by N. J. Lysk
Uri didn’t seem convinced but he didn’t have time to say anything before Blendi moved, striking hard and sending the tennis ball flying high. The helmet didn't quite come into it, but only because the ball arced right over T'Jean's right shoulder. He stumbled a little, reaching back, enough that he'd have probably fallen on his arse if he'd been wearing skates. But it was too late.
Blendi's team lost it, screaming her name like she'd won the World Cup. Thomas raised both arms and waved at them, but it wasn't until Blendi herself caught sight of him and pointed that he got their attention.
"Well done, Team B," he said. "Now let's get started with the game. No funny business!"
“THANK YOU FOR THIS,” Uri said once they were alone in the kitchen.
“Didn’t do it for you,” Thomas sassed. “It’s for the children, remember?”
“Oh, yeah, of course, so do I,” Uri agreed. It was true, but the look he was giving Thomas also reminded him where those lips had been.
“Uri?” someone asked from behind them. Thomas almost dropped the cup of tea he’d been talked into accepting and Uri sprang forward like he’d been shoved.
“What is it?
It was Kyeran. “Um, just, that was the best day ever,” the boy blurted out, his skin was too dark to show if he was blushing but the way he was looking at the floor gave away his embarrassment loud and clear. “I wanted... to tell Thomas thank you.”
Thomas stared at him for a second before offering a raised fist. “No problem, mate, it was fun.”
Kyeran came forward and bumped fists with him, grinning wide.
“It was great,” Uri said. “But you shouldn’t be downstairs now, should you?” he added with a knowing look.
Kyeran’s face was all the answer they needed and Uri sighed and pointed to the door. “Walk. I’m not letting you out of my sight until you’re in your pyjamas.”
The boy rolled his eyes at him, meeting Thomas’s eyes across the room. “See ya!”
“See ya,” Thomas replied, grinning despite himself. Thank god for responsible adults like Uri and Colleen, if it was up to him he’d have let kids stay up all night and eat ice-cream for breakfast just as long as they kept smiling.
Thomas would have gladly sat in the kitchen and waited—it was the holidays, after all—but the other man turned to him and offered an apologetic smile. “I’ll talk to you soon, yeah?”
He nodded his acceptance and didn’t put any innuendo into his response even though Kyeran was already outside the room. “See you soon.”
It wouldn’t be soon enough for his taste, but he could admit this wasn’t the best setting for what he wanted to happen on their next encounter.
CARRY SEEMED NERVOUS about his reaction, but Thomas had suspected something of the kind was going on from the beginning, of course. Two players who could hardly talk but played together like they were best friends? It was extremely odd, especially with all the ups and downs their line had gone through, which all of them had already acknowledged were Carry and Keenan’s fault. A psychic connection using their ability to perceive where the other was and what they wanted was in fact the only possible explanation, therefore it had to be true.
It was also true betas weren’t meant to poke their noses in the private businesses of alphas and omegas, since their businesses often had to do with what said alphas and omegas did in the bedroom. But if they wanted his help and were willing to come clean, Thomas was more than game. Carry and Keenan were both excellent players on their own and obviously had an advantage when playing together, but neither of them was very good at keeping their line working as a whole. It had always been Thomas’s job, and it would always be: because Carry wanted to control everyone like they were toy soldiers and Keenan expected synchronicity to come from simply practicing moves again and again.
Neither of them understood that a team was more than the sum of its parts, and that the relationship between those parts was essential for the whole machine to work.
He let himself collapse on one of the conference room chairs. “Gods, Carry, you’re such a control freak.”
Carry didn’t take offense. “He doesn’t mind.”
Thomas rolled his eyes, not that Carry noticed, of course. “Keenan might like it if you led him around with a leash, but it doesn’t mean it’s good for your hockey.”
“What do you mean?” Once again, Carry ignored the innuendo. Thomas was pretty sure he was doing that intentionally, but then again, he had said the word hockey in the same sentence.
“I mean that Keenan’s a great player, more experienced than you and me as well. And if you’re in charge of all our plays, that experience and skill is getting wasted.”
“But... it means we’re much better coordinated,” Carry insisted in his even sensible voice. “I mean, you saw what we can do.”
“Yeah,” Thomas agreed. “But you haven’t seen what we could do.”
Carry was frowning, but Thomas let him think it through. Finally, he spoke, “We could try, I guess.”
“Excellent!” He clapped his hands together.
Carry huffed, then leaned back and called out for Keenan to come in and give them the smoothies.
“Were you just standing there like a creep?” Thomas asked, taking a sip of his. Part of the psychic business must have worked outside the ice because there was no way Cartwright Johnson had noticed another person was around before he did.
Keenan shrugged. “Just got here.”
Carry seemed too interested in his drink to call him a liar, so Thomas moved on. “So I’ve talked Carry into sharing a little, so you gotta tell me if he’s pulling on your strings too much.”
Keenan conceded with a nod, once again he didn’t seem offended at the implication that someone was controlling him. It wasn’t even that he was an alpha, Thomas would have found it disturbing. “Will do.”
He didn’t quite tell on Carry, not unless Thomas asked, but by the time an hour had gone by Carry’s changed attitude had done enough that Thomas could get an answer with a signed question. Carry had dutifully practiced Keenan’s strategy, then Thomas’s. He struggled, but then again Thomas had expected him to. The guy wanted to be in control so badly it almost hurt to see.
He also wanted to win badly enough to fight his instincts, and with a little nudge here and there, he could. He grinned at Thomas after scoring on the empty goal once again off a pass so beautiful it almost hurt no one else had seen it. “That was brilliant.”
Thomas raised a hand for Carry to bump, then turned to Keenan and did the same. The other two glanced at each other instead, they were covered from head to foot in gear, surely...
Keenan skated back to centre ice, leaving Thomas feeling like he’d missed something. Then again, if being anosmic meant he wasn’t stuck with protocol... Well, he was still slightly jealous of the cool psychic connection, he would admit that much. Even if it turned out not being part of it was a great asset when it came to using it to playing hockey together, though.
“Damn, you were right,” Carry said. The world didn’t end, but Thomas gaped at him for long enough even Carry caught on. “What?! I can take advise!”
“Yeah, sure, if someone makes you,” Thomas teased.
“Ugh, whatever.” Carry turned towards the changing room.
Keenan came in right behind them, detailing a play he wanted to try with an actual goalie. And then froze like he’d stuck an invisible wall before turning around to the corner where he usually changed.
“Keenan? Where’re you going?”
Their centre glanced at Carry, of bloody course. But it was fair, as far as Thomas understood it, it was up to Carry to allow this kind of intimacy from an alpha. Thomas pretended not to see the nod, feeling a bit like he was intruding. Then Keenan sat down and his intrusion was very much required to keep the conversation going as they got changed.
“Dinner?” he asked when they were done.
To his surprise, it was Carry who jumped to agree. Although maybe it wa
s not that hard to predict the boy would glow like that at a hockey success. Thomas himself might have also been grinning like a lunatic.
IT FELT ALMOST LIKE they were a new line again—a line with upgraded sticks and skates whose stadium had just turned the lights up to eleven. It didn’t mean much when they were going up against the Cascades on foreign ice, but he felt good, better than he could remember feeling in a long time.
The overconfidence paid off, even when Keenan lost the face-off to Siritha Rochester—fair enough—Thomas was so set on completing the play that he got it off her. Which, fucking hell. He hadn’t scored, leaving that to his linemates, but he was a playmaker and he’d outmanoeuvred Siritha Rochester in a final-qualifying game.
And they won.
It almost echoed inside his brain as he got crushed by his team around Keenan and Carry. They were going to the finals, it was almost a done deal now.
Chapter Ten: Uriel
"Hey," Thomas said. The phone had only rung once before he'd picked up, but that did nothing but add to Uri's nerves. Because it meant Thomas had been expecting the call, that despite Uri calling him to ask for a favour after their night together, he still—
"Hey," he replied. "How are you doing?"
"Good, leaving for Polska this afternoon."
Uri hesitated, suddenly unsure. "I... Your schedule is a bit nuts at the moment, isn't it?"
He’d looked up said schedule before calling, but somehow seeing the game on the calendar two days later, he’d assumed they’d fly out on the day. But, of course, you probably didn’t want to go into the ice stiff from hours on a plane and the inevitable hassles of an airport.
"It's hockey," Thomas said good-naturedly. "I can't think of anything better to do every day."
He laughed, unable to help himself. "You are such an addict."
"Yeah, well, I bet you're calling me about something related to your job, so..."
"No!” He couldn’t think of anything furthest from the nightmare his client’s life had become than Thomas Kiau. Then he realised the beta must have been talking about the adoption centre, not technically his job but close enough. “Well, kinda, but..."
"But?"
"But I would call you anyway," Uri made himself say. The guy had spent a whole afternoon helping him keep teenagers in line, the least Uri could do was admit he was interested.
"Would you?" Thomas asked, slow and pleased. "How did you even find my number?"
His brain froze for a second, then he told the truth, as sparsely as he could manage. "You... you gave it to me. Well, you put it in my phone."
"Yes,” Thomas agreed. “But I never told you that it was there."
Uri gulped, he had no idea why he'd assumed this would never come up. Except of course, the best defence was always... "Why didn't you?"
But Thomas simply snorted. "Forgot. You're... rather distracting."
"Am I, now?” Uri pushed, feeling the words deep in his gut, a rush of warmth that made him wish they were in the same room. “My apologies."
"You must also be a great lawyer,” Thomas said easily, completely unembarrassed about his admission. “You didn't tell me how you found my number and you still haven't told me why you’re calling."
Uri sighed. It was a little odd, sure, but he didn’t think Thomas would care. "I looked you up on the net. Well, the team, and I found out your name, so I added it to my phone, just... I wasn't going to do anything else, not like I could, it was just your name. But then it turned out your number was already there."
"Gods above and below," Thomas said with a whistle. "Maybe I should be praying more! That's beyond any karma I have earned, for sure."
"Maybe it's my karma," Uri told him. He didn’t particularly believe in the concept—the world was a fucking awful place, why anyone would find comfort in believing they deserved what happened to them was a mystery to him—but he didn’t think Thomas was serious either.
"Huh.” Thomas made a thoughtful noise. “Yeah, that would explain it. I'm sure you get extra points for helping orphans."
"Then you must be a pretty good reward," Uri continued, caught in the game. "Worthy of someone who helps orphans."
Thomas laughed that off. "Nah, think the gods figured they'd give you another chance to bag someone hot. They know even saints have their shallow side."
"I'm no saint," Uri promised him. "And you volunteered, too. They asked if you would go back, actually."
"Will you be there?" The beta asked, and it was such a silly question, of course Uri would be there, but like all the previous ones, it wasn't about the information.
"Yes. Except not this weekend, which I know you won't be around for anyway."
Thomas snorted. "Stalking much?"
"Is that what you call looking up your team's game schedule to make sure I don’t suggest anything that might clash with your work obligations?" Uri asked in his best neutral tone.
"Ugh, if you knew that, you could have waited to call. Now... Well, now I'll be distracted."
"Maybe I wanted you to be distracted," Uri replied, the distance and Thomas's unashamed interest getting the better of him. He did want to see Thomas distracted, whatever that looked like.
Thomas groaned. "You are such a tease, you know that? I didn't even get a kiss last time I saw you."
"Wouldn't getting just a kiss make me even more of a tease?"
"Not sure," Thomas admitted. "But you know what would make you less of one? Having dinner with me."
The words sent a pulse of excitement through Uri’s already pretty agitated body. “Yeah, sure." He glanced at his diary where he'd jotted down the dates of the next games. "What about Thursday?"
"You’re looking at my calendar, aren't you?"
"I already admitted that," Uri pointed out. "Why should I pretend?"
"True, you can just keep up the stalking. I'm kinda flattered, to be honest."
Uriel groaned, both charmed and appalled. "Do not tell people that, it'll get you in trouble."
"Pretty sure I'm already in trouble," Thomas shot back. "But I can't Thursday, already promised my sisters we'd go to the cinema to see the The Girl King."
“Friday?" Uri suggested at once.
"Sure," Thomas replied, assuming that since Uri was asking, Thomas would be in charge of finding the venue. "Any requests?"
He had some, but nothing he wanted to share in advance, or that related to the food. "Nah, let's see if you can choose something to impress me."
“My lord,” Thomas agreed in an unexpectedly reverent tone. “I’ll prove my devotion with the most exquisite sustenance.”
It was clearly a joke, but it made Uri shiver.
SERENE COLERIDGE HAD been aptly named, Uri decided the moment she walked into the room. She met his eyes without hesitation, just like any alpha of equal standing would, but softened it with a smile and head tilt. It helped that she was beautiful, dark hair slickened back, falling straight down her back—dressed like a professional with heels high enough to make up for her diminutive height. Beautiful people made others relax, Uri was well-aware of what studies said, and a small alpha wouldn’t have a hard time seeming unthreatening.
Somehow her scent was muted, something spicy and sour at once—not exactly off-putting but not appealing, which wasn’t uncommon with another alpha. But Claudette was at least half a head taller than her bondmate, and her own scent had gone rotten-sweet the moment she’d seen Serene. Everyone else in the room was a beta, but it made every muscle in Uri’s body clench at the threat to an omega in his presence. He couldn’t help it, and in this case, he didn’t want to. He didn’t bother pretending—his own scent would give away his alarm at once—instead he pointed Claudette to a chair next to him, appointing himself her protector by positioning his chair slightly closer to the conference table across from the opposing counsel. The other alpha followed the movement with a neutral expression. Her scent hadn’t changed at all, not when seeing her omega in distress at her presence, not when an alpha she’
d never met adopted a protective posture towards her bondmate.
It wasn’t hard to believe this was the woman who could intentionally hurt her own mate.
Mx Yave took the seat on Claudette’s other side and cut through the polite greetings. “We’d like to make a deal.”
Mx Coleridge’s lawyer, Mx Simons, was an older beta gentleman whose dark curly hair had lightened with age, but whose eyes were sharp. “Would this deal include couples therapy?”
“No,” Mx Yave said easily. “It would include a restraining order.”
“A restraining order?” Mx Coleridge exclaimed, voice high and amused. “What’s this, Claudette?”
“Do not address my client,” Uriel said before Claudette could be compelled to speak.
The other alpha turned to him with wide eyes, long eyelashes fluttering. “Your client is my bondmate,” she reminded him. It was soft and compelling. It also changed nothing in her scent except to add a hint of lemon—another alpha would never smell attractive, but Uri hadn’t met anyone whose scent was this static. It was more like perfume than an expression of her psyche.
“Be that as it may,” Yave said pleasantly. “There is a reason there are lawyers in the room, Mx Coleridge. So please follow our instructions so we can serve you to the best of our ability.”
Simons cleared his throat. “Mx Coleridge’s ome—”
“Claudette,” the woman in question said, speaking for the first time. Coleridge was, of course, her own family name, which she had given her bondmate when they’d exchanged vows. She, in turn, had legally changed her own to the alpha’s. At the moment, only her given name had no associations to the person she was trying so hard to escape.
Simons paused. “Claudette, then. You have filed for divorce, which is your right,” he continued. “But there’s no need—”
“I’ll give up the house, the car,” she blurted out. “Everything.”