"I've got you," Dmitri says, moving in to drape my arm over his shoulder and take some of my weight. His pine scent washes over me, and I have to bite back a groan. Everything is too much.
"The plan?" Lexie asks, sounding admirably confident despite the worry in her eyes.
"We go out front in five minutes," Jax says. "Make a scene, draw the cameras. You three wait for security's signal, then move fast. Car's in the underground lot, level B2. We'll meet you at the house."
It's a good plan. Simple. Direct. The kind of play we'd run on the ice. Except I'm not a player right now, I'm the puck everyone's trying to move around the board.
"Darren," Lexie says, and I force myself to focus on her face. "It's going to be fine. Okay?"
I force a smile and give her a nod, but all I can think about is how I've dragged them all into this mess. My pack, having to deal with the fallout. Lexie, about to face a media storm she never signed up for. All because I couldn't keep my shit together for one more game.
If she never wants to see me again after this, I wouldn't even blame her. Even if the thought of it hurts like a fucking gunshot wound.
"Ready?" Aidan asks, and there's a desperation in his eyes, like he needs to do this to make up for earlier. Like nearly killing a man for me wasn't enough.
Lexie stands, but not before pressing a kiss to my cheek. "Five minutes," she promises. "Then we'll be right behind you."
They move toward the door, Lexie, Aidan, and Jax, and every step she takes away from me feels like agony. The heat is getting worse, clawing at my insides, making rational thought harder to hold onto.
"Hey," Zayn says, his hand on my shoulder tightly controlled. "Just hold on a little longer."
Hold on. Right. Like I have any fucking choice.
The door closes behind them, and the plan goes into motion.
Chapter
Thirty-Seven
LEXIE
The door shuts behind us, and suddenly I'm face-to-face with the reality of what we're about to do. The corridor outside the green room is eerily quiet compared to the chaos we just left behind, but I know that's about to change.
"Remember," Jax says, his hand warm on my shoulder, "we're just creating a diversion. Don't engage with specific questions. Keep moving."
"And stay between us," Aidan adds, flexing his bruised knuckles. There's still blood on his jersey and the sight makes my heart flip. He defended what was his. What was ours.
I think I'm getting a little too into hockey.
"I can handle myself," I say, injecting more confidence into my voice than I feel. "I've dealt with worse than reporters. Ever tried to explain to an entitled customer that yes, wool does in fact shrink in hot water?"
Aidan's laugh is strained but genuine. "Fair point."
Jax leads us through a maze of corridors, his captain's authority clearing a path through the few staff members we encounter. They stare at us, at Aidan's bloodied jersey, at myflushed face, at the way Jax positions himself in front of me like a shield, but no one stops us.
The noise hits us before we even reach the main exit. It's a dull roar that grows louder with each step, punctuated by shouting and what sounds like hundreds of cameras clicking. My mouth goes dry.
"Holy shit," I breathe. "Is that all for the team?"
"For Darren," Jax corrects grimly. "But we're about to make it about us."
Security flanks the doors, their faces solemn. One of them, a woman with steel-gray hair and the build of someone who could bench press me without breaking a sweat, steps forward.
"Mr. Lawson," she says, nodding respectfully. "We've got a perimeter set up, but it's a zoo out there. You sure about this?"
"We're sure," Jax confirms. "Our teammate needs a clear exit. We're the distraction."
She studies us for a moment, her gaze lingering on Aidan's knuckles and my jersey—Darren's jersey. "The omega?"
