Kayden
The press conference concluded with a flurry of shutter clicks and a lingering sense of nausea.
Coach Reddick, the coach of the Avalanche, didn't give me time to process the moment; he pulled me away quickly and handed me over to Rhys.
"Rhys, give the rookie the quick circuit. Show him the den before we hit the ice," Reddick commanded. "He needs to know his way around here."
I stiffened at the mention of Rhys's name. I didn't need a tour guide, especially not him. He was like a looming storm.
I expected him to refuse, but instead, Rhys just gave a curt nod.
"Follow me," he gestured, turning and walking away while I trailed behind him.
The Glacier Dome was a cathedral of steel and ice. It smelled of ozone and industrial chill—the kind of cold that didn't just sit on your skin but crawled into your lungs.
As we walked, I was painfully aware of the height difference. At 5'11", I wasn't small, but Rhys's 6'3" frame made me feel like I was walking in the shadow of a mountain.
"Weight room is through those glass doors," Rhys said, pointing to his left. "Physical therapy is at the end of the hall. Don't end up there."
I nodded but said nothing.
Rhys moved with a stride that claimed the floor like a silent authority. Every time he turned to point something out, I caught the smell of winter pine and cold steel.
It was a scent that screamed Top Alpha, and it attracted me despite myself. I hated his arrogance, but Rhys was a gorgeous man.
While I followed behind him, my eyes kept dropping to the way his training pants hugged his powerful thighs, showing the lethal shape of his ass.
Dammit, I thought, biting the inside of my cheek. He's an asshole, but he's a masterpiece.
Finally, we reached the heavy double doors of the locker room where Reddick was already waiting with my new teammates.
The room was a temple of efficiency—chrome, white tile, and the Avalanche logo embedded in the carpet like a sacred seal. The air shifted the moment we entered, thick with the scents of a dozen Alphas and Betas—sweat, citrus, and the underlying hum of testosterone.
"How was the tour, Vale?" Coach Reddick asked.
"Great, Coach. Cap here," I pointed toward Rhys, "did his best."
Coach Reddick then pointed to the group. "Kayden, meet the family you'll be stuck with from now on. Everyone, meet our newest addition, Kayden Vale."
Silence.
No one spoke as they just stared at me with the same look everyone gave me once they heard I was a hockey player. They thought I looked too fragile, too soft to fit in. And they weren't entirely wrong—I was an Omega living on suppressants, overdosing on Alpha supplements to pass as one.
Omegas weren't allowed to participate in sports at all. Society said we were a distraction, that our pheromones would confuse our teammates' judgment.
To everyone else, Omegas were just sex tools—means of satisfaction for Alphas and Betas. Most considered us nothing more than breeders. But I refused to let society decide what was best for me. So, I became an Alpha—a fake one—to play hockey.
"That's him," someone stage-whispered. "Looks like he's still got his baby teeth."
"I'm not deaf," I said, my voice cutting through the noise with a jagged edge. "And if you're looking for baby teeth, check the ice after our first scrimmage. I'll make sure you find a few of yours."
The room went quiet. Good. If there was one thing I was good at, it was banter.
A tall man with sandy hair broke the tension first, stepping forward with a bright, easy grin. "Theo Hartman. Right wing," he said, offering a hand. "I score, I chirp, and apparently, I'm about to get my teeth knocked out. Welcome to the circus, Vale."
I grinned at him before taking his hand in mine. "I hope you're as fast at skating as you are at talking, Hartman. I'd hate to leave my linemate behind in the first period."
Hartman chuckled and tapped me gently on the shoulder. "I like you, newbie."
From the corner, a massive shadow stood, and I recognized him immediately: Jaxson Vane, the team's lead defenseman. He was seated on a bench, and his presence felt like a wall of muscle. He was sharpening a skate blade, the rhythmic shink-shink sounding like a threat. He looked up at me with green eyes and smirked.
"The name is Jaxson Vane. Don't get in my way, newbie. You may have been a star back on your former team, but here, you're nothing. I don't like stopping for speed bumps."
I forced a smile, even though I was burning with anger. "Then I suggest you sharpen those skates a little better, Vane. If you're too slow to keep up with me, that's a 'you' problem, not a speed-bump problem."
"Ignore Jax," a calm voice came from my left. A blonde man waved at me. "Miller Reid. I'm the goalie," he said, tapping his stick on the ground. "He's just worried you'll be faster than him. We've heard and seen how fast you are on the ice."
I smiled at Reid. At least there was someone who didn't hate me. "Nice to meet you, Reid."
Finally, I locked eyes with Luca Rossi, who was leaning against the doorframe. He was the second-line center, and I could feel his arrogance radiating from him along with his expensive cologne.
"Let's see if you're actually as good as they claim, or if this will be a mistake trade," he said, smirking at me. "Who knows? You might turn out to be trash."
I stepped toward him, pointing a finger when I was just a few inches away. "I know you don't like me—just like the others don't—but I'll make sure I prove myself on the ice. And also," I leaned closer so only he could hear, "if I'm trash, Luca, then you must be the landfill. You've been sitting in the same spot for years, while I'm the one getting the headlines." I tapped him on the shoulder and turned around before he could respond.
Coach Reddick announced we needed to be on the ice for a short practice. "Let's give Vale a proper welcome. Gear up!" He clapped a hand on my shoulder before walking away.
As soon as he left, Rhys stepped beside me. "Vale," he said, his voice low. "Your stall is next to mine." He walked past me, his shoulder brushing mine deliberately.
I followed him to the end of the row, where my name was stitched in silver across a fresh jersey.
"You have fifteen minutes for warm-ups," Rhys said, leaning against his own locker. He caught me staring at him and smirked.
I looked away immediately and reached for my duffel bag. As I did, he reached out at the same time to move a stray roll of tape. Our hands collided.
Instead of pulling away, I let my hand linger. I pressed my palm against the back of his, my fingers curling slightly over his skin. I looked up at him, my gaze slow and intentionally heavy, letting a sultry smirk pull at the corner of my mouth. I wanted him to feel the heat—to see exactly how little his authority intimidated me.
"Welcome to the Avalanche, Kayden," he said, his eyes searching mine as if trying to locate my pulse.
"Yeah," I murmured. "Thanks… Captain."
Rhys didn't pull his hand away. Instead, he tightened his grip on mine, his eyes darkening.
"Don't call me Captain," he told me. "It makes me sound as old as you claim I am. Just call me Rhys. At least for now, while we're off the ice."
I let my smirk widen for a second, my thumb grazing the side of his hand one last time before I finally let go. "Alright, Rhys."
His eyes held mine for a second too long before he finally broke contact and turned away.
I didn't move. I stayed leaning against the locker, my eyes dropping to trace the powerful line of his back and the tight shape of his ass beneath those training pants as he walked toward the equipment manager.
He was a problem, sure. But his ass was the problem, and I was going to enjoy making it mine.