Then I nod. Just once.
“Mercer. Last one standing.”
And the whole rink knows it.
The room reeks of sweat, rust, and half-dead rookies. Gear clatters, tape peels, the steady hiss of the showers in the back. Bodies slump heavy against stalls, lungs still fighting for air after I dragged them across hell and back.
Cole’s sprawled with his pads half-off, head tipped back against the wood, gasping like he just survived a war. His grin’s sharp even through the wreckage.
“Jesus Christ, Cap,” he wheezes, dragging a towel over his face. “Do you fuck as mean as you coach?”
The room cracks with low laughter, weak but alive. Even Mats smirks into his water bottle. Tyler groans. Shane mutters something about curses in the bedroom.
And then—
“Yes.”
Elias’s voice. Raw. Hoarse. Loud enough to cut the room in half.
Everything stops.
Every single pair of eyes swings toward him.
He’s slumped in his stall. The second the word leaves his mouth, his eyes go wide, glassy and wrecked. His hand flies up, slapping over his own lips like he could shove the sound back inside. Like he could erase it.
The vets stare, mouths twitching. Cole’s grin dies into shock, then flickers back again like he doesn’t know if he should chirp or run for his life. Mats leans forward, brows high, grin curling slow. Shane blinks like he just witnessed a summoning. Tyler looks two seconds from fainting. Viktor? He just exhales, low, quiet, like he already knew.
I don’t say a damn word.
I peel the tape slow from my knuckles, every rip sharp in the silence. Let it curl to the floor. Let them watch me smirk. Just once. Just enough.
Because Elias Mercer just confessed for the whole room to hear—
And I don’t need to confirm it.
I already own him.
Elias jerks his hand off his mouth, coughs once. His laugh comes cracked, too high to be real.
“Yeah…nope.”
And then he’s gone.
Bolts upright so fast his pads nearly topple, skates clattering, curls sticking to his temple as he stumbles for the back. Theshowers hiss, steam curling out the door, swallowing him whole.
The room stays silent.
Not a breath. Not even Cole.
I peel the last strip of tape from my knuckles, slow, deliberate, and drop it on the floor. My smile cuts across the scar, eyes fixed as stone.
And then I follow.
The hiss of water swallows the noise of the room the second I step inside. Steam clings to the tiles, damp heat coating my skin. Elias is braced against the wall under a spray, jersey stripped, pads half-peeled. His breath comes too sharp, too fast. He doesn’t even hear me at first.
Until I’m there.
My shadow swallows him. My hand fists his hair, jerking his head back until his throat arches, water running down the line of it. His gasp cracks off the tile.
