“No, I’m not—”
“You are,” he cuts in, voice low, threading his fingers through my hair. “You’ve been ready. You’ve led the team without me. You’ve bled for them. Skated like a devil. You’re their captain now.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to be.”
“You already are.”
My eyes sting and I bury my face deeper against his neck, fists clenched in the hospital blanket. I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to go back in time and stop the bus from leaving the arena. Instead, I just breathe and let him hold me. “Can you fire Steve?” I whine, nose still buried in the crook of Damian’s neck.
“You’ll be without a goalie,” he murmurs, lips twitching against my temple.
“Same difference,” I huff. “It’s like putting a tissue in net and hoping it catches pucks with vibes.”
Damian laughs quietly, but he doesn’t argue, which only proves my point.
“Tomorrow’s the next one…” I say, cracking at the edges. “And I can’t—” I swallow hard. “I can’t win without you. And without Shane.”
Damian exhales slowly. His hand slides up my back, grounding me again, anchoring me like he always does.
“We need to win two more,” I whisper. “And they only need one. One. And if they get it, they lift that cup. Not us. Not you. Not me.”
The room quiets. The TV flashes forgotten highlights in the corner. Damian’s heartbeat thumps steady under my cheek, slow and certain—like a countdown I’ll never control.
Eventually I lift my head a little. “You really think I can do it?” I whisper.
He looks at me. And fuck, that look. The one that wrecks me. Like I’m not just panic in skates. Not some rookie with pretty curls and fast hands. “I’d bet my life on you,” he says.
I bite my lip, nodding once. “…Guess I’ll have to go ruin the Icehawks then.”
I kiss him slowly with everything I’ve got left. Like I’m pouring every broken, burning nerve into his mouth because I don’t know how else to say thank you for surviving.
He kisses me back just as slow. And when I finally pull away, wrecked, I press our foreheads together and whisper, “You’re not the only one who’d bet everything.”
I slide off the bed, grab my phone, and head for the door. My legs still shake a little, like my body forgot how to function between grief and rage and too many losses. But I’ve got a mission now. Something to burn for.
This is our Cup.
I step into the hallway and start typing.
Me: Reapers. Midnight meeting. Arena. Come or don’t. But I’m not losing this war without a fight.
Cole replies instantly.
Cole:I’m already lacing up, baby.
Shane:Can I bring tequila?
Viktor:Tell me who dies.
Tyler:…will there be yelling?
I grin.
Fucking Reapers.
They gather at the rink. It's close to midnight, the arena half-lit, the jumbotron glows dim red overhead and I’m already on the ice, full gear, pacing back and forth.
Cole rolls in first, chewing gum. Sticks his head out of the locker room, glances at me, and whistles low. “Fuck, he’s feral.”
