Page 81 of Hold the Line

One week before playoffs and the locker room still feels like home.

Practice is over. The team is loud and loose, the kind of tired-but-happy energy that comes after a good session. I am sitting on the bench in front of my stall, legs spread, with Cole kneeling between my knees. My fingers are careful as I slide his tongue piercing back into place, thumb brushing his bottom lip when I am done. He looks up at me with that lovestruck expression that never fails to make my chest feel too full.

Cole, Elias, and the rookies are deep in conversation about the wedding — the one we decided will happen after the playoffs, when the season is over and we can actually breathe.

“I’m telling you, the venue has to have a rink,” Elias says, gesturing wildly with one hand while he unlaces his skates. “You two met on ice. You fell in love on ice. The wedding should be on ice. Literal ice. We can have the reception on the boards.”

Cole laughs around the fresh piercing, the sound bright and happy. “Curls, I love you, but if you suggest we get married in full gear again I’m disowning you as best man.”

Jace is practically vibrating. “Can I be a groomsman? I’ll wear whatever. I look good in a suit. Or hockey pads. Whatever you need.”

Tyler is quieter but smiling, adding in shy suggestions about colors while Shane keeps yelling ridiculous ideas from across the room — something about releasing doves that are actually trained attack birds.

I finish securing the piercing and run my thumb over Cole’s jaw, just watching him. He is glowing. Laughing. Alive in that way only he can be. The fear that haunted him for weeks after my father’s death has settled into something manageable. He still has moments — quiet spirals when he thinks I am not looking — but he lets me pull him out of them now. Lets me remind him we are safe.

“Done,” I murmur, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his forehead.

Cole beams up at me. “Thank you, big guy.”

Damian walks in a few minutes later, clipboard in one hand, cane thumping against the floor with every step, permanent scowl firmly in place. “Alright, listen up,” he barks, voice cutting through the noise like it always does.

The room quiets — mostly. Cole, Elias, and the rookies keep whispering in the corner about wedding details like they think Damian cannot hear them.

“I still think black flowers.”

“No.”

“Dark green?”

“No.”

“What about ice sculptures?”

“YES. Actually no.”

Damian ignores them at first, his eyes scanning the room as he starts listing the playoff teams in that gruff, no-nonsense tone.

“First round matchups are set. We’re facing the Halifax Icehawks again — they earned the wildcard and they’re pissed. Wranglers took the Central. Bastards are in from the Metropolitan. Wolves made it through the Pacific. Vancouver and Chicago are the other two. It’s going to be a bloodbath. No easy games. You slack off for one second and they’ll eat you alive. We train harder starting tomorrow. No excuses.”

Cole, Elias, and the rookies are still whispering. “Ice sculptures could be cool though—”

“Focus,” Damian snaps without even looking at them, but there is the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Meanwhile, Cole is fully in wedding-planner mode, still sitting between my knees like it is his assigned seat in life. “So… seating chart,” he starts, completely ignoring the fact that Damian is trying to run a serious playoff briefing.

Elias jumps in immediately. “I’m telling you, don’t separate Damian from me. I will cause problems.”

Cole nods sagely. “I wasn’t planning to.”

Jace pipes up from the other side of the room, hopeful. “Can I sit with Shane?”

Tyler groans. “I don’t wanna sit next to Roman, he steals fries.”

Roman, without missing a beat, deadpans, “I do not.”

Damian is standing at the whiteboard, trying to talk strategy and travel plans like a professional. “Halifax will come out swinging. We need to shut down their transition game early. Travel schedule is locked — we fly out Thursday, hotel is—”

WHACK.