Chapter 4 THE ALPHA.

I walk around him and start to head to my car again, but Cruz calls after me, "So, how'd you like your first hockey game?"

I think about that for a second. Cruz isn't wearing his jersey. He's wearing a nice, fitted black suit and carrying a large bag with his gear. He might not know that I know who he is. But even if this is my first hockey game, you don't forget a handsome face like that.

"The Titans were great. We were excited they won. But the captain needs to watch his offsides."

I actually don't know what 'offside' is, even though the refs called it a few times, but Shay told me that Cruz needed to watch his offsides after the second period, so I just hope she knew what she was talking about.

Cruz's jaw drops, and he looks genuinely offended for a second before his face lights up with playful understanding. "Oh, she's busting out the real jokes now."

I actually don't know what 'offside' is, even though the refs called it a few times, but Shay told me that Cruz needed to watch his offsides after the second period, so I just hope she knew what she was talking about.

Cruz's jaw drops, and he looks genuinely offended for a second before his face lights up with playful understanding. "Oh, she's busting out the real jokes now."

"You bet I am. Always save the best for last." I smirk at him and turn away to walk to my car.

"Please don't take my sunshine away!" Cruz sing-songs at my retreating back.

I keep walking, but I can't help the smile that spreads over my face, even when I bite my lip to try to force it to stop. A fun time with friends, and a hot Alpha teasing me in a way that almost seemed flirtatious? Maybe this day hasn't been so bad after all.

I know an Alpha wouldn't really be happy with a Beta, or at least not just a Beta, in the long-term. But I don't see the harm in a little fantastical daydreaming as I drive my poor struggling car back home.

My bubble is popped for good, though, when I get up to my apartment door and see the note left for me there:

You've got three days to move out or I'll put your stuff on the street myself.

~ Jerry

Everything feels like it's crashing down around me, and tears spring into my eyes.

I'm being evicted.

"Pick up the pace!" Coach Vaughn yells as we run through our drills.

I know he's not talking to me. I'm the fastest one, leading the pack. Not just my pack of Knox, Miles, and Lawson, but the entire pack that is our team. I never settle for anything less than excellence from myself, and I hope I inspire that in the others we play with.

I pass the puck to Davis, going through the motions of the passing drill. I must fire the puck off with a little more power than I should for a morning drill, because my shoulder twinges.

I ignore it. It's nothing, I've just gotta keep using it so that it just works itself out, like when your foot falls asleep and you have to walk on it again to get the feeling back into it. There's no way I'm going to be the guy who went and complained to the team's medical team because my shoulder twinged a couple of times.

The team depends on me. We all depend on each other-that's the definition of a team. But I'm the damn captain. I have to set an example, and that example will never be 'give up and complain.'

...................................

"Hustle, hustle!" Vaughn yells, clapping his hands.

I glide across the ice, stick handling the puck with finesse, taunting Miles and Jax as they backpedal to defend against my moves. I try to fake them out with a pass to Jax, but Miles, that sneaky bastard, sees right through it. He smirks, snatches the puck away from me, and swiftly dishes it off to a teammate down the line. Damn, he's good.

Our practice is firing on all cylinders, with seamless drills and relentless intensity. We're executing crisp passes, sharp turns, and bone-crushing checks. The sound of blades digging into the ice fills the air, mixing with the thuds of bodies colliding and the clashing of sticks. It's a symphony of controlled chaos as we push ourselves to the limit, testing our skills and working to improve on the areas where we've been weak in previous games.

The energy on the ice is like an electric current, powered by the unbreakable bond we share as a team. We communicate without words, instinctively understanding each other's movements and intentions.

When Coach Vaughn calls a break in the practice, I pause for a moment, sweat dripping down my forehead as I take in the practice arena around me. The ice is marked with the battle scars of our efforts, and I grin as I watch Lawson squeeze his water bottle into his mouth and then spit the water out onto the ice.

I fucking love this team.

They're the reason why I lace up my skates every day, and why there's no fucking way I can let myself get benched with an injury. I'm feeling damn good about our chances of taking the Stanley Cup this year, and I'm going to do whatever it takes for us to go all the way and win.

My shoulder twinges again when we line up to do our shooting drills at the net, but I ignore it. This just needs to be ignored and worked through.

After practice, Vaughn gives us one of his strategy talks.

"We're doing well," he reminds us. "But we can't get complacent. We have to keep our heads in the game and not get distracted too early. The team that things they have it in the bag is always the team that fumbles it and leaves everyone wondering what went wrong come playoffs. And we're not going to be that team, are we?"