Reapers fans are on their feet, screaming his name, chanting like they’re ready to burn the whole place down.
He doesn’t stop. He grabs the puck, spins on his blade, whips it across the ice to Cole, who catches it, spins, and launches a wrist shot straight at the net.
Viktor blocks a rebound like he’s done this his whole life. And then Elias takes it back. Bursts across the blue line. Two defenders try to corner him. He spins around them, dips his shoulder, cuts in close and fires.
GOAL.
One minute in. The Reapers draw first blood and Elias skates to center ice, looks right at the Hawks bench, and blows them a kiss.
I watch him barrel through the door, curls flying, cheeks flushed, jersey half off like he forgot to undress before sprinting across the entire hospital. Cole and Viktor are right behind him, both grinning.
“Sir, DID YOU FUCKING SEE THAT??”Elias shrieks, wild and vibrating.
I smirk, grab a fistful of his jersey, and yank him in until his knees hit the side of the bed. “Yes, pup,” I murmur, proud in all the places that matter.“Good boy.”
His breath hitches, his grin breaking wide and feral. “We murdered them. We came out like goddamn demons. Did you see my first goal? Did you see the spin? The check? Cole almost died laughing!”
Cole’s already halfway flopped into the visitor chair, laughing so hard his ribs are probably bruised. “That defenseman screamed, bro. Legit screamed. Like—please, Mr. Mercer, not the face!”
“I was watching,” I rasp, hand still curled in Elias’s jersey. “TV, remember?”
“Yeah, well,” Elias mutters, eyes gleaming, “I wanted to say it in person. It’s better when I’m gloating directly into your face.”
Viktor, ever the silent wall of judgment and unbothered death, leans against the far wall and folds his arms. “He skated like his soul was possessed.”
“Possessed by me,” I mutter, and Elias actually chokes.
Cole wheezes. “Can you not say that when I’m sitting right here? I already got trauma from earlier.”
“From Viktor?” I ask, lifting an eyebrow.
Cole makes a strangled noise and hides behind his hoodie.
Elias turns back to me, still panting, still glowing, and shoves his hands through his curls. “One more game,” he says, and it’s quieter now. “We win one more and it’s done. It’s ours.”
I look up at him. The rookie who’s not a rookie anymore. My center. My chaos. My future. “One more,” I say. “And I’ll put that ring on your finger, pup.”
He freezes, then his knees hit the floor and his head hits my chest, and I swear, if I wasn’t already half-broken, I’d fuck him into the mattress right now in front of God and the entire Reapers roster.
I curl my fingers into his curls instead and kiss him slow. His lips are soft, but the way he leans into me? Starving. Like the adrenaline of the win hasn’t faded yet, the high of the game is still fizzing in his blood and he’s choosing me as his grounding rod.
Good choice.
When I finally pull back, he's pink-cheeked, grinning like he wants to devour me. “Do you need anything?” he asks, all soft and earnest.
“Mmm… coffee,” I smirk, dragging a lazy hand down his cheek.
He squints. “Are you evenallowedcoffee??”
I roll my eyes. “Fine. Tea. Happy?”
“No,” he mutters, but he stands anyway.
“Go on,” I say, jerking my chin toward the door. “Take Cole with you.”
“What?” Cole croaks from the corner. “I just sat down! He can handle tea! I’m fragile, Kade!”
I arch a brow. The brow.
