Her Knotty List (MVP: Most Valuable Pack Book 4)

I admit, begrudgingly, that I owe Zane.

It took a little longer than I expected to get all my hockey gear out of my Jeep and shlep it around Knox’s big-ass house. It took even longer not to trip in the snow every six steps.

Now that I’m back on ice, with my beloved skates strapped to my ankles and the two travel goals I brought with me to keep my game sharp, I feel more like myself than I have in days.

Trudging around in frozen muck might not be my forte, but on my blades? I move like a totally different person.

That was one of the reasons I fell in love with the game. My mom used to smirk at me after pee-wee practices and fondly asserted that I should have been born on two skates instead of two feet.

Maybe that’s why I’m out here in the freezing cold, hoping Emma will play with me. It started out as an apology—one of a hundred I hope I’ll be paying back for a very long time. But now that I have a stick in one hand and the brand-new women’s skates I brought all the way from Florida in the other…

Am I doing this to say I’m sorry? Or show her that I’m not always such a pathetic grouch with balance issues?

Can it be both?

When I text Zane to tell him everything is in place, he answers within a minute. I mentally put more points in his column; although when he leads our omega out of the house, and I sense his chai scent all over her, he definitely loses at least half a tally.

His wolfish smirk says just how sorry he is.

Or isn’t. At all.

Emma might smell like some decadently spicy version of a classic cinnamon bun, but she’s also smiling. Despite having Zane’s hands clapped over the top half of her face while he guides her through the snow.

“Careful here, gorgeous,” he mumbles, directing her around a branch. He places a reassuring kiss and a nuzzle against her temple. “Just a few more steps.”

Jesus. He’s… sweet?

I shake off the strange squirm in my stomach. Which is pretty easy to do since, ten seconds later, the guy winks and offers me an even bigger shit-eating grin. “I have a delivery for you, Hot Shot.”

With a roll of my eyes, I glide forward, coming to the edge of Knox’s frozen pond. “Thanks,” I mutter, taking Emma’s mittened hands. “Now beat it.”

He smiles wider. “With pleasure. Our girl’s tuckered me out. I need a nap.”

Her cheeks glow pink, but he drops his face to her neck, scent-marking her with a whisper I don’t quite catch. Whatever he says has her beaming as he takes his palms off her eyes and starts making his way back to the cabin.

Emma blinks a few times, her eyes refocusing in the late-morning light. I watch her, mesmerized. It feels like my first time seeing the sunrise, drinking in every stray beam of light that catches in her curls or soaks into her jade-green irises.

She’s so fucking beautiful, I almost forget I’m in the middle of a romantic gesture here. With a swallow, I lift my left hand to show her the skates dangling from my fingers.

When I packed an extra set for this trip up, I scoffed at myself. It was a stupidly hopeful thing to do—why would the girl I’d accidentally pushed into the pool want to come skating with me?

I had to train, but she didn’t. And why did I think she’d want anything to do with me at all, let alone skating drills?

I couldn’t explain the impulse to plan for something that, surely, would remain an insane pipe dream. Yet here I am, on my own well-loved set of blades, offering the new pair to Emma.

Might as well be my heart on a freakin’ silver platter.

I’ve spent enough years using hockey to pull chicks—so I’m fairly sure I’m about to get one of two reactions. She’ll either squeal like I’ve splattered her in pig’s blood and pretend she needs me to teach her how to skate… Or she’ll act coy and bat her lashes as some sort of tease.

Honestly? With Emma? I don’t think I’ll mind either way.

Instead, she completely surprises me.

Her chiming laugh breaks the tranquility around us. A heart-stopping flash of competitive fire burns across her gaze as she lunges forward to snatch the laces right out of my hand.

“Oh, you’re going down, Hot Shot.”

It seems, in all my angst about lusting after Theo’s little sister, I forgot that she’s⁠—

Well.

Theo’s little sister.

She trash-talks like a pro. Bounds head-first into dangerous maneuvers with zero hesitation. And laughs her way through every slip and skid.

Emma clearly sucks at skating, in general, and hockey, specifically. She can barely turn in a circle and has to use her borrowed stick to keep herself from unintentionally sinking into splits, but she has so much fun that it’s impossible for me not to have fun, too.

My skating drills are a lot more limited than usual with the pond’s forty-foot diameter. She cheerfully heckles me through all of them, anyway.

“Is that all you got, Sinclair?”

“My grandmother shoots better than that!”

“Once I figure out how to hold this stick and balance at the same time, it’s over for you!”

All her banter would amuse me anyway, but the fact that her voice is chipper and she alternates her taunts with genuine cheers has me laughing until I’m breathless.

When I finally chuck my stick and loop around her in a smooth circle, she drops hers, too, falling hard against my chest. I catch her with another chuckle. “I don’t get it—are you cheering me on or insulting me?”

She shrugs, smiling wide. “Both, I think. My Omega likes insulting you; I like cheering you on. This seemed like a good time to combine the two.”

“Mm,” I hum dryly, tucking my lips into a thin line. “You gave her my message?”

She nods, suddenly serious. “No luck.”

My lip quirks up. “Guess I’ll have to try harder.”

Still as solemn as our sweet, silly girl can get, Emma nods again. “Afraid so.”

It’s odd, but suddenly, I’m not afraid. This whole day—setting up the goals, sharpening the skates—I’ve felt nervous and out of my depth. Now, as I gaze into Emma’s eyes and see the hurt swirling there, I just feel the steady weight of determination.

I cup my hands around her chilled cheeks. “Hold still.”

She does, clinging to my hips to keep herself upright while I hunch to murmur to the shapeless-but-very-real instincts that make up her essence. “I’m still here, Omega. Not going anywhere without you again.” A bleak smile flickers across my face. “Happy to grovel on my knees anytime.”

For once, Emma doesn’t laugh. Her small, wool-covered hands brush my dirty-blond hair back. When I glance at her face, I find her lower lip wobbling.

Fuck. Folding her into my chest, I squeeze her close. “I promise, Em, I’m going to make this up to you if it’s the last thing I do. I can’t even tell you how fucking sorry I am. I’ve been⁠—”

Lost.

Grieving.

A black hole.

She trembles slightly, her gaze wide and earnest as it skirts up to mine. My heart cracks, staring down into that vulnerability. Every instinct I have rears back from burdening her.

“It was a really long, really hard year,” I finally rasp out. “But, please, give me a chance to prove I can do this. Let me stay with you for your heat. And every other heat. I want to show your Omega I’ll never abandon her again.”

Emma’s answering exhale quivers. “Sh-she says, ‘bring it on, Alpha.’”

My face splits into a smile. “That’s my girl.”

Her hands wander down the small of my back, reminding me that I have one last surprise in my back pocket.

Extracting the dark green sprig from my sweats, I hook its red ribbon around my forefinger and hold it between us. Her face lights up, sending a fresh pang through my chest.

“Mistletoe! Ooh!”

Before I can make a move, she bounces up, planting her lips over mine in a kiss that’s all enthusiasm and zero finesse.

My little sunbeam.

Heart swelling, I clutch her closer, fisting her coat with my free hand and sealing our lips together. She whimpers into my mouth, gliding her tongue along mine until we’re both breathless.

The scent of warm, gooey cinnamon buns winds into the frigid air. When she shifts her weight, pressing her thighs together, my Alpha snarls.

When she senses the shift in my mood, mischief glints in my omega’s eyes. She leans back, reaching to take the mistletoe from my fingers.

“Did you say you were happy to grovel on your knees?” she asks, cocking a sunny smirk.

I nod. “More than happy.”

“Hmm.” Emma arches a blonde brow, slowly bringing the bundled leaves between our bodies. Until she’s holding it over the apex of her thighs.

Getting on my knees to kiss her pussy? Oh fuck yeah.

“You sure?” she teases, tilting her head in a coquettish gesture. “The ground out here is pretty co⁠—”

She doesn’t get to finish her last taunt because I’m on her before she can blink. And as I scoop my girl into my arms and skate to the edge of the pond, I know with absolute certainty:

My heart might be a shredded mess, but it’s beating. Bursting. Bleeding.

For her.