I slide a beer across the coffee table to him and sit back down, helping myself to a slice. For a few minutes, we eat in companionable silence, the awkwardness from earlier slowly dissolving.
"Thanks," Darren says eventually, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "For this. For not being weird."
"I'm definitely weird," I correct him. "Just not about this."
He rolls his eyes, but there's no heat in it. "You know what I mean."
I do know. And it means more than I expected that he noticed I've been trying to treat him normally. Not like the others, who keep watching him with a mix of confusion and worry. Even Jax, who means well, can't seem to find the right approach.
"Yeah," I say simply. "I know."
Darren reaches for another slice, and I notice his hand trembling slightly, but I don't say anything. Probably whatever meds they gave him at the hospital.
"Tell me about practice," he says suddenly. "What's Coach saying about the lineup without me?"
I hesitate, unsure how much he wants to hear. But the look he gives me says he wants the truth, not some sanitized version.
"Shifted Zimmerman up to your spot on the first pairing with Jones. Called up Schmidt from Rockford to fill in on the third line. It's... not great."
Darren nods, a grim satisfaction in his expression. "Zim's not ready for first-line minutes. And Schmidt's enough of a liability in our own zone."
"Exactly what Jax said." I take a swig of beer. "Coach knows it too, but options are limited with you out."
"With meout," Darren repeats, bitterness creeping into his tone. "Like I have the flu. Like I'll be back in a week or two."
I don't know what to say to that. None of us know what comes next. Not the team, not Darren, not even the doctors who keep throwing around terms like "unprecedented case" and "adaptive biology."
"You know, Jax has been running interference. Making sure no one takes any of this to the press," I say carefully.
Darren grunts. "Only a matter of time."
"Maybe," I concede. "But if you get out there and play a few games, show the world you're still the same kickass defenseman you've always been, it might soften things when it breaks. Make people realize there's no point in overreacting."
He gives me an incredulous look. "Even if the press doesn't know yet, any alpha I play with will figure it out as soon as I step out on the ice."
"Unless your scent is blocked," I reason. "Unless they don't know you're an omega."
His eyes widen slightly. "Suppressants…?"
"They're better than they used to be," I say quickly. "My sister takes them and she goes to a college with alphas, omegas, and betas. And then there's that male omega rock star, Asher Wilde. The one who sings for?—"
"Wild Honey, yeah, I know," he mutters. He still sounds like his usual gruff self, but a little less pessimistic. Like he's actually considering it.
I'm surprised myself. Usually, people just dismiss whatever I have to say, as the rookie and all. Can't even say I blame them. Ilooked up to the Grizzlies—and Darren—for years before I went pro. Getting drafted was more than a dream come true. It was something I never even thought could happen, so I don't mind that they don't really take me seriously yet. I'm fine with proving myself.
Darren is the only one who's ever made me feel like I don't have to.
"It's not a bad idea," he finally says, scratching at his stubble. "Suppress all this bullshit long enough to prove myself out there."
"You've already proven yourself and then some," I remind him. "You're just… reminding them who you are."
He snorts, an unexpected glimmer in his gaze as he studies me. It makes my heart pick up speed a little. "You know, you're pretty smart. For a rookie."
Before I can formulate a response, the front door opens. My stomach drops as Zayn walks in, designer sunglasses pushed up into his perfect hair, leather jacket catching the light.
Here we go.
"Well, that's a surprise," he announces, spotting Darren on the couch. His dark eyes widen slightly. "Our omega is out of hibernation."
