The whole hallway erupts—reporters laughing, scribbling, cameras flashing brighter. My stomach drops to the floor, heat flooding hotter down my neck. Oh my god. Oh my god, I’m actually going to die right here in the tunnel.
Damian doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t blink. Just steers me forward through the noise, his body a wall, his voice cutting the chaos to ribbons as he tells the press:
“No more questions.”
And the hallway parts.
Like the Red Sea. Like none of them would dare stand in his way when he sounds like that.
My knees nearly buckle again, but his hand keeps me upright, dragging me past cameras and shouts and straight into the safety of the locker room.
Except safety doesn’t exist here.
Because the second we step inside—Cole sees us.
And his grin could split the earth.
The locker room is already chaos—helmets clattering into stalls, gloves flung, tape snapping loud as gunfire. Cole’s voice ricochets off the walls like it owns the place, sunglasses somehow perched on his sweaty curls like he’s auditioning for a music video instead of peeling out of his gear.
And then his head swivels. His grin sharpens.
“Well, well,curls,” he crows, loud enough to cut through every other sound. “First press scrum and you’re plastered to Captain’s side like a lost puppy. Didn’t even need the PR team—just needed a leash.”
The boys howl. Mats nearly chokes on his water. Shane mutters, “Lord, give me strength,” and makes the sign of the cross with his towel. Even Tyler cracks a laugh before he remembers he’s still the bottom rung.
My face goes up in flames all over again and now my whole body burns hotter because yeah, okay, maybe Cole isn’t wrong. Iwasplastered to Captain’s side. With his hand on me like he owned every inch of my neck.
And the worst part? Every single camera caught it.
I open my mouth—ready to chirp back, ready to at leastpretendI’m not seconds away from curling up and dying on the spot—but then Damian looks up.
Just looks.
Not a word. Not a growl. Just those mismatched eyes cutting across the room until they lock on Cole.
Silence detonates.
Cole’s mouth snaps shut. His grin stutters for half a second—then comes back, slower, more dangerous, like he knows exactly how close he just came to skating on thin ice.
“Not a leash,” he mutters under his breath, throwing his sunglasses into his stall. “More like…a custom collar.”
The boys laugh again, softer this time. Nervous. Nobody dares push further, not with the weight of the captain’s stare still pinning the room down.
And Cole’s still grinning.
That wicked, reckless grin that says he’s not scared, not really. That maybe he’s the only man alive stupid enough to poke the reaper’s beast and walk away with his head still attached.
“You’re off the ice tomorrow,”Captain says.
It lands like a puck to the throat.
I choke on absolutely nothing, coughing on air, my whole body snapping up like I’ve just been told my dog died. “Excuse me?!” The whine rips out of me before I can stop it, sharp and high, echoing too loud against cinderblock walls.
Even Cole hisses through his teeth at the tone, sunglasses sliding down his nose like he’s shielding his eyes from the fallout. Mats goes still mid-tape, Shane mutters something that might actually be Latin, and Tyler looks like he wants to crawl inside his own stall.
Captain doesn’t twitch. Just raises one dark eyebrow at me.
My mouth snaps shut so fast I nearly bite my own tongue. “I mean…” I swallow, cheeks flaming. “…with all due respect, sir… I’m fine.”
