“Eat the rest of your toast,” he says, smirk curling as he grabs his jacket.
The toast is gone in two bites—shoved down—and then I’m bolting for the bathroom. Yesterday’s clothes, wrinkled and damp from the mess we made, get yanked back on. My hair is still wild, my lips still bruised, and IknowCole’s going to take one look at me in the locker room and never shut the fuck up.
Fine. Let him.
By the time I shuffle back out, tugging at my shirt, Damian’s already dressed. Black on black. Jacket zipped, hair tied, hands steady. He looks like he never once touched me, never once bent me until I broke. And then he looks at me.
I reach for my jacket, already bracing against the cold waiting outside, when his hand cuts me off.
“Put it back.”
I blink. “Sir… it’s freezing out.” My voice cracks into a whine before I can stop it, the pout spilling across my face.
And then—he moves.
One of his old jackets, the ones hanging heavy on the hooks by the door, the ones I shoved my face into like a deranged fanboy not even an hour ago—he takes it. Worn leather, frayed edges, crimson patch faded with years.
And he wraps it around my shoulders.
Not hands me.Wraps it.Big hands sliding down my arms, pulling it snug, collar tugged high around my throat like he’s shielding me from the cold. Like I’m his.
I don’t even realize I’m shaking until he plucks my own jacket clean out of my hands, hangs it up in place of his old one. The swap is final, unarguable.
My cock twitches. Honest to God twitches. I almost come in my pants from nothing but fabric and the weight of his hands at my shoulders.
He doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t explain. Just says, calm and final:
“You wear me now.”
I whimper. Loud. Shameless.
The boys are loud tonight—louder than usual. Helmets clattering, sticks tapping, tape ripping. Cole’s holding court on one bench, sunglasses actually perched on his head like he’s about to star in a music video, taunting Mats about his nonexistent love life. Tyler’s still pulling his socks on wrong and getting chirped for it. Viktor hasn’t said a word, just sharpens his blade edges with the kind of focus that would gut a man.
And Elias—
Christ.
He’s the loudest of all of them.
Bouncing out of his jersey like it’s electricity, poking three people at once, curls damp and wild, mouth running so fast even Cole can’t keep up. Every grin he flashes lights up the room, every shove to a teammate’s shoulder keeps the chaos rolling. He’s buzzing, reckless like he’s been plugged into the arena lights.
I watch him from across the room.
Laces tugged tight, tape biting clean against my knuckles. My gear goes on with the same methodical precision it has for years. But my eyes—my eyes keep dragging back to him.
To the rookie center who hasn’t shut the fuck up since he walked in here.
To my pup.
He hasn’t noticed me watching. He never does. Not until I want him to. Right now he’s too busy grinning at Tyler, smacking him with a roll of tape, daring him to fight back. The kid doesn’t realize he alreadywon.He’s already got every vet in this room clocking the fire burning out of him.
This is exactly what I wanted.
Because tonight isn’t against Haverton, or Montreal, or any of the old ghosts. Tonight’s the first home stand againstthe Wranglers.Calgary’s old rival. The team that hates us like religion. Fast, vicious, filthy. The kind of game that eats rookies alive if they don’t have steel in their spine.
I look at Elias.
He’s steel.
