I think it immediately, sharp as a blade. Because of course I know. I know every detail of every man who laces up under my banner. Blood types. Birthdays. Every scar, every weak spot. They’re my responsibility. And Elias—he’s more than that.
But I don’t say it. I never will. That’s mine.
“Because he has the power to kick you off the team, pup,” I answer instead, calm, steady.
Elias doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t fold. He just tilts his chin higher, defiant, reckless, his eyes blazing like he’s daring me to cut him down.
“He might have the power to kick me off this ice,” he says, loud enough for the whole team to hear. “But you have the power to make me irreplaceable.”
The bencherupts.
Sticks slam against the boards, helmets rattle, Cole howls like he just saw the second coming. Mats actually lets out a sharp laugh, Viktor grunts something low, Shane muttersholy shitunder his breath. Tyler just gawks, pale and wide-eyed, like he’s watching a man climb into a lion’s cage.
Elias doesn’t look at them. Doesn’t look at anyone but me.
And Christ—he’s glowing.
I don’t answer him.
Not with words.
Instead, I reach up and unclip his helmet right there on center ice. The snap echoes, loud in the hush of the rink.
The boys go dead quiet. They’re watching like this is the only show they’ve ever cared about.
I let the helmet drop into my glove, toss it to the ice, and grip his chin in my hand. Tilt his face up higher. His lips part, breath caught.
My thumb drags slow across his jaw, rough against skin that’s flushed from the scrimmage. His pulse hammers under it.
“Yes, pup,” I murmur. “I do.”
Elias stares up at me without breathing. I stare down at him without moving. The air is heavy, charged, the whole rink caught in it.
And then—
“Goddamn it, Cap!” Cole’s voice cracks, loud enough to rattle the glass. “Kiss him already, you’re killing me!!”
Tyler shrieks like someone just lit him on fire. Viktor’s glove comes down hard across both their helmets with a crack, sending them staggering like chastised children.
But Elias—Christ, Elias—he goes scarlet. Tomato red, ears, neck, everything.
I smirk. Sharp. Predatory.
Then I kiss him.
Right there. Center ice. In front of every man on my roster. My mouth crashes down on his, hard, filthy, final, claiming him without apology. His gasp tears against my tongue, his hands twitch on his stick, his whole body melting into mine.
The boys erupt—howling, banging sticks, Cole cackling like he just won the lottery.
And I don’t let him go.
The kiss breaks, my hand still heavy on his jaw, my scar pulling with a smirk as I let him breathe again. Elias is red down to his collar, lips parted like I just stripped him bare in front of the world.
The team’s still losing their shit—sticks slamming, helmets banging, Cole howling like a hyena—but I don’t indulge them.
I just reach for my whistle.
The shriek slices the air, sharp as a guillotine. The noise dies instantly, the boys choking back laughter, eyes still wide but bodies scrambling back into line.
