Page 36 of Hold the Line

“Yes,” Alex says. “You should have.”

I can practically feel how badly Cole wants Alex to tell him everything is fine. Alex does not. He leaves the truth sitting there between them, uncomfortable and deserved.

After a moment, Cole clears his throat. “For whatever it’s worth, you didn’t do anything wrong. You were good to me. Better than I was to you.”

“Yeah,” Alex says, a thread of dry amusement returning to his voice. “I know.”

Cole chuckles and rubs a hand over his face. “Can I take you to dinner when I get back? Not as a date. Just… as an apology. A real one. You can yell at me in person, and I’ll sit there and take it without making jokes.”

“I don’t believe the last part.”

“Fair.”

“And I’m keeping one of the jerseys.”

“You should take all of them. Make Elias suffer.”

Alex laughs softly, but when he speaks again, his voice is more serious. “Dinner is fine. As friends. But don’t ask me to tell you that what you did didn’t hurt, because it did.”

Cole’s fingers tighten around the phone. “I won’t.”

“So,” Alex says, “is he there?”

Cole’s eyes settle on me. “Unfortunately.”

I lean closer to the console, keeping my voice low and dry. “Tell him you were busy getting railed by your emotionally constipated teammate.”

Cole’s head snaps toward me so quickly I nearly laugh. “Ignore him,” he says into the phone, glaring hard enough to burn a hole through my skull. “That was Viktor being an asshole.”

Alex is silent for one second before bursting into laughter. “At least one of you finally did something about it,” he says. “Good luck, Cole. Seriously. You’re going to need it.”

The call ends a few minutes later, after Cole promises again that he will contact Alex when we return. He drops the phone into his lap and stares through the windshield, shoulders slumped. “He’s too good for this world,” he mutters. “And I’m an asshole.”

I reach across the center console and rest my hand on his thigh, squeezing gently. “You are,” I agree. “But you admitted it, apologized without trying to escape the consequences, and you will do better.”

Cole turns toward me, something soft and overwhelmed flickering across his face.

Then I add, “And you are my asshole now.”

He huffs and looks out the window again, but I catch the faint smile tugging at his mouth as his hand settles over mine.

The day before had been a complete blur of skin, sweat, and Viktor’s surprisingly gentle hands. I never would have guessed that the massive, stoic Russian brick wall who usually communicates in grunts and heavy stares was capable of pampering someone so thoroughly. He had fucked me senseless multiple times, then carried me to the shower, washed my hair, fed me, and held me like I was something fragile he was terrified of losing again. It was almost too much. Almost. Now it is the next day, and reality is crashing back down on me in the form of one very pissed-off captain.

We are in the locker room, getting ready for practice, and Elias is on a roll. He has been scolding me for the last five straight minutes in front of the entire team. “—and not only did you punch your own teammate on the ice like a complete fucking idiot, but then you ghosted all of us for a week and a half? Threw your phone away? Do you have any idea how worried we were? How many times I called? How many times Damian almost drove out there himself? You don’t get to just disappear like that, Hollywood! We’re a team. We’re family. And you—”

I try to cut in, raising my hands in surrender. “Eli, I’m sorry, I—”

“No!” Elias snaps, pointing a finger at me like I’m a misbehaving rookie. “You don’t get to ‘I’m sorry’ your way out of this. You punched Viktor! On the ice! In front of everyone! Then you vanished! I had to promise your almost-boyfriend season tickets and signed jerseys just to keep him from thinking you were dead in a ditch somewhere!”

Damian is leaning against the wall near his stall, arms crossed, trying — and failing — to hide the smirk. His eyes are sparkling with clear amusement at his husband’s theatrics. Viktor, smart man that he is, stays completely out of Elias’ way, methodically taping his stick in the corner like he is suddenly very interested in the texture of the tape. The rest of the team is just staring at Elias like he has lost his damn mind — Shane with wide eyes, Mats trying not to laugh, even the rookies looking equal parts terrified and impressed.

I open my mouth to try apologizing again, but Elias steamrolls right over me. “You are so lucky I love you, you dramatic little shit, because otherwise I would have—”

“Little Kade…” Viktor tries, his deep voice cutting through the chaos in that calm, steady way he has.

Elias whirls on him so fast his hair flies around his face like a golden halo of pure rage. “Don’t you little Kade me!” he snaps, jabbing a finger toward Viktor. “This is your fault! My best friend vanished for a week and a half because of… ugh!!” He cuts himself off sharply, clearly stopping before he spills any of Viktor’s deeply personal shit in front of the entire locker room. Instead, he grabs a roll of tape from the nearest stall and hurls it at Viktor with impressive accuracy. It bounces off Viktor’s shoulder and clatters to the floor.

Viktor doesn’t even flinch. He just looks mildly resigned, like he expected this.