Page 54 of Hold the Line

“Someone’s beaten him up,” Damian says, already grabbing his coat, furious.

The rage that hits me is immediate and blinding, the same protective fury I feel on the ice when someone goes after him, but a thousand times worse. Cole. In the hospital. Beaten. The thought of someone putting their hands on him makes my blood boil. I am moving before I even realize it, heading for the door, fists clenched so hard my split knuckles ache again.

Damian is right behind me, cane thumping as he follows. “We’ll take my car. Drive fast.”

I do not need to be told twice. All I can think about is getting to Cole. Making sure he is okay. And finding whoever did this so I can make them regret ever touching what is mine.

Damian and I head straight for his SUV in the parking lot. He tosses me the keys without a word, which might be a mistake on his part. I do not care. I get behind the wheel and drive like the devil himself is chasing us. Red lights? Ignored. Stop signs? Barely slowed down for. The streets blur past as I push the SUV as fast as it will go, knuckles white on the steering wheel, heart hammering with a fear I have not felt since Russia.

When we screech into the hospital parking lot, Damian takes longer to get out, his bad leg stiff from the cold and the rush. “Go,” he says, waving me off as he grips his cane.

I barrel into the hospital, the automatic doors barely opening fast enough. My boots echo loudly against the linoleum as I storm up to the reception desk. “Where is Cole Vance?” I demand.

The receptionist starts with the normal questions — insurance, relationship, visiting hours — and I lose it. “Listen here, lady… I need to see my boyfriend, right the fuck now, unless you want me to start punching shit.”

I remember last season, when Damian was in the hospital and Elias lost his mind at reception. I had to calmly convince them to let us through. That calm is nowhere to be found right now. I am all rage and fear and the overwhelming need to get to Cole.

The receptionist, wide-eyed, eventually gives me the room number after a tense back-and-forth. I text it to Damian and start running down the hallway, ignoring the stares from nurses and patients alike. My heart is pounding so hard it feels like it might burst. I skid to a stop outside his room, breathing hard, my hand hovering on the door. I prepare myself for the worst before I open it.

When I step inside, the sight still hits me like a body check into the boards. Cole is in the hospital bed, bandaged and bruised, but awake. Elias is sitting on one side, Lena on the other, both looking exhausted but relieved. Cole is clearly pumped full of pain meds — his eyes are glassy, his grin dopey and wide when he sees me.

“Vik…” he says, slurred and happy, like I am the best thing he has seen all day.

I am next to him in the blink of an eye, heart hammering as I study every bruise and cut. He looks really bad. One eye is badly bruised and half-closed, his left arm is wrapped in bandages, and I can see the wrapping around his ribs under the hospital gown. My hands are gentle as I cup his face, brushing carefully over the uninjured parts of his cheeks.

“Who did this to you?” I growl, the rage still simmering just under the surface.

Cole leans into my touch, still grinning like an idiot. “I… don’t know. I’ve never seen them before… they were Russian though. Four of them.” Then, because he is high as a kite and completely shameless, he immediately starts flirting hard. “But you should see the other guys. I got a few good hits in. Still… you should kiss it better, big guy. Make me feel all better. You look really hot when you’re all protective like this. My big, strong, scary Russian boyfriend…”

Elias snorts from the chair, trying and failing to hide his laugh. Lena just rolls her eyes fondly. I keep my hands on his face, studying him, the fear and fury mixing into something fierce and protective. Russian. Four of them. My father’s face flashes in my mind, and I have to force myself to stay calm for Cole’s sake.

“I’ve got you,” I murmur, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, careful of the bruises. “You are safe. I am not leaving.”

Cole hums happily, nuzzling into my hand like a cat. “Good. Because I really like when you stay. Especially when you’re all growly and hot like this…”

I cannot stop the small, relieved smile that tugs at my mouth. My eyes drop to Cole’s throat. The silver magpie chain I left on his doormat yesterday morning is there, resting against his skin like it belongs. Something in my chest tightens at the sight of it. He kept it. He put it on even after I left it like a coward.

“Anything broken?” I ask as I study his face, his bandaged arm, the way he is breathing carefully.

“Two ribs and his left wrist is fucked,” Elias supplies, mostly because Cole looks too high to know what is actually broken or not. He is floating on pain meds, but still trying to focus on me.

I should not have left him alone. If I had stayed, if I had not pulled away, maybe this would not have happened.

“Vik… he was unconscious when I found him at his apartment,” Elias says. “And I also found this.” He hands me a piece of paper with Russian writing on it. I unfold it and read the words scrawled in Cyrillic.

American Whore.

My blood turns to ice, then immediately boils over. I know exactly who left this. My father. Or someone he sent. The threat is clear. The rage that surges through me is so strong I have to force myself to stay still, to not put my fist through the nearest wall.

Cole, even high as a kite, seems to sense the shift in me. He starts getting clingy, reaching for me with his good hand, his fingers curling into my shirt as he leans into my side like he can physically hold me here. “Vik… stay. Please.”

Damian walks into the room then. Elias immediately jumps off the bed and goes to him, kissing him quickly before Damian picks him up like he weighs nothing, carrying him over toward us.

“Talk to me,” Damian says as he looks at me, then at Cole.

I look down at the note again, thankful that nobody else in this room knows Cyrillic well enough to read it. Cole is too high to translate anything right now. I fold it and slip it into my pocket. “Later,” I say. My hand finds Cole’s good one and holds on tight.

The doctor comes in a few minutes later, and both Damian and I immediately jump on him with questions. Damian because he is Cole’s coach and has every right to know what this means for the team. Me because Cole is mine, and the need to know exactly how bad it is burning under my skin like fire.