"Malloy!" Coach Mitchell's voice booms down the tunnel. "Stop rubbernecking and get ready. You've got a game to play."
He's right. I force myself to focus, to push thoughts of Lexie and her mystery surprise to the back of my mind. I need to play my ass off tonight. The whole world is watching, waiting to see if I'll crack under the pressure, if the omega will fold when things get tough.
They're about to learn that The Brick doesn't fold for anyone.
The tunnel lights dim, and the announcer's voice echoes through the arena. My heart pounds as they call our names, one by one. When they get to mine, I expect boos. Maybe some cheers from our die-hard fans, but mostly negativity from people who think omegas don't belong on the ice.
What I don't expect is the explosion of sound that greets my name.
I step onto the ice and freeze.
The entire arena is a sea of orange and black jerseys.
No… not just generic Grizzlies jerseys.
Myjersey. 47. Malloy. Over and over, as far as I can see.
"What the fuck?" I breathe, turning in a slow circle to take it all in.
The crowd is on their feet, cheering and screaming and waving signs I can't quite make out from ice level. The noise is incredible, overwhelming, like nothing I've ever experienced in my career.
"Holy shit," Aidan says beside me, and he's pointing up at the stands. "Look."
I follow his gesture and my breath catches.
A massive banner is being raised along the upper deck. Orange fabric with bold black letters that seem to scream a single phrase across the arena.
PLAY LIKE AN OMEGA.
The Jumbotron flickers to life, and there she is. Lexie, holding one end of the banner with her sister Jessica on the other side. Luke's there too, and what looks like hundreds of other fans, all wearing my jersey, all cheering like maniacs. The camera zooms in on Lexie's face, and she's glowing. Radiant. Proud.
My throat tightens dangerously.
"Guess we know what that surprise was," Jax says with a chuckle, skating up beside me. But even his usual composure cracks a little as he takes in the scene. "She really went all out."
"You picked one hell of a woman, Darren," Dmitri rumbles, and there's unmistakable pride in his voice.
I can't take my eyes off the screen as it pans across the crowd. There are omegas with signs that say "We Belong Here Too" and "Designation Doesn't Define Talent." Alphas wearing shirts that say "Real Alphas Support Omega Athletes." Betas with "Pack Stands Together" painted on their faces.
"Yeah," I manage, my voice rough. "I sure as fuck did."
The ref skates over, probably to tell us to get our asses in position, but even he looks a little stunned by the display. "Hell of a showing, Malloy," he says quietly. "Now let's play some hockey."
Right. Hockey. I can do that.
I take my position, stick on the ice, muscles coiled and ready. The energy from the crowd pulses through me like electricity. They're here for me. For us. To show the league that the world is ready for change.
I'm not going to let them down.
The puck drops and everything else fades away.
This is where I belong. This is what I was born to do. The ice beneath my skates, the stick in my hands, the chaos of powerful, athletically honed bodies in motion. This is what I fucking do.
The first period is a blur of perfect passes and bone-jarring checks. Every time I touch the puck, the crowd explodes. Every hit I make, every play I break up, they're on their feet. It should be distracting, but instead, it feeds me. This is my territory. My ice. And everyone in this arena knows it.
We're playing like men possessed.
No, that's not right. We're playing like apack.
