“CAPTAIN.” Cole screams. “CHILDREN PRESENT. SOME OF US ARE INNOCENT.”
“Speak for yourself,” Shane mutters. “I saw you and Viktor playing footsie last night, bitch.”
“You saw nothing.”
“I saw enough to lose sleep.”
“I swear to GOD—”
“I’m gonna throw up,” Mats announces.
“Do it on Cole,” Viktor says without looking up.
The nurse turns and walks calmly toward the door, tablet in hand, expression a masterclass in neutral detachment. “I’ll be back when it’s less unholy in here,” she says over her shoulder.
“Bring lube!” I call after her.
“DAMIAN,” Elias gasps, face a disaster, pink from jaw to hairline. “Please shut up.”
I blink up at him, dazed and smiling. “You’re so bossy when I’m drugged. Kinda hot, baby.”
Cole slaps a hand over Elias’s mouth before he combusts. “He doesn’t mean it, curls. He’s just high. He’s on another planet.”
“Mmm,” I hum, turning my head toward the pillow. “Planet ‘Ride My Face.’”
Shane wheezes so hard he rolls backward an inch.
I turn my head lazily toward Cole, still sunk halfway into morphine-drenched euphoria, pupils probably blown to hell. Everything feels fuzzy. My mouth, my thoughts, the room, but not enough to stop what comes out next. “Did he fuck you yet?” I slur, squinting at Cole like I’m genuinely curious.
Cole turns crimson—full body, nuclear-core scarlet. His mouth drops open, his eyes bug out, and he makes a noise that might be a gasp or a laugh or his soul leaving his body. “Oh my GOD,” he groans, flailing. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I like thesadistDamian better. At least he doesn’t ask if I’ve been railed in front of a team audience.”
Viktor, leaning against the wall with arms crossed and zero intention of stopping any of this, just looks at me. One slow, unreadable eyebrow lift. Nothing else.
I grin at him, loose and molten, head flopping back against the pillow like I’ve been struck by the divine. “Don’t give me that look, Petrov. If anyone’s doing the fucking, it’s you.”
Shane screeches. Cole lunges for Elias like he needs a human shield. Mats audibly chokes.
“WHAT THE FUCK,” Cole yells, grabbing Elias by the arm. “YOUR BOYFRIEND IS BROKEN.”
Elias looks like he’s about to climb out the nearest window. “He’s medicated,” he hisses, turning so red his ears are blushing. “This doesn’t count! None of this counts!”
I hum softly, already sinking into sleep again, the edges of the world starting to smudge. My fingers find Elias’s and squeeze. “Still gonna marry you,” I mumble, lips barely moving. “High or not.”
Elias goes still for a second, then exhales a shaky, wrecked breath. “…I hate you,” he whispers.
My tongue’s heavy. My thoughts are syrup. But the second I feel Elias’s fingers still tangled in mineI say it. Quiet. Barely above a breath. “I love you,” I murmur.
And then everything starts to fade into white noise and warmth, into the soft hush of machines and the steady thunder in my chest that only calms when he’s near. I let the dark take me with his heartbeat under my skin, his hand still wrapped in mine.
Mine. Always.
The locker room is too bright, the overhead lights buzzing like hornets as the walls close in tighter with every second. Every sound—skates clacking, sticks hitting the floor, voices rising, Shane yelling something from his wheelchair—scrapes raw against my nerves. I can’t breathe.
Damian’s not here.
Shane’s leg is still fucked, which means Steve—the backup goalie who I’m pretty sure plays Candy Crush between periods—is starting in net. Mats keeps pacing, restless and wired. Tyler’s hunched over a trash can, still throwing up. And Cole hasn’t said a word in ten minutes, which is its own kind of terrifying.
Viktor’s taken Damian’s stall. Same spot. Same black-on-black gear, already laced tight, helmet sitting at his feet. He’s calm. Still. All wrong. He’s captain now, at least for tonight, the A on his chest stitched over with a C, and he’s staring at the whiteboard like he can will us into surviving this.
