Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 87771 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87771 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
I nervously bit at my thumbnail, tasting a drop of blood on my tongue. He mentioned the ceremony needing to take place to make things “official,” but what the fuck did that entail? And what happened when it was over? I’d experienced the start of a great relationship and the death of its rotted form years later. What if history repeated itself? Would there be a way to break the bond?
A waning moon divorce? A waxing moon prenup?
It was a shitty thought, but I was scarred from my last relationship, and that led me down many different anxiety-laced outcomes. I’d been working on reframing those, recognizing that they didn’t have the weight I thought they did and that I did not, in fact, own any sort of crystal ball, regardless of what my fight-or-flight instinct was telling me, but that kind of inner work was difficult.
And it wasn’t like I had the wavelength now to even focus on myself.
The screen paused before it blinked off. The video coach (one of the true stars of the team, responsible for cutting together all the footage after the game and having it ready for the next morning) got up from his seat and went over to the computer, turning it all off. The energy in the room shifted. Guys started grabbing their bags, stretching and moving in their seats, starting to warm up their bodies before practice today. As Coach wrapped up the session, our GM walked into the room. He was dressed down in a plain white T-shirt and jeans, and he looked stressed as fuck.
The guys who were getting up to go all sat back down. Harrison didn’t usually come to our video sessions unless it was a big game or he had a message to give us.
Today, it seemed to be the latter. “Guys, sit down, we have to talk about something.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it still commanded the room. The team sat their asses back in their chairs. Coach looked at him with a confused look but gave him the floor, moving to sit down in the front row.
“Listen, I’m going to be up-front with you all: an anonymous threat was called in this morning, threatening to bomb the arena on game night this Friday.”
A chill spread through the room, followed by a current of worried whispers.
“I have police investigating the situation and am working to get federal agents involved as well. I want you all to know that your safety is my number one priority. That’s why we’re postponing the game next week, along with every other game we have scheduled with the Sharks.”
“Do you think it’s them?” Dylan asked.
Harrison kept still. “I don’t know, but I have strong suspicions someone on their side is involved. I’m going to be upping security around the arena and will be sending armed security with you all on your away games.”
Holy shit. He didn’t even know the half of it. Would armed guards be useful against shifters? Possibly, but they’d be taken by surprise when they were shooting at a man and were lunged at by a wolf instead.
“I want everyone here to keep an eye out for any suspicious behavior.” Harrison scanned the room with a penetrating set of frigid blue eyes. “Report anything directly to me. Even if it’s something odd with one of your teammates.”
That statement sent a different kind of chill through the room. I tensed.
“What’s that mean?” The question had come from Emmy.
“I’m not here to instill paranoia, especially among my own team, but I think there’s some kind of information being passed over to them.”
Coach Julian stood up. “Now, Harrison, I respect you and understand you’re doing everything to keep these guys safe, but I don’t like that implication.” He seemed offended by even the thought that one of his players would be feeding that kind of information to the rival team. I’d seen him red in the face plenty of times before, but this moment was different. There was a quiet anger, a silent threat in the way his jaw set and his fists loosely balled at his side. He was clearly defensive about this.
Harrison seemed to get the message, even though the general manager outranked the coach. He took a small step back. “Just keep an eye open,” he said to the room. “And don’t let this affect you—on or off the ice. It’s what they want. To get into your heads. Don’t let them.” With that, Harrison left the room. The door closed, and the space erupted with voices.
Coach couldn’t regain control. He shouted at us to get to the locker rooms and meet on the ice for practice in five. Anyone late got bagged with extra conditioning skates after practice.
Chris walked next to me on the way back to the locker rooms. He dropped his voice low. “You doing good?”