Chapter 17 Damian's Pov
1219 Words
Game day always had a kind of buzz to it. A special kind of excitement and hype. But today, it felt different.
By the time I reached the rink, the bleachers were already filled. Wolves clustered together in packs, whispering. Humans sat farther up, curious but clueless about half the drama they were feeding off. Everywhere I looked, I could feel people talking. The dead boy. The challenge. And Jane.
My name kept getting paired with hers like it was glued there.
I tried to block it all out, but whispers had a way of getting under your skin, especially today.
Jason bumped my shoulder as we walked into the locker room.
“You good?” he asked.
“Fine,” I lied.
He looked at me like he didn’t buy it, “You don’t seem fine.”
“I said I’m fine.”
He raised both hands. “Alright. Just checking. Don’t bite my head off.”
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. My mind kept drifting to the rival Alpha on the other team. I could already feel him out there. His smugness felt like static in the air.
And Jane. I didn’t have to look for her to know she was somewhere in the bleachers. My wolf had been tugging me toward her from the moment I walked in.
“Focus,” Coach said as he stormed into the room. “I want everyone to stay sharp today. Especially you, Ross.”
I swallowed the irritation rising up my throat. “Got it.”
“Do you?” He narrowed his eyes on me. “Because I’m not babysitting you today. If you play like you did yesterday, I’ll bench you before the first half ends.”
I didn’t respond. He didn’t wait for one.
“Let’s go!” Coach barked.
We filed out, sticks in hand, skates biting into the ice. That sound usually calmed me. Today, it didn’t.
The opposing team was already on the rink. And right at the front was him.
The Alpha from the supermarket.
He smirked the second his eyes landed on me. Irritating. Cocky. Exactly the kind of guy who thought he owned the room because people let him.
Jason muttered under his breath, “This guy again…”
“Yeah,” I said quietly.
The Alpha raised his chin in a way that screamed challenge. His teammates thumped their sticks against the ice like some kind of entrance show.
Then the whistle blew.
And the game began.
…
I stepped forward, trying to let muscle memory take over. Trying to let instinct carry me the way it always had.
But something was off.
The second the puck hit the ice, my timing slipped.
I skated left when I should’ve gone right. I hesitated when I should’ve lunged. My stick hit nothing but air on the first pass. On the second too. Every movement felt a second late, like the world was moving faster than usual and I was stuck watching it.
Jason yelled at me from across the rink, “Damian! Move!”
“I’m moving!” I yelled back, even though I knew I wasn’t moving right.
The opposing team tightened their formation. Sharp. Fast. Too smooth for a standard college team. Their Alpha led them like he’d been doing this his whole life, barking orders, crossing lines, slamming into me every chance he got.
Once, twice, three times, each shove was more intentional than the last.
At one point, he got close enough that I could feel his breath on my ear.
“If this is your best,” he whispered, “she’ll be mine by sunset.”
My fist tightened around my stick so hard I felt the wood strain.
I almost hit him. Right there. Right in front of everyone.
But I stopped myself. Barely.
He pushed off with a grin and darted across the ice again, calling for the puck.
My wolf snarled so loud inside me I felt my chest tighten.
Mine, he growled.
“No,” I muttered under my breath. “Shut up. Not now.”
But my wolf wasn’t listening. He kept pacing, angry and restless, tugging at every nerve I had. And he wasn’t tugging me toward the Alpha.
He was tugging me toward the bleachers.
Toward her.
Every time I glanced up, I saw Jane’s silhouette. Still. Focused. Too quiet.
Geneva was beside her, waving, yelling, trying to hype the team up. Jane didn’t wave. Didn’t move. She just stared at the rink like the game was something else entirely. Something heavier.
And her eyes kept landing on me.
It made it worse.
Everything made it worse.
My focus slipped again. Then again.
The opposing team scored once.
Then twice.
Then a third time.
By the time the buzzer blasted for halftime, the scoreboard looked like a slap to the face.
3–0.
Jason skated over to me immediately. “Dude. What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing,” I said.
“Don’t lie. You’re off.”
“I said nothing’s wrong.”
“Damian—”
“Drop it.” My voice came out sharper than I meant.
He stared at me for a long second, then nodded slowly. “Fine. But if you’re going down, don’t drag us with you.”
I flinched. I don’t think he meant it to hit that hard. But it did.
Coach stormed over next. “Ross. You’re playing like you’ve never held a stick in your life. Fix it. Now.”
“I’m trying,” I said quietly.
“Try harder.”
He didn’t wait for a response. He turned away before I could even look up.
I could feel the burn of the crowd behind me. Whispers. Judgment. Curiosity. Wolves had a way of sensing weakness. And right now, mine was shining like a spotlight.
I skated off the rink, chest tight, breathing uneven. Not from running. From everything else.
The Alpha passed by me on his way to the bench. He bumped my shoulder on purpose.
“Keep playing like that,” he said softly, “and the girl is as good as mine.”
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. My throat felt locked.
I sat on the bench, elbows on my knees, gripping my stick until my knuckles went white.
My wolf was still pacing. Still pulling. Still angry.
But underneath the anger was something I didn’t want to name.
Fear.
Not fear of the Alpha.
Not even fear of losing the game.
Fear of losing something I hadn’t even claimed.
Something that wasn’t mine.
Something I kept pretending didn’t matter.
I shut my eyes, trying to breathe. Trying to calm the storm inside my head.
But calming down felt impossible.
Because the truth was right there, pounding behind every thought:
Right now, I was losing.
The game.
My control.
My focus.
Everything.
And the worst part?
I didn’t know how to get it back.
“She’s not mine to lose,” I told myself.
But the knot in my chest didn’t move.
I opened my eyes again, staring at the ice, at the crowd, at the Alpha laughing with his team.
“Get it together,” I whispered to myself.
But the words didn’t work.
Not this time.
Because I knew it already…
I wasn’t ready.
- Writer
