Before he can answer, Harrow’s gaze cuts to me.
“And you, Kade.” His mouth curls around the cigar. “You trained a pup into an attack dog. Good work.”
Elias goes nuclear.
Tomato red. Hands fumbling at the strap of his helmet like he might actually crawl into it for cover. His hair dripping, face burning scarlet all the way down his throat.
Cole can’t help himself.
Hebarks.
A loud, sharp, ridiculous bark that ricochets off concrete. “Woof, woof, Cap’s attack dog!”
The locker roomerupts.Mats nearly doubles over, Shane crosses himself like he’s not laughing but he is, Tyler shrieks, Viktor actually snorts.
Elias covers his face with both hands, whining into his palms, “Oh mygod—”
And I just smirk. Slow. Sharp. Scar tugging.
Because Coach is right.
He’s my pup. My attack dog. And tonight, after the noise dies and the doors close, I’ll reward him for every single second of it.
The smoke clears when Harrow ghosts out, leaving the room loud again—water bottles hissing, tape ripping, helmets clattering against the floor. But not him. Not Elias.
He’s still in front of me, gear half-shed, sweat dripping down his forehead, chest heaving like he’s not sure if he’s breathing or burning. His gloves hit the floor with a thud. His helmet clangs against the bench. And then his fingers—shaking, reckless—curl tight in the front of my jersey.
Green eyes locked on mine, wide, buzzing, pleading.
“When you retire from the ice…” His voice cracks, rough, small, and wild all at once. “Will you be my coach?”
The room goes silent again. Boys freezing like someone cut the sound.
I peel off my gloves. Slow. Deliberate. Helmet dropped onto the bench beside his. My hand lifts, slides into his curls—wet, heavy—and I tug until he tilts his head up.
“Yes, baby.”
The word leaves me steady, low, certain.
And he freezes.
Mouth falling open, whole body locking like he’s never heard me say it—because I haven’t. I’ve never called anyone that. Not a single soul in my life.
“Baby,” he repeats. His lips tremble around it, his throat works like he can’t swallow the sound.
I lean down. Close enough he can feel my breath scrape his ear.
“But I already am your coach. And your captain. And your enforcer.”
His lashes flutter. His breath catches. His voice comes back wrecked, wrecking me in turn.
“And my everything.”
Christ.
Before I can even answer, Colegasps.
Not subtle. Not quiet. Sharp enough to snap the room in half. “Oh mygod—you guys—” The crazy bastard looks like he’s watching his favorite rom-com play out live.
