Damian wraps his arm around me tight and I don’t even try to hold it in. I cry hard, lips pressed to his jaw, singing through sobs, holding on.
When the anthem ends, the announcer booms again: “Elias Mercer will take his place as captain. Congratulations, Elias!”
Coach is suddenly there—where the fuck did he come from?—ruffling my hair. I’m shaking. The cheers are still going, still crashing all around me, and then—“Also,” the announcer says, rich with drama, “The Reapers coach will be retiring as of today.”
The entire team gasps, heads whipping around as every eye snaps to Coach.What?
But the announcer doesn’t stop. “However—” a pause, loaded and perfect—“Damian Kade will take his place.”
Chaos explodes. Literal, screaming chaos. The team loses it. They spin again—this time on Damian. Cole screams so loud it cracks, Shane—still in his wheelchair—throws his helmet, and Mats just yells “WHAT?!” and bursts out laughing.
I’m gaping, stunned, completely speechless as Damian just smirks down at me, eyes soft and voice low, lethal with affection. “You didn’t think I’d leave you alone, did you?” And I cling to him—harder than before.
My fingers dig into Damian’s suit as I press my face into his chest, shoulders shaking with it—relief, disbelief, every damn feeling I’ve shoved down for months crashing through me all at once. Damian just kisses the top of my head, slow and soft, fingers threading into my curls as he murmurs, lips warm against my temple, “It’s your team now, baby.”
I choke on a sob. “But Vik was captain alternate,” I whine, voice wobbling. “He should’ve been next.”
“No, thank you,” Viktor scoffs flatly from behind us, sounding about as interested in the job as Shane is in sobriety.
I lift my head, blinking through tears just in time to see Cole wheezing with laughter and nearly dropping the damn Cup again.
I stare at Viktor.
He just smirks. “You have good instincts, Mercer,” he says, calm and steady. “You know, when you’re not panicking and spiraling like a deranged gremlin. You’ll be a great captain.”
I sniffle, then I grin.
“My captain,” Damian whispers into my temple, voice so low it feels like a secret tattooed into my skin.
My whole chest caves in. I whine, arms tightening around him. “My coach,” I breathe. “My husband. My everything.”
He exhales like I just killed him in the best way.
And I don't even care that the whole team’s staring. Or that there are still cameras rolling. Or that the Cup is probably somewhere behind us in Cole’s arms being used as a glorified champagne bucket.
The bass is thumping, the lights are low, and the drinks are flowing. Someone's already taken their shirt off—probably Shane—and the hotel bar is packed wall to wall with Reapers fans, media, players, and enough adrenaline to raise the dead.
I should be in bed.
Hell, I should be in a hospital bed, if you ask the glowering nurse standing ten feet behind me with arms crossed like she’s ready to slap me with my own discharge papers.
But I’m here instead, seated at a table in the corner, half a glass of whiskey in front of me, Viktor to my left, Coach across from me.
And my boy—my fiancé—at the bar.
Elias is a menace tonight. He’s got his curls bouncing, cheeks flushed, drink in one hand, Cole hanging off his shoulder, Shane slurring lyrics into a mic that definitely wasn’t part of the hotel’s original plan. They’re singing some unholy mix of 2000s boy band throwbacks and hockey chants, and Elias is somehow the loudest of them all.
I haven’t stopped smiling in hours.
Coach leans back, glass in hand, and gives me that squinty look he saves for when he’s about to get sappy or yell at someone. “You did a good job, Kade,” he says, nodding once.
I snort. “Took long enough, huh?”
Viktor grunts, sipping his vodka. “Could’ve done it faster if you didn’t crash a fucking bus.”
“Technically,” I mutter, “I wasn’t the one driving.”
Coach just chuckles, low and gravelly. “Doesn’t matter. You’re here. You finished what you started.” His eyes flick toward Elias, who is now standing on the bar with a sparkler in one hand and Cole’s tie in the other, and something softens in his expression. “And you made the right call.”
