“Drill,” I bark, calm, final. Like nothing happened. Like I didn’t just kiss my rookie center in front of all of them.
They obey.
Cole is the last to move, of course. He’s grinning so wide it’s a wonder his face doesn’t split. He skates lazy toward the dot, and scoops Elias’s gear off the ice. Helmet in one hand, stick in the other, smirk carved across his face.
He coasts up to Elias, shoves the helmet hard against his chest. “Here you go, curls. Might wanna strap it tighter next time—you know, in case Cap kisses you so hard your brain falls out.”
The benchhowls.
Elias turns red again, ears burning, lips pressed tight. His fingers clutch the helmet against his chest like he doesn’t know whether to throw it or hide behind it.
Then he snaps.
He lunges straight for Cole, shoulder slamming into him with all the pent-up fire of the last five minutes. Cole yelps, staggering, sunglasses flying off his helmet as he cackles loud enough to echo.
“Atta boy, curls!” Cole wheezes, half-laughing, half-fighting him back. “Don’t let me chirp you without at least buying me dinner first!”
The vets are pounding their sticks again, Tyler shrieking like a banshee, Shane muttering about holy water. The whole rink is chaos—exactly the way I like it.
And Elias is glowing.
My pup.
The airport hums like a hive—rolling suitcases, gate announcements, the low buzz of people shuffling from one place to another. But all I can hear is the sound of my pulse.
Too fast. Too loud.
I’m standing at the gate, staring at the number on the screen like it’s the countdown to my execution. The boys are behind me somewhere—Cole taunting, Shane muttering about TSA being a curse, Tyler whining about middle seats. Usual chaos.
But none of it matters.
All that matters is the jet bridge. The plane waiting at the end of it. The memory of turbulence, steel shaking under my feet, my chest locking tight until I couldn’t breathe. The flight where I lost it—full panic, full meltdown.
And now I’m supposed to do it again.
“Nope,” I say, sudden, loud enough that a couple people waiting turn their heads.
Then I spin on my heel, ready to bolt the other way. I don’t even care where—I’ll walk home, skate home, crawl home if I have to. I’m not—
Wham.
Straight into a wall. Solid. Heavy. Smelling like smoke and steel and the faint bite of leather.
Damian.
I stagger back a step, breath catching in my throat. His eyes are steady on mine, unreadable, pinning me in place like nails.
My voice comes out cracked, trembling, the fire from a second ago gone to ash. “S-sir…”
The boys are still chirping somewhere behind us, clueless, boarding passes in hand. The gate agent’s calling our group number. The line’s moving.
And I’m frozen.
Right in front of the man who’s the only thing scarier than the plane itself.
He doesn’t grab me.
Damian just looks down at me, hands still shoved in his pockets, head tilted the slightest bit—like a wolf watching a rabbit freeze on the edge of its den. No words. No growl. Just that look.
