CHAPTER 16: CHAMPIONSHIP SHOWDOWN
1397words
Championship day dawned crisp and bright, the kind of perfect winter morning that should have filled me with excitement instead of bone-deep dread. I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, applying extra scent neutralizer with shaking hands.
Today, everything would come to a head.
"You look like you're about to throw up," Damon observed when I emerged. He was already dressed in his team warm-ups, the captain's "C" on his chest catching the morning light.
"Just pre-game nerves," I lied, though it wasn't entirely false. The thought of playing hockey in front of hundreds of people terrified me almost as much as the thought of Dominic being in those stands.
"Hey." Damon's voice softened, and he stepped closer. "You'll be fine. We've got this."
The way he said "we" made my heart do something complicated. Ever since our almost-kiss in the equipment room, the air between us had been charged with unspoken tension. He kept looking at me like he was trying to solve a puzzle, and I kept catching myself staring at his lips.
"Right," I managed. "We've got this."
A knock interrupted us. "Transport to the arena leaves in ten!" someone called through the door.
Damon grabbed his gear bag. "Ready, Sock Boy?"
Despite everything, I smiled. "Ready as I'll ever be."
---
The regional championship was being held at the massive Northpoint Arena, and as our bus pulled up, I could see the crowds already gathering. Banners hung from the rafters, and the parking lot was packed with cars bearing pack insignias from across the territories.
"Holy shit," breathed Jake, pressing his face to the window. "Look at that crowd."
Coach Martinez stood as the bus stopped. "Listen up, gentlemen. This is what we've worked for all season. Play smart, play together, and remember—you've earned your place here."
In the visiting team locker room, I changed quickly and quietly, grateful for the pre-game chaos that provided cover. The other players were too focused on their own rituals to pay much attention to my careful maneuvering.
"Silver!" Coach called as I finished lacing my skates. "You'll start on the third line with Morrison and Hughes. Keep it simple, use your speed, and don't try to be a hero."
"Yes, sir."
"And Blackwood," he added, turning to Damon. "I want clean passes and smart plays. No unnecessary risks."
Damon nodded, but I caught the flash of something in his eyes. He was planning something.
---
We took the ice for warm-ups to thunderous applause. The arena was packed, easily two thousand people filling every seat. I scanned the crowd nervously, looking for threats.
That's when I saw them.
Dominic sat in the VIP section like a king holding court, his imposing figure unmistakable even from the ice. Beside him, Vanessa looked perfectly composed in an elegant wool coat, her blonde hair styled in an intricate updo. Three large men in dark suits flanked them—clearly the Silver Moon Pack guards Noah had warned me about.
My knees nearly buckled. They were too close, too real. The scent neutralizer felt inadequate against that kind of concentrated Alpha presence.
"Ari?" Damon skated up beside me, concern creasing his brow. "You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"I'm fine," I said, forcing myself to start moving again. "Just... big crowd."
He followed my gaze to the VIP section, and his expression tightened. "Yeah. My family tends to make an entrance."
During warm-ups, I stayed as far from the VIP section as possible, keeping my head down and focusing on basic drills. But I could feel eyes on me—calculating, suspicious eyes that made my skin crawl.
"Showtime, boys!" Coach called as we headed back to the locker room for final preparations.
In the tunnel before we retook the ice, Damon caught my arm. "Whatever happens out there, just play your game. Don't let anything else get in your head."
I looked up at him, wondering if he somehow knew about my panic. "Damon—"
"I know something's wrong," he said quietly. "I don't know what, but I know. And I want you to know that whatever it is... I've got your back."
The sincerity in his voice nearly undid me. How could I tell him that the very people he was protecting me from were his own family?
"Thanks," I whispered.
The crowd roared as we took the ice for the opening ceremony. I kept my head down during the national anthem, hyperaware of every movement in the stands above.
When the puck dropped, everything else fell away.
Hockey, it turned out, was the perfect escape from anxiety. The speed, the focus required, the pure physicality of it—it all combined to create a bubble of concentration that nothing else could penetrate.
I played the best hockey of my life.
In the first period, I assisted on two goals with crisp passes that threaded through defending players like I could see the future. In the second, I scored my first goal—a quick wrist shot that found the top corner while the goalie was screened.
But it was my chemistry with Damon that really turned heads.
We moved like we shared the same brain. When he looked left, I was already there. When I started a rush, he materialized in perfect position for the pass. The crowd began to notice, pointing and murmuring about the unexpected magic happening between the captain and the unknown first-year.
"Where the hell did this kid come from?" I heard someone shout from the stands.
By the third period, we were up 4-1, and the crowd was on its feet. With five minutes left, Damon fed me a perfect cross-ice pass that I buried in the bottom corner for my second goal of the game.
As I celebrated, arms raised in triumph, I made the mistake of looking up at the VIP section.
Dominic was leaning forward in his seat, his pale eyes fixed on me with laser focus. Even from this distance, I could see his nostrils flaring slightly, his head tilted in that particular way Alphas used when they were analyzing a scent.
Our eyes met across the arena, and I felt my blood turn to ice.
He knew. Maybe not everything, but he knew something was wrong.
The final buzzer sounded, and we'd won 5-2. The team erupted in celebration, piling on each other in traditional hockey fashion. I was swept up in the chaos, teammates hugging me and shouting congratulations.
"Rookie sensation!" Jake yelled, grabbing me in a bear hug. "Two goals in the championship! Are you kidding me?"
Damon skated over, his smile radiant with victory and something else—pride, maybe? Or something deeper?
"Not bad for a sock-throwing champion," he said, and before I could react, he pulled me into a hug that lasted a beat too long and felt too much like coming home.
In the locker room afterward, the celebration continued. Music blared, champagne sprayed (though I carefully avoided getting any in my mouth), and everyone talked at once about the best plays and the biggest hits.
"Silver!" Coach Martinez called over the noise. "Hell of a game, son. Two goals and three assists? In your first championship? That's going in the record books."
I grinned, caught up despite myself in the genuine joy and camaraderie. For a moment, I forgot about everything else and just let myself be a winning hockey player celebrating with teammates.
Until Noah appeared at my elbow, expression tense.
"We need to talk," they said quietly. "Now."
My celebration bubble burst. "What's wrong?"
"Reception in twenty minutes. Mandatory for all players. VIP meet-and-greet." Noah's eyes were serious. "He's going to be there. And he specifically asked to meet the 'impressive new player who seems familiar.'"
My stomach dropped to somewhere around my ankles.
"I can't," I whispered. "Noah, I can't be in the same room as him. Up close like that—"
"You don't have a choice. Skipping would be worse than going. But I have a plan." Noah glanced around to make sure no one was listening. "Trust me?"
I looked across the locker room at Damon, who was laughing with the other players, his face flushed with victory. He caught my eye and smiled, and my heart did that complicated thing again.
"I trust you," I said to Noah, and hoped I wasn't making the biggest mistake of my life.
