Say It Ain’t So 

Noah's POV

At first, I think it's some kind of prank. Just another way for Logan to pull sympathy out of me and bring me closer to him even when I'm keeping a professional distance.

Then I see the look in his eyes, the raw fear and panic there. Then the words hit me like a fastball straight to the chest. 

"What do you mean?" 

"I mean I can't shift," Logan says, his voice trembling like it's taking every ounce of strength he has just to admit it. "I think Fenrir's gone." 

So he's not lying. But my brain is still running at dial-up speed and I can't process the situation before me. People losing their wolves isn't uncommon but it doesn't make it any less terrifying. I get shivers every time I read headlines from pack-cantered news networks that talk about some werewolf losing their wolf after a near fatal accident or after being overcome by grief. 

Losing your wolf isn't just like losing a limb—it's like losing yourself. Wolves are more than instincts or power. For my kind, our wolves are like the other halves of our souls, but that's just how we explain them to children. There are us. As the Moon Goddess intended. In our true, purest forms revealed under the full moon. Finnian is as much part of me as I am part of her. 

Fenrir isn't just some presence in Logan's mind. He's his anchor, his strength, the part of him that howls at the moon and believes he's invincible. To lose that…

I almost lost Fenrir once and it damn near drove me mad. After Logan left, there were nights when I could feel her slipping, the bond between us stretched so thin it felt ready to snap. She was still there—barely—but there were moments when I wondered if the stress of pregnancy and the grief of losing our mate would finally drive her away. If I'd wake up one morning and find her gone. 

The idea of Logan going through that… It's unbearable. And… inconceivable. I'd never considered the possibility of Logan Whitaker losing his wolf. It's like imagining the sky without the sun, or the ocean without waves. It's not just improbable—it's unthinkable. 

Finnian stirs in the back of my mind, her growl low and tense. Stay calm, Noah. He needs you steady. 

Steady. Right. I try to school my expression, but I can't stop the shock from showing. "What do you mean, you can't feel him?" I ask, my voice sharper than I intend. 

Logan runs a hand through his silver hair, his helmet discarded on the bench beside him. "I mean exactly that. He's… gone. He's been lethargic for weeks—ever since that night—but today I couldn't even feel him stir." 

The stadium is loud, Logan's unprecedented walk out now forgotten as the game finally hits off. But I can't hear the roar of the crowd, I can't hear the excited chattering of the commentators or the tense breathing from my team in the dugout. My brain is full of static, anger burning through that 'steady' facade I was putting up.

"If this has been going on for weeks," I begin through gritted teeth, "why didn't you say anything?"

Logan flinches under the harshness of my tone. "Because I didn't think it was a big deal," he replies, voice strained. "I thought I was just tired… recovering… something…I—"

My burning anger turns into an explosion. "LOGAN! YOU—"

He looks so hurt that I shut up immediately. It's not his fault. It's not his fault she did that to him, it's not his fault that he didn't know what to do when he felt himself slipping. When I was anxious about my wolf, I saw a doctor. But Logan is anti-anything that makes him look weak. His shoulders are slumped, his blue eyes clouded with fear and shame. He's already beating himself up—I don't need to add to it. 

I sigh and calm myself down again. "Okay."

He looks confused. "Okay? Okay!? Noah, I just told you that," his eyes dart around and I follow his gaze. The team is looking at us, pretending not to, here's not a best place for our conversation like ours so he rephrases. "You know what's going on and all you can say is okay?"

I glance over at the rest of the team, still scrambling to recover after Logan's sudden exit. I'd taken initiative and quickly sent Sven out as a substitute, but the crowd is restless, the energy in the stadium is shifting uncomfortably. The Coyotes are off their game and I have to hold the fort.

I'm here now. What are our chances with me on the team? 

I know that you know I make a difference.

He'd filled me with so much hope. Made me think even for a second that we had a chance to win this, that the Coyotes would be saved and I could keep my job and we'll all ride off into the sunset with big, goofy smiles on our faces.

But that was a pipe dream. I should've started filling out those job applications when I still had the free time. I'd called hima bird with a broken wing but now… now he's a wolf without his howl.

The Coyotes are screwed.

"Stay here," I tell Logan firmly. "We'll figure this out after the game. For now, just breathe." 

Logan looks like he wants to argue, but he nods, sinking back onto the bench. 

---

The rest of the game is a blur of chaos and tension. 

The Yellowjackets take the lead early, their cocky, lackadaisical style somehow working in their favor. Sven does his best, but he's no Logan. The Coyotes falter, their morale visibly shaken without their star player. 

My focus wavers, my gaze darting back to the dugout every few minutes. Finnian snarls in my mind, her irritation palpable. Stop coddling him and focus on the team.

But I can't stop the worry gnawing at the edges of my thoughts. Logan isn't just any player—he's the player. The one everyone was counting on. The one I've been counting on, even if I don't want to admit it. 

The game drags on, each inning feeling like an eternity. By the time we scrape together a narrow victory, the relief is hollow. We might have won, but no one is happy about it. 

Sven tears off his glove and storms into the dugout, fury coming off him in waves. "What the fuck was that Whittaker?" 

Logan immediately stands up from the bench he's been sitting on, his fists clenching at his sides. I throw down my clipboard and jump in between them but Stven doesn't care. 

"Stay out of this, coach," he growls, shoving me aside.

Finnian growls and frustration crawls at the base of my throat. Sven is one of the only three Alpha's on the team, one of the few who hasn't gone off to play for some major league yet. He's usually level-headed, respectful. But he's still an Alpha, they're not known for patience when things don't go their way and that game… heck, I'm pissed too and I know what's going on.

"What do you want?" Logan growls.

"What do I want?" Sven asks, disbelief soaking his voice. "You ass! Why did you just walk out?"

Logan rolls his eyes. "That was nine innings ago. Give it a rest."

"Is that all you have to say for yourself?" Sven roars, his fists clenched at his sides. "You left us out there to get steamrolled! If Coach hadn't subbed me in—"

Logan huffs. "I didn't ask you to sub in for me."

Sven's voice rises, raw and angry. "Yeah? Maybe you should've, instead of leaving like a coward!"

His body trembles, the beginnings of a shift rippling across his form. Fur sprouts along his arms, and his voice drops to a growl. "You had one job, Whittaker! One job and you screwed it up! Do you even care about this team, or are we just a stepping stone for you to fix your washed-up career?"

Logan's fists clench at his sides, his chest heaving. "My career is just fine," he growls, his voice low and dangerous.

"From the Shadows back to the Coyotes?" Sven spits out a humourless laugh. "What a joke. Some of us have been busting our asses for years, holding this team together while the league treats us like clowns in a circus. And then you show up, the prodigal son, all hype and no follow-through, and expect us to just carry you?!" The man's eyes are a blaze of fury. "You think you're still the Lightning, but all I see is a burned-out bulb."

Logan growls from deep within his chest and, for a second, I think I'll witness the miracle of Fenrir coming back just so he can beat the shit out of Sven. But, that doesn't happen. Instead…

"Sven, stop," Elliot snaps, grabbing his arm.

Sven snarls, "Let me go."

Elliot pulls him back, his Beta voice firm. "We won. Keep a cool head and celebrate. Your anger isn't an excuse to disrespect the team—or the coach."

Sven exhales sharply, his fur retracting. "I've got to talk to some reporters," he mutters before shoving Elliot's arm aside and storming out.

Noah exhales a long breath and looks at Elliot. "Thanks for stepping in." 

Elliot shrugs, his confidence shining through. "Someone had to. Alpha tempers and all." He glances at Logan, his tone softening just a fraction. "For what it's worth, Whittaker, the team's rooting for you. Even Sven, under all that bluster. We just need you back in the game, man." 

Logan looks up at him, his jaw tight. "Thanks, Elliot," he says, though his voice is strained, as if the words are foreign on his tongue. 

Elliot nods, then claps his hands. "Alright, everyone, clear out! Hit the showers, or Coach will make us do double drills tomorrow." 

The team disperses reluctantly, murmurs of frustration and concern fading as they shuffle off. Noah watches them go, tension still knotting his shoulders. 

Logan falls back onto the bench with a heavy sigh, his exhaustion evident in every line of his body. His head is bowed, his elbows resting on his knees. The usually confident, larger-than-life alpha looks small, his posture stooped as if the world's burdens rests on his shoulders.

The noise in the stadium has reduced to clusters of murmurs and unintelligible conversation as the place clears out. I sit down beside him, the tension in the dugout thick enough to choke on. 

"I'm sorry," Logan says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. 

"For what?" 

"For letting everyone down." He lifts his head, his blue eyes meeting mine. "For walking off the field. For not being the player you need me to be." 

His words hit something raw inside me. I want to tell him it's fine, that it's not his fault—but part of me can't. Because the truth is, he did fuck up. It may not be his fault but his inability to play almost cost us the game. We managed to scrape a win this time but how long can we keep managing?

"It's fine Logan," I say finally, though my voice is tight. "The most important thing right now is making sure you're okay. Physically and mentally." 

He exhales shakily, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know," he admits. "I don't know if I'm okay. I don't know if I can fix this." 

I've seen the soft side of him so many times. I've seen this 'rough and tough' Alpha break down, I've held him and wiped away his blood sweat and tears. Still, the vulnerability in his voice catches me off guard. In my mind, the mind of the incident was an… anomaly. An unfortunate incident that forced him to collapse. To my knowledge, Logan isn't the type to admit weakness, let alone show it. 

He always showed it to you, Finnian reminds me.

I lean forward, clasping my hands together. "Look, we'll figure this out. But you need to see someone. A doctor, or a specialist—someone who knows how to deal with this." 

He tenses beside me. "You mean, tell someone I can't shift? That my wolf is gone? You know what'll happen if that gets out." 

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Not just anyone. Discreetly. There are people who specialize in this kind of thing, Logan. Trauma specialists. Supernatural healers. Whatever it takes." 

He doesn't respond, his jaw clenching as he stares at the floor. 

"Logan," I say softly, my voice dropping. "I know you're important and your public personality means a lot to you—" enough to abandon your mate and unborn child for— "But, if we don't get this sorted, your career is over. Don't you understand that? People come to these games to watch you shift and dominate the opposition. If you can't shift…"

"I'm not the Lightning," he finishes, solemnly.

"Besides, are you going to abandon Fenrir just like that?"

His jaw hardens and a spark appears in his eyes. "Of course not."

I didn't think so. As a coach, I've forced myself to keep a cool head. To remain preoccupied with the effects of this… problem on the team. Losing our ace player before he can even start is a blow we might have difficulty recovering from. But for Logan… I really can't even imagine what he's going through. 

Finnian lets out a soft, sorrowful whine. I know she's thinking about Fenrir—mourning him. She's spent the game being my voice of reason and now she knows it must feel horrible to be without your other half. She worries if she'll ever see Fenrir again.

But I will not mourn. Fenrir isn't dead and we won't rest until we get him back.

"We'll get him back, Logan," I say strongly. I swear it. 

His head snaps up, his eyes locking onto mine. For a moment, something flickers in his expression—something I can't quite place. 

Finally, he nods, though the tension doesn't leave his shoulders. "Okay," he says quietly. "I'll do it. I'll see someone." 

Relief floods through me, though it's tinged with lingering worry. 

We sit in silence for a moment, the soothing 'shh shh shh' of cleaners sweeping dirt and debris out of the seating areas filling the space between us. 

"We'll get through this," I say finally. "One way or another." 

Logan nods, but his eyes betray the doubt he can't put into words.

As he stares down at the floor, his hands trembling in his lap, I'm haunted by my own words. They settle over me like a frigid spirit. Because no matter how much I want to believe it, one question lingers in the back of my mind.

What if I'm wrong?