threat. The message is clear—back off.

Number 23 looks at Luciano, seems to reconsider his life choices, and skates away.

"Your mate's a smart man," Sophie observes. "Nobody messes with Luciano."

Pride swells in my chest again, warm and unfamiliar. I shouldn't like watching Luciano intimidate people. Shouldn't find it attractive.

But I do.

The first period ends scoreless. During intermission, I watch them on the bench. Javier's talking strategy, gesturing with his stick. Alvaro's drinking water, his jersey already soaked with sweat. Luciano's just sitting quietly, watching the ice like he's memorizing every inch.

Then Alvaro's head turns, scanning the crowd. Looking for something.

Looking for me.

When his eyes find mine across the arena, everything else fades. The bond flares hot and bright between us. He grins—wild and fierce and absolutely focused on me—and mouths something I can't quite make out.

Watch this.

Sophie elbows me. "Oh my god, you're blushing."

"Shut up," I mutter, but I can't stop smiling.

The second period is more intense. Both teams are getting frustrated, playing rougher. A fight almost breaks out near our goal, but the refs break it up before punches are thrown.

Then, halfway through the period, Javier steals the puck at center ice. He passes to Alvaro, who's already flying down the wing. Two defenders converge on him, but he sees Luciano breaking toward the net.

The pass is perfect. Luciano one-times it—a shot so powerful I swear the goalie flinches—and the puck rockets into the top corner of the net.

Goal.

The arena erupts. I'm on my feet before I realize I'm moving, screaming with everyone else. On the ice, the three of them collide in celebration—Alvaro jumping on Luciano's back, Javier crashing into both of them, all of them grinning like idiots.

The bond is singing. I can feel their joy, their triumph, their adrenaline. It floods through me like I'm the one who scored.

"That was insane!" Sophie yells.

It was. And I can't stop watching them, can't stop feeling proud and possessive and so many things I don't have names for.

The rest of the game passes in a blur. Our team scores twice more—once by Javier on a breakaway, once by Alvaro on a power play. We win 3-1.

When the final buzzer sounds, I'm hoarse from cheering. Sophie's laughing at me.

"Not into hockey, huh?" she teases.

"Okay, fine. Maybe it's more interesting than I thought."

"Uh-huh. Sure that's all it is." She starts gathering her things. "You going down to see them?"

I hesitate. Am I? Should I?

"Go," Sophie says. "They've been looking up here every chance they get. Pretty sure they played that well because you were watching."

My face heats again, but I'm already moving down the bleachers before I can overthink it.

The area outside the locker rooms is crowded with fans and family. I hover awkwardly near the wall, second-guessing myself. Maybe this was stupid. Maybe I should just text them later or—

The locker room door opens and players start filing out. I spot Luciano first—freshly showered, hair still damp, gym bag over his shoulder. Then Javier, already in clean clothes and looking composed despite having just played sixty minutes of intense hockey.

Then Alvaro, and his eyes lock on mine immediately.

He doesn't hesitate. Just cuts through the crowd like I'm the only person in the hallway, and before I can say anything, he's lifting me off my feet in a hug that steals my breath.

"You came," he says against my hair. "You actually came."

"I wanted to see you play," I admit. "You were amazing. All of you."

He sets me down but doesn't let go, hands framing my face. His eyes are bright, smile huge. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Javier and Luciano have caught up, flanking us. Luciano's smiling—a real, genuine smile that transforms his usually serious face. Javier looks pleased but trying to play it cool.

"Good game," I tell them, because I don't know what else to say. How to express everything I'm feeling.

"Better now that you're here," Javier says.

"We saw you screaming when Luciano scored," Alvaro adds with a grin. "That was cute."

"I was not screaming—okay, maybe a little." I shove his chest playfully. "You can't just make shots like that and not expect a reaction."

"Make a note," Alvaro tells the other two. "Score more goals. Make our mate scream."

"Stop calling me that," I say, but there's no heat in it.

Luciano steps closer, and suddenly I'm surrounded by all three of them. Aware of how much bigger they are, how their presence creates a protective circle around me that makes the crowd fade away.

"Come out with us," Luciano says. "Team tradition—we always get food after wins."

"I don't want to intrude on team stuff—"

"You're not intruding," Javier interrupts. "You're ours. That means you're part of this."

Ours. The word sends warmth spreading through my chest.

I look at each of them—these three alphas who've somehow become the center of my world. Who take care of me when I'm sick. Who play harder because I'm watching. Who look at me like I'm something precious.

Maybe Sophie's right. Maybe the whole school knows. Maybe there's no point pretending anymore that I'm not completely, terrifyingly invested in whatever this is becoming.

"Okay," I say. "Let's get food."

The way they light up makes everything worth it.