Page 53 of Hold the Line

I've barely made it ten steps away from the house when I hear Elias’s shriek from inside, loud and dramatic enough to carry through the closed door. “VIKTOR PETROV!!”

It's that specific scolding tone he uses — the one that never actually works on Viktor but makes the rest of us straighten up anyway. I yelp myself, heart jumping into my throat, and immediately start walking faster down the snowy driveway. I am one hundred percent sure Elias is in there making Viktor follow me. Of course he is. The meddling little shit saw me slip out and probably decided to play matchmaker whether I wanted it or not.

My boots crunch against the snow as I pick up the pace, breath fogging in the cold night air. Part of me wants Viktor to follow. The bigger part — the scared, spiraling part — is terrified of what he will say if he does. I don't know how to fix whatever is breaking between us. I only know I can't stand here and watch him pull away anymore tonight.

It is December 26th, and I am breaking the promise I made to Cole.

I know I told him I would not leave. I know I meant it when I said it. But the fear is louder than the promise right now. The image of my father’s face, the way he looked at Cole like he was something to destroy, the violence I let loose on my own porch — it all loops in my head on repeat. I cannot stand the idea of becoming that around him.

Yesterday morning I went to Cole’s apartment and left his Christmas present at the door. A small box with a note I could not bring myself to sign with more than my initial. He has not texted. I have not texted. Neither of us has called. The silence feels like punishment I probably deserve.

Right now I am sitting in Damian’s coach office at the rink. No one is playing today. The arena is quiet except for the low hum of the lights. Damian has a glass of scotch in his hand, swirling it slowly. I refuse to touch alcohol anymore. Not after what happened on Christmas Eve. Not after seeing what it does to men like my father. Not after what it almost made me do around Cole.

“Petrov… fix it,” Damian says.

“I can’t,” I reply, staring at the floor.

He grunts, taking a slow sip. “Didn’t know I had a coward for defense and alternate.”

I shoot back without thinking. “Didn’t know I had a bully for coach.”

Damian snorts, the sound almost amused. “Yes you did. Fix it.”

He grabs his cane, pushing himself up from his chair. He starts walking around the office pulling framed team pictures off the shelves from every year since Cole joined the Reapers. One by one he slams them onto the desk in front of me, arranging them in chronological order like evidence in a trial.

“Rookie year,” Damian starts, pointing at the first photo. It is from the season opener against Boston. Cole is in the back row, fresh-faced and grinning, but his eyes are locked on me with this soft, awestruck look — like I hung the moon and then stole it away just to watch him chase it. I remember that night. He scored his first NHL goal and looked at me like I was the reason the puck went in.

“Year two,” Damian continues, slamming down the next three. The first is from the All-Star break skills competition, where Cole absolutely crushed it and then immediately looked for me in the crowd. The second is from a late-season game against Toronto where I blocked a shot meant for him and he skated over after the whistle, his eyes shining with something I was too scared to name. The third is from the end-of-season party, Cole half-drunk and laughing, but his gaze still found me across the room like I was the only person there.

“Year three,” Damian says as he adds three more. The first is from the home opener, Cole scoring the game-winner and immediately pointing his stick in my direction on the bench. The second is from a brutal road trip in Vancouver, where I protected him from a dirty hit and he looked at me afterward like I was his safe place. The third is from the awards night, Cole in a suit, eyes soft as he watched me accept the Norris.

“Last season,” Damian continues, his voice softening just a fraction as he sets down the final three. Elias had just joined the team. The first is from the Cup Final celebration, Cole and I standing side by side, his shoulder brushing mine while he looked at me like I was everything. The second is from the parade, Cole jumping on my back for a photo while laughing, but the way he held on said more than the smile did. The third is from the ring ceremony, Cole standing just a little too close, eyes on me instead of the camera.

Every single picture. Every single year. Cole looking at me like I was the center of his universe.

Damian leans on his cane, staring down at me. “Four years, Petrov. Four years of him looking at you like that. And you’re going to throw it away because you’re scared?”

I stare at the photos, the truth of it hitting me harder than any hit I have ever taken on the ice. Cole has been mine for longer than I ever let myself believe.

But then Damian gets into that sadist bastard mood of his, and reaches for another stack of photos from Cole’s rookie year, the ones taken after that night we hooked up — the night I kissed him like he was oxygen and then left before he woke up. Damian slams them down on the desk one by one, right next to the earlier pictures.

The difference is brutal.

In the first one, from a morning skate a few days after that night, Cole is smiling for the camera but his eyes are hollow, drained. The second is from a team dinner, him laughing at something Shane said, but the smile does not reach his eyes — he looks angry, brittle, like he is holding himself together with sheer willpower. The third is from the plane ride home after a road trip, Cole staring out the window with this quiet, devastated expression that makes my stomach twist. There are more. So many more. Each one showing the same thing: the light in him dimmed. The chaos muted. The bright, loud Cole I fell for looking like someone had taken something vital from him.

Damian leans on his cane, his voice turning merciless. “This is what you did to him, Petrov. Every time you pulled away. Every time you left before he woke up. Every time you told yourself you were protecting him. This is what it looked like from the outside.”

I cannot look away from the photos. The guilt is crushing. I did that. I dimmed him. Just like I always feared I would.

Damian’s voice softens just a fraction. “He still looked at you like you hung the moon. Even when you were breaking his heart. So fix it. Before you lose him for good.”

Then Damian’s phone rings. He picks it up, softening the way he only does for one person. “Yes, pup.”

I cannot hear what Elias is saying on the other end, but I see Damian straighten up immediately, his frown deepening. “Excuse me?!” His voice sharpens. “Where are you?”

He listens for another second with his jaw tight. “Stay there. Do not leave his side. We’ll be right there.” He hangs up, face grim as he looks at me. “Cole’s in the hospital.”

I stand up so fast my chair topples over behind me, clattering loudly against the floor. “What?!”