Page 47 of Hold the Line

Viktor’s voice softens even more, still in Russian, praising me every time I get it right. “Good… just like that. Such a perfect boy. Breathe for me, baby. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

Then he starts telling me another story, still speaking in that low, soothing Russian, each word deliberate so I have to focus on understanding him.

“Do you remember your second season, when you scored that overtime winner against Boston? After the game, you were so happy you jumped on the bench and hugged everyone. I stood there watching you, and all I could think about was pulling you into the showers and kissing you until you couldn’t breathe. I wanted to press you against the tiles and tell you how proud I was. How much I wanted you. I went home that night and couldn’t sleep because every time I closed my eyes I saw you smiling at me. I have wanted you longer than I knew what to do with. Longer than you will ever know.”

Every time my breathing starts to match his again, he praises me softly. “Good boy… yes, just like that. You’re doing so well. My brave, loud, beautiful bird.”

I’m still gripping his wrists, but the panic is loosening its claws. My chest rises and falls with his, slower now, steadier. Viktor’s eyes never leave mine, dark and steady and full of something so gentle it makes my throat tight for an entirely different reason.

“She… she’s going to… hate me,” I pant, the words tumbling out between shaky breaths as I clutch at Viktor’s wrists like they’re the only thing keeping me tethered to the ice.

Viktor’s brow furrows in genuine confusion, his thumbs still stroking my cheeks. “Who?”

“Your mom,” I whine, my voice cracking pathetically as fresh panic surges through me. The thought of meeting her — of standing in front of the woman who raised him, who survived his father, who Viktor crossed an ocean to protect — makes my stomach twist violently again.

Viktor snorts softly, the sound almost fond despite everything. “Soroka… she was you.” His voice stays low and steady, Russian accent wrapping around the words like a warm blanket. “She’s going to take one look at you and start crying because you are exactly like what she used to be. Remember? I told you I was afraid I would take your light away the same way my father took it from her? You two are so similar. She’s going to love you.” He searches my eyes, gentle but serious. “Is that why you’re panicking right now?”

“Yeah…” I choke out, the fear spilling over. “What do you mean?! What if she thinks I’m not good enough for you and you’re going to leave me???” The words come out louder than I intend, raw and desperate, my hands tightening on his wrists as tears prick at the corners of my eyes.

Viktor suddenly gets very serious. His hands cup my face more firmly, tilting it up so I have no choice but to look at him. “Excuse me?” “Cole Hollywood Vance,” He continues, using my full ridiculous name like he’s scolding a child, but his voice is so steady and warm it cuts straight through the panic still clawing at my ribs.

I frown, confused and still breathing too fast, because he never calls me that. Not the full thing. Not with the nickname in the middle like that.

Viktor keeps my face gently cupped in his big hands, thumbs stroking my cheeks as he looks me dead in the eyes. “Do you think I beat myself up for four years over wanting you, and now that I actually have you, I’m going to let anything or anyone take you away from me?”

I stare up at him, eyes wide and watery. The words sink in slowly, pushing back against the spiral. “…No?” I whimper, the sound small and uncertain.

Viktor’s expression softens even more. “Say that again.”

“No…” I whisper, barely audible.

“Louder, Vance. Kade can’t hear you, he’s got terrible hearing,” Viktor says, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s fighting a smile. It’s the same joke Damian made last year when Elias was spiraling— telling him to say it louder because Viktor “didn’t hear him.” The memory hits me and a tiny, shaky smile breaks through despite everything.

“No,” I say louder, my voice cracking but steadier now.

“That’s right. No,” Viktor confirms, leaning in until his forehead rests against mine. “I am not leaving you. Not for my mother. Not for anyone. You are stuck with me, Cole. Loud, chaotic, beautiful you. She is going to love you. And even if she didn’t — which she will — it would not change a single thing. You are mine. I fought too hard to have you. I am not letting go.”

I let out a shaky breath, the panic loosening its grip as I lean into him, my forehead still pressed to his.

“VIKTOR PETROV AND COLE VANCE ARE YOU SHITTING ME?!?!” Zara’s voice booms from the entrance tunnel, sharp enough to make half the team flinch. My eyes widen in pure panic as I realize what this means. The elevator. The broken camera. The very obvious security footage she somehow got her hands on from Halifax. Oh no. Oh fuck.

Viktor’s eyes close for one tiny second, like he’s praying for strength, before they snap open again. He looks straight down at me, dark eyes sparkling with something dangerously close to amusement. “Run, magpie,” he smirks.

Well shit.

We both bolt.

I push off the ice hard, skates carving frantically as I race toward the opposite tunnel, Viktor right beside me like a goddamn freight train. Zara is screaming after us, heels clicking furiously as she storms closer to the boards.

“Get back here right now! I have seen things I can never unsee! You two broke a security camera! In an elevator! I am going to murder you both and make it look like an accident!”

Behind us, the entire team loses their goddamn minds. Laughter explodes across the ice — Elias is doubled over, Shane is howling, even Damian has his head thrown back laughing like I’ve never seen before. Lena is cheering from the stands like this is the best Christmas present she’s ever received.

I’m laughing too now, breathless and half-terrified as Viktor and I sprint off the ice like criminals, sticks abandoned, skates still on, nearly crashing into the boards as we scramble toward the locker room tunnel. Viktor’s hand finds mine at some point, gripping tight as we run, and I feel lighter than I have in weeks.

Zara’s voice follows us all the way down the tunnel, promising pain and paperwork and several very creative forms of torture.

The second we burst into the locker room I almost faceplant straight into the floor, legs tangled from the speed and leftover adrenaline. Viktor’s arm snaps out instantly, catching me around the waist before I can eat shit, steadying me like it’s nothing. I laugh as we both start ripping off our skates like the building is on fire.