They arrived at the Sports Center and Crush headed for the front doors, but Blayne caught his hand. “This way,” she said, pulling him.

“Yeah, but—”

“With us.”

Blayne dragged him into the restricted, underground parking area of the center and to a set of elevator doors. They stepped into one and went down several levels. Although all of the shifter activities took place underground, Crush knew the floor they were heading to wasn’t the one he used to get to his season ticket holders’ nosebleed seats.

“Uh ... Blayne?”

The doors opened. “Come on.” She dragged him out, the feline following—and grinning.

“You might as well just go along,” Gwen told him.

“That sounds wrong.”

Blayne pulled him down a long hallway filled with shifters on the move, getting ready for the upcoming game.

Blayne suddenly stopped. “Wait here.”

“Yeah, but—” Blayne was gone so he looked at the feline. “I should grab my seat. The lines are usually long.”

“I promise it’ll be worth the wait. And”—she looked him over—“I did an amazing job with your hair. You need to show off your sexy new look.”

“Yeah. Thanks for that.” Christ, it was just a haircut. From what he could tell he still looked like your average biker meth dealer. Only now it was like he was heading to the funeral of an aged relative.

Cella walked down the hall that held all the owners’ offices until she reached Van Holtz’s. Like his office with the Group, it was big but sparse. Except for occasional meetings, Van Holtz wasn’t big on using offices. He loved working in his kitchen, at home or at his restaurant. That was always the best place to talk to him. But today, Cella didn’t have that kind of time.

The wolf sat in his chair, his head on his desk, his eyes staring out the window. She hated seeing him so miserable. Although, she must admit, she preferred this to the time she’d walked in and found Smith under the desk giving him a hummer. But hey, they were in love. Cella couldn’t argue with anyone being in love.

“He drives me nuts, Cella,” Van Holtz admitted before she’d even said a word. “Just the sight of him makes me want to smash his face in.”

“Just out of curiosity ... how come?”

“He’s just so sure he’s right.” Van Holtz lifted his head, planted his elbows on the desk, and rested his chin on his raised fists. “He never listens to anyone else.” Pretty brown eyes narrowed on her. Actually, all of the man was pretty. Just damn pretty. “Except you. He listens to you.”

“Only because he finds me completely nonthreatening.”

“No. He respects you.”

“Wrong. He respects my dad.Everyone respects Nice Guy Malone.”

“I want him to quit. I want him out.”

Cella had been afraid this was coming. There was only so far a man’s unbeatable talent could go to make up for his annoying OCD tendencies, and few shifters had patience for OCD anything.

“I know you do. But ... let me handle him.”

“You? Why would you want to do that?”

“It’s like you said. He listens to me. He trusts me. I’m his enforcer. He knows I have his back on the ice and off. And you know I have the team’s back.”

“I can’t ask you—”

“Yes, you can.” She closed his door and stepped farther into the office. “I do this shit all the time with my own family. The Malones band together against outsiders, but inside, they fight constantly. My father alone has eighteen siblings.”

Van Holtz sat up straight. “Not with the same ...”

“Oh, God, no.” Cella laughed. “No way. It took my grandmother ages to settle down with one male.”

The wolf’s eyes grew wide. “Wait ... are you saying that all your father’s siblings are from the same—”

“Mother. Yeah. Grammy Malone. The Malones are matriarchal and the females only settle down when we’re ready to or when the women of the family feel it’s ‘time,’ ” Cella said with air quotes. “Although, they don’t do much matchmaking these days. Thank God.”

Van Holtz shook his head. “I’m sorry. I can’t let it go. Your grandmother had—”

“Eighteen children. Yes. Happily, too. She loves her kids.”

“She’s still around?”

“Yeah. She retired from KZS about—”

“She was in KZS?”

“Who do you think taught me to be a sniper?”

“The Marines.”

“Nah. It was Grammy Malone.”

“But when did she have time?”

“She made time. Plus, she had the entire Malone family to help raise her kids. And the last eight were all with Gramps anyway. But we all help each other raise each other’s kids. When I was in the Marines or on the road with the teams I was on, the Malones raised my kid. When Jai was doing twenty-four-hour stints as a resident or during finals in med school, Malones raised Josie. And now that our schedules are more manageable, we help raise my cousins’ kids. That’s how it works for us. That’s what we do.”

Cella reached across the desk and patted Van Holtz’s hand. “So as you can see ... I’m totally qualified to handle a Bo Novikov.”

“Yeah ...” Van Holtz admitted, gazing at her, “I’m really starting to see that.”