Page 28 of Hold the Line

“Oh… hi.” There is a beat of silence, and even through the phone I can hear the resignation in her tone. She knows exactly why we are calling. “Listen… I tried. He refuses to go back to Ravensburg right now.”

Damian’s jaw ticks visibly, the scar on his lip pulling tight. When his glare swings toward me—his gaze pinning me like I am personally responsible for every problem on this team—I do not look away. Yeah. Yeah, I know. This is my fault. I am the reason Cole punched me on the ice. I am the reason he is out there somewhere shutting everyone out. The weight of it presses down on my chest until it is hard to breathe. All those years of keeping my distance, of trying to protect him from the parts of me that feel too much like my father, and I have only succeeded in breaking him anyway.

I watch as Elias steps closer to the desk and reaches for the phone. “Lena. Hi. It’s Elias,” he says, softer than Damian but still carrying that captain edge.

“Oh, hi Eli!” She brightens immediately on the other end, warm and familiar in a way that makes something twist in my chest. She has always liked Elias. Everyone does.

I raise an eyebrow at him. Elias just shrugs, like it is no big deal that Lena answers to his name faster than the head coach’s. Typical.

“Is he okay?” Elias asks, leaning in closer to the phone.

There is a long pause on Lena’s end. When she speaks again, her voice is quieter, heavier. “Not really. He is barely eating, though that part might be my fault.” We all frown at the same time, confused, but she continues before anyone can ask. “Barely sleeping. I think he threw his phone into a garbage can on the street the other day.”

The words settle over the office like frost. Barely eating. Barely sleeping. Throwing away his phone. This is not Cole. The ache in my chest sharpens into something closer to panic. I did this. My silence, my fear, my inability to be what he needs—it has pushed him too far.

The call ends shortly after that. Lena promises to keep trying but makes it clear her brother is stubborn as hell and does not want to come back right now. Damian hangs up and immediately turns that terrifying glare back on me. “You’re going to go get my fucking winger back, Petrov.”

“Kade…” I start to protest, shifting in my chair.

Damian stands up abruptly, fuming. Even though we are nearly the same height—him at 6’5”, me at 6’6”—he somehow looks a lot bigger right now. It is the pissed-off aura rolling off him like heat from a furnace, the way his bad leg does not stop him from towering with pure authority.

“No… you listen to me, Vik,” he growls, stepping closer. “I get it, okay? You’re scared. But you are not your father and whatever the hell you think you’d do to Cole, trust me, it’s nothing compared to what you’re doing to him right now.”

Elias’ eyes bug out beside me as he looks between us. He did not know. Of course he did not. I have never talked about my father with the team, never explained why I keep Cole at arm’s length even when every part of me wants to pull him closer. The realization that my shame is now public knowledge makes my stomach turn.

“Vik…” Elias starts, soft but insistent, already moving like he wants to push for answers.

“Don’t,” I say, cutting Elias off before he can push any further. My voice comes out low and rough, heavier than I intend, but I cannot deal with his questions right now. Not with Damian already glaring holes through me and the weight of everything pressing down on my shoulders like a bad check into the boards.

Elias lifts both hands in immediate surrender. “Sorry, Vik,” he mutters, backing off the subject completely. Then, because he is still Elias, he makes a dramatic zipper motion across his lips and throws away an imaginary key, silently promising that whatever he just learned stays between us. I give him a small nod of thanks. At least one person in this room knows how to read a room.

Damian does not waste time on sympathy. He grabs a pen and scribbles something on a piece of paper with sharp, angry strokes before slamming it down on the desk right in front of me. The address stares up at me in bold black ink.

“Go get him,” Damian orders. “I don’t care how you do it, Vik, but we’ve already played two games without him and my winger doesn’t fucking hide.”

I stare at the address, my fingers curling slowly into fists on my thighs. Part of me wants to argue. Part of me wants to stay right here in this safe, controlled silence I have built around myself for years. But the bigger part—the part that has been slowly unraveling since Vancouver, since the shower, since Russia—knows Damian is right.

I reach forward and take the paper, folding it once with careful hands. The silence in the office stretches again, thick and expectant. Elias is watching me closely. Damian’s stare does not waver, daring me to refuse.

“I’ll go tonight,” I say, folding the paper with the address and sliding it into the pocket of my hoodie. The words feel heavy on my tongue, but there is no point in delaying this any longer. Cole has been gone long enough. I have been running long enough.

Damian gives a short nod of approval, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. Then, because he is Damian Kade and apparently done pretending we have any boundaries left in this office, he asks, “Good. Now… how’s your mother?”

I groan, dragging a hand down my face as fresh irritation flares in my chest. Of course he is spilling my personal life all over the fucking desk like it is team strategy. “Seriously, Kade?”

“What?” Damian huffs, leaning back in his chair with zero remorse. “He’s my husband, Petrov… he knows.”

Elias just grins like the chaotic little shit he is, jumping up from where he was leaning against the wall. “Oh, by the way, I have something for her,” he says brightly, already digging through one of Damian’s desk drawers without permission. He pulls out a neatly wrapped box and slides it across the desk toward me. Inside are cookies shaped like tiny hockey sticks, decorated with red and black icing—Reapers colors, of course.

I stare at the cookies, then lift my gaze to Elias, one eyebrow raised in silent question. He just beams back at me, completely unrepentant.

“She’s… adjusting,” I say. “Picked up knitting.”

The words hang there, strangely domestic in the middle of all this tension. My mother is safe now, far away from my father, living in the small house Damian arranged for her. She is trying to build something new. I am glad for it. But right now, all I can think about is the other person I have hurt by trying to protect them from myself.

“Good. The house is under her name, I made sure of it. Is it to her liking?” Damian asks, his tone shifting into something almost casual, like we are not in the middle of a serious conversation about my personal life and my completely fucked situation with Cole.

I shift in the chair again, feeling exposed in a way I hate. This is exactly why I keep things to myself. “Yes. The house is great. She loves it.” I pause, then add quickly, “Can I go now?” The conversation is turning way too personal for my liking, and I can feel the walls I have spent years building starting to crack under their combined attention.