Mitchell's door looms ahead, solid wood with his nameplate gleaming. Twenty years of coaching. Three championships. About to potentially lose his entire starting line.
He doesn't know that yet either.
Jax knocks, the sound like gunshots in the quiet hallway.
"Come in."
Mitchell sits behind his desk, and fuck me if he doesn't look like he's aged five years since Vancouver. Gray stubble shadows his jaw. His usually crisp shirt wrinkles at the elbows. Empty coffee cups form a fortress around his computer.
His eyes track us as we file in. Darren first, then Lexie, then the rest of us arranging ourselves like a wall between them and the door.
"Sit," he says, gesturing at chairs that couldn't possibly hold us all.
"We'll stand," Jax replies. Not defiance. Fact.
Mitchell's jaw works like he's chewing words before spitting them out. "Do you have any fucking idea what I've been dealing with? The calls? The emails? Every tabloid from here to Moscow running stories about—" He cuts himself off, eyes landing on Darren. "About yoursituation."
"It's my responsibility," Darren says before anyone else can speak. "I made the choice to hide it. To keep playing. The team shouldn't?—"
"That's bullshit," Zayn snaps, and I see Mitchell's eyebrows rise at the vehemence in his tone. "It was our choice, too. We all knew as soon as you did."
"Copeland's right," I add, keeping my voice level. "Pack decision. Pack consequences."
Mitchell's laugh sounds like breaking glass. "Pack? This isn't about your living arrangements, Vinogradov. This is about the integrity of the league. About rules and regulations?—"
"What rules?" Aidan interrupts, surprising everyone with his sudden fierceness. "Show me the rule that says omegas can't play. Show me where it's written that Darren did anything wrong besides keep doing his job."
The room falls silent. Mitchell's face cycles through red to purple to something approaching gray.
"Therules," he grits out, "are about disclosure. About safety. About?—"
"About covering the league's ass," Jax says quietly, his voice no less sharp for not shouting. His voice at its most dangerous, just shy of a bark. "We all know what this is really about, Coach. It's not about safety or integrity. It's about image. About sponsors getting nervous and fans clutching their pearls because an omega dared to excel at an alpha's game."
Mitchell's hand slams on the desk, making Lexie flinch. I shift slightly, putting myself between her and any potential threat.
"You want to talk about image?" Mitchell snaps. "How about McKinney nearly killing a man on ice? How about the entire country watching one of my players go into heat during a game?"
"If you force Darren out," Jax says, cutting through the tirade, "we all walk."
The words land like a bomb in the small office. Mitchell freezes mid-gesture. Darren whips around to stare at Jax. Even Lexie's breath catches.
"What?" Mitchell's voice comes out strangled.
"You heard me." Jax stands straighter, every inch the captain. "Darren is the best defenseman in this league. If you bench him because of his designation, we all walk. Today."
"That's—" Darren starts, but I put a hand on his shoulder.
“Decided,” I tell him. “Before we came here. Pack stands together. Always.”
"You can't be fucking serious," Mitchell breathes. "What about your contracts?"
"They'll be tied up in legal battles for years," Zayn says cheerfully. "Imagine those headlines. 'Entire starting line quits rather than play for discriminatory league.' The sponsors will love that."
"This is ridiculous," Darren protests, trying to shake off my hand. "You can't throw away your careers for?—"
"For pack?" Aidan asks. "Yeah, we can. And we will."
Mitchell looks between us like we've all grown second heads. His mouth opens and closes, no words emerging. Finally, he sputters, "What about Vancouver? McKinney assaulted?—"
