I read it again, sure I must be misunderstanding. But no, the words are clear. Holy shit.
"Don't leave us in suspense," Zayn demands. "Are we employed or starting a revolution?"
"They're..." I have to clear my throat because the words don't want to come out. Like saying them might make them disappear. "They're going to let me play. Next game."
The room explodes.
Aidan lets out a whoop that probably shatters windows three houses over. Dmitri's grin is so wide it looks like it might crack his face. The biggest smile I've ever seen from him. Zaynfist pumps the air, and even our calm and collected leader's shoulders drop about six inches in relief.
And Lexie, my brilliant, beautiful Lexie, launches herself at me.
I catch her on instinct, holding her tight as she wraps her arms around my neck. Her kiss tastes like victory and relief. When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard and grinning like idiots.
"I knew it," she says, her eyes bright. "I knew they couldn't keep you off the ice."
"Wait." Zayn's voice cuts through the celebration like a bucket of cold water. "What do you mean 'next game'? Why specifically next game?"
The grin slides off my face. Right. The catch. Because there's always a fucking catch.
I hand him the letter, not trusting myself to explain without my voice betraying how much this pisses me off. His eyes scan the page, his expression darkening with each line.
"Probation period?" He looks up, incredulous. "They're putting you on fucking probation?"
"What?" Aidan snatches the letter, reading over Zayn's shoulder. "This is bullshit. You've been playing as an omega this whole time and they just didn't know it. They already know how you play."
"It's not about his playing," Dmitri grumbles, crossing his massive arms. "It's about how the fans react."
"That's exactly what it is," Lexie agrees, but there's an edge in her voice that makes me look at her more closely. She's got that expression she gets when she's planning something. "Which is actually perfect."
"Perfect?" I stare at her. "How is me being on probation like some rookie who can't keep his gloves on perfect?"
"Because." She pulls out her phone, scrolling through before turning the screen toward us. "Look at this."
It's a social media feed, and at first I don't understand what I'm looking at. Then I see the hashtag.
#LetDarrenPlay.
Post after post, thousands of them. Fan art of me in my jersey with the omega symbol stretched across my chest like it's something I want to display rather than something I've spent week after week hiding. Photos from games with captions about how my designation doesn't change my stats. A petition with?—
"Two hundredthousandsignatures?" My voice cracks like I'm going through puberty again.
"Two hundred and thirty-seven thousand as of an hour ago," Lexie corrects, looking pleased with herself. "Jessica showed me earlier. The support is already there, Darren. This probation period? They might have meant it as a punishment, but we're going to turn it into an opportunity."
"An opportunity for what?" Though I'm starting to suspect I know where she's going with this.
"To show them they made the right choice. To prove that the only thing that matters on the ice is how you play, not what your designation is." She's practically bouncing now, reminding me of Aidan when he gets excited. "And I have a surprise that might help."
"What kind of surprise?" I ask with a laugh. This woman is full of them. And here I used to not like surprises.
I guess they just needed to come in Lexie flavor.
The grin that spreads across her face is pure mischief. "Not telling. You'll just have to wait and see at the game."
"Lexie—"
"Nope." She mimes zipping her lips. "My lips are sealed. But trust me, it's going to be perfect!"
"I don't like surprises," I mutter, but I'm fighting a smile. Hard to be annoyed when she looks so damn proud.
