"Last batch just arrived," she says, not looking up from her laptop. "That makes six hundred and forty-seven custom jerseys, not counting the ones for tonight's flash mob."
"Flash mob is a strong term," I protest, but she's not wrong. What started as me and Jessica planning to unveil a banner has turned into a coordinated effort involving over two hundred fans.
"You've started a movement, boss." Tanya finally looks up, grinning. "Own it."
A movement. The words sit heavy and thrilling in my chest. I think about Darren's face when he sees the arena filled with fans wearing his number, proud omegas and supportive allies alike declaring that designation doesn't determine worth.
"The banner's ready?" I ask, moving to check the carefully folded fabric.
"Reinforced edges, just like you asked."
I run my fingers over the stitches, each one placed with intention. This banner represents hours of work, but more than that, it represents hope. Change. A future where players like Darren don't have to hide who they are.
"You sure you don't want to tell them?" Tanya asks. "Your guys are going to flip when they see this."
My guys. Even my assistant has picked up on it, how naturally they've become a unit in my mind.
"That's kind of the point," I admit. "They've been carrying so much pressure about tonight. I want them to see that they're not alone. That there's an army of support behind them."
My phone buzzes with texts from the group chat. Zayn sending pictures of my things being unpacked, Aidan complaining about Zayn hogging my extra boxes to store in his closet, Dmitri sending a single emoji that somehow conveys both exasperation and fondness.
"Go," Tanya says, making shooing motions. "I've got this handled. The volunteers know where to meet, the jerseys are sorted for distribution, and the banner's ready for transport. You need to be with your pack before the game."
My pack. The words still give me a little thrill.
That's never going to get old.
Chapter
Forty-Six
DARREN
The locker room smells like alphas and pre-game hype, which is nothing out of the ordinary. Only tonight, there's an extra layer to it. Tonight, the whole fucking world is watching to see if an omega can really play in the NHL or if Vancouver was just a fluke.
My hands are steady as I lace up my skates, muscle memory taking over while my mind spirals. The suppressants are doing their job, keeping my scent muted, keeping the omega instincts at bay. But they can't suppress the knowledge that this game decides everything.
"You good, Brick?" Jax asks, cutting through my spiral.
I look up to find all four of my alpha packmates watching me. They're already suited up, looking like the warriors they are, ready to go to battle. For me. At my side.
"Yeah," I say, and I'm surprised to find I mean it. "Just ready to get out there and show these fuckers what an omega can do."
Zayn grins. "That's our boy."
The banter settles me. This is just another game. I've played hundreds of them. The only difference is that this time, everyoneknows what I am. No more hiding, no more pretending. Just me, my stick, and the ice.
The pressure is off and on at once.
"Anyone seen Lexie?" I ask as we line up in the tunnel. The roar of the crowd is already deafening, and we haven't even stepped out yet.
"She said she'd be here," Aidan offers, bouncing on his skates with his usual pre-game energy. "Just not in the VIP box."
Right. The surprise. I've been trying not to think about it, but now that we're minutes from taking the ice, I can't help scanning the stands visible from the tunnel. Where is she? What could she possibly have planned that required giving up her usual seat where she's comfortable and sequestered from the rest of the fans?
"Relax," Zayn says, bumping my shoulder. "Our girl will show."
"I know," I mutter, still searching the crowd. "Just curious."
