All Chapters of Oops! The Hockey Captain Is My Alpha : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Asher’s Pov The sound of my own voice hitting the bathroom door made me instantly regret speaking. I heard Rowan gasp on the other side, a sharp, terrified intake of breath that told me everything I needed to know. I had pushed too hard. If I used my Alpha authority to force that door open right now, I would completely destroy whatever fragile trust she had left in me. My hands curled into tight fists at my sides. I forced myself to step back from the wood. "I'm going," I said, keeping my voice low and steady so she wouldn't hear the panic clawing at my own chest. "Take your time. I'll be outside." I walked back into the main hotel room and waited, pacing the floor until I heard the lock click open and the quiet shuffle of her footsteps heading toward her own bed. Only when I was certain she was safe did I retreat to my room, though my wolf spent the rest of the night scratching restlessly against my ribs. Rowan’s sweet scent of snow and vanilla had leaked through the air, and my

Rowan’s Pov I thought the night would be tense and awkward, filled with unspoken questions and walls built a mile high, but it turned into something entirely different. Sitting there on the couch with a slice of pizza in my hand, surrounded by the quiet hum of the television, the heavy knot in my chest slowly began to loosen. Asher didn't press me for answers about Bianca, and he didn't demand to know why I had looked like a ghost earlier that day. He just handed me food, turned on an old hockey classic, and gave me a safe place to breathe. Before long, we were arguing loudly over the movie on the screen. "There is no way a defenseman would leave the slot wide open like that," I groaned, pointing a piece of crust at the television. "That goalie is completely out of position. Any rookie would score on that shot." Asher raised an eyebrow, a teasing smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Oh, really? You think you could do better against a pro-level tender?" "In my sleep," I sho

Asher’s Pov The sound of the door clicking shut behind Mason didn't even register because Rowan’s voice was already echoing off the walls, sharp with pure, raw panic. "You don't understand, Asher! If people find out, everything I’ve worked for is over!" I stood right in the middle of the kitchen, my jaw clenched so hard I thought my teeth might crack. I was sick of it. I was sick of the shadows, the lying, the way she flinched every time someone looked at her too long, and most of all, I was sick of watching her carry a target on her back while refusing to let me help her. "Then make me understand!" I snapped back, taking a hard step toward her. "I'm tired of guessing, Rowan! I'm tired of watching Bianca corner you, and I'm tired of watching you look like you're about to collapse every single day! What is she holding over you?" Rowan backed up a step, her chest heaving as tears of frustration welled up in her eyes. She looked trapped, cornered by a monster of her own making. "I

Asher’s Pov I watched the color completely drain from Rowan's face, leaving her looking paler than the ice beneath our skates. She didn't scream, and she didn't argue. She just went dead silent, her dark eyes wide with a terrifying panic that made my stomach churn. I knew right then why the sudden schedule change had wrecked her. The medical evaluations were tomorrow, and whatever secret she was carrying was about to be dragged out into the light. I didn't wait. I grabbed her by the hand before she could bolt, pulling her away from the secondary rink and out toward the empty main stadium. "Where are we going?" she whispered, her voice barely a breath. "Nowhere," I answered, keeping my grip firm but gentle. "Just somewhere quiet." We slipped into the dark, massive stands of the main arena. The overhead work lights were on, casting a dim, golden glow that bounced off the polished ice below. We sat down on the cold metal bleachers, high up where nobody else could see us. The arena

Rowan’s Pov Alpha Damien didn't yell, and that scared me way more than if he had slammed his fist on the desk. "Have a seat, Rowan," he said smoothly, gesturing to the chair across from him like we were old friends having tea instead of an Alpha sizing up a threat. I sat down, keeping my spine straight and my hands flat on my knees so they wouldn't tremble. I expected screaming. I expected accusations about fake records or missing suppressants. Instead, Damien leaned back, crossed his hands over his stomach, and talked about hockey. He asked about my hometown rink, how I landed my athletic scholarship, and how I adjusted so fast to the speed of the Silvercrest first line. Every answer I gave was clean, rehearsed, and totally boring. Damien listened with those cold, winter-storm eyes fixed right on my face. He didn't blink much. It felt like walking through a minefield blindfolded while someone watched your feet. Then, without missing a beat, he shifted gears. "Asher carries a