I last longer than I should. Way longer. Long enough that even Cole stops chirping me mid–rope slam and just gapes, sweat dripping off his chin like he’s never seen me before. Long enough that Tyler mutters something broken about me being possessed. Long enough that Damian’s mouth curves just faintly at the scar, like he’s already decided how he’s going to wreck me for this later.
And then my legs give out.
Not graceful. Not heroic. Just—boom. The bar slips, my knees buckle, and I hit the mat flat on my ass with a grunt that rattles the rafters. The burn hits me all at once, fire in my lungs, every muscle in my thighs screaming, vision tunneling at the edges.
The boys howl. Cole drops the ropes instantly, throwing his arms wide like he just won a war. “FINALLY! The golden child goes down! Somebody get a camera—this is history!”
“Shut up,” I wheeze, dragging myself across the mat on shaking arms. I don’t even know where I’m going until I hit his shin—Cole’s shin—and collapse behind him.
He blinks down at me. Then his grin explodes, wide and wicked. “No way. No fucking way. The pup hides behind Hollywood? This is better than Christmas.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I gasp, curling into his shadow like it’ll save me. “I’m not hiding, I’m—strategically recovering.”
Cole cackles loud enough to wake the dead. “Strategically—oh my god, Cap, you hear this? Kid’s actually shaking so hard he’s using me as cover.”
And yeah. He’s not wrong. My body’s trembling like I’m about to combust, every nerve fried, every muscle gone. I can still feel Damian’s gaze on me though—burning, steady, drilling through Cole’s smug grin like he can see me crouched behind him anyway.
“Hollywood.”
One word.
Cole freezes mid-laugh. His grin falters, and he looks at Damian like he just realized the grim reaper wears a Reapers jacket. “Uh. Yeah, Cap?”
“You’ve got three seconds to move.”
Cole’s eyes dart down to me, still crouched behind him. Then back to Damian. His smirk comes back—slower, shakier—but he doesn’t budge. “You wouldn’t hit a man when he’s protecting the weak, would you?”
The silence that follows is lethal.
Cole’s arm drops heavy across my shoulders, sweat-soaked and ridiculous, but steady all the same. He’s grinning like the devil himself, chest heaving, hair plastered down from the workout, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t so much as twitch when Damian’s glare pins him like a butterfly under glass.
One second. Two. Three.
My lungs are screaming. I canfeelthe weight of it—the silence, the storm brewing in Damian’s chest. I’m bracing for the snap, for the inevitable hand on the back of my neck dragging me out like a bad dog.
Instead, Damian’s scarred mouth lifts just faint at the edge. “Good.”
Cole blinks. The grin stutters on his lips. “…Good?”
“Protect him like that on the ice too.” Damian’s voice is steel, low and final.
For once, Cole doesn’t taunt. Doesn’t stall. Doesn’t even breathe wrong. He just nods, still wide-eyed, still sweating, and says, “Yes, Cap.”
Damian tilts his head. The silence stretches, then—“Now move.”
The weight of it lands heavy. I can feel Cole’s pulse jump under the arm he’s still got slung over me. For half a second, I think he might be suicidal enough to hold his ground. But then he lets out a wheezing laugh, pats my sweat-drenched curls like I’m a dog, and sidesteps fast.
“Can’t say I didn’t try, curls,” he mumbles under his breath, eyes still flicking nervously toward Damian. “Better you than me.”
And just like that—I’m exposed. Knees still trembling, chest heaving, every muscle in my body wrecked. Damian’s gaze lands on me like a goddamn guillotine, and I swear I can’t feel the ground under my feet anymore.
“On your feet.”
The words crack across the gym like a blade.
My stomach drops. My legs already feel like wet noodles, lungs still shredded from the last set—but there’s no mistaking that tone. Not a request. Not a suggestion. A command.
The whole team hears it.
