Page 9 of Hold the Line

On the bench he is back to his usual chaos, chirping everyone within earshot—rookies, vets, even me.

“You gonna keep babysitting me all night, Petrov?” he mutters as he drops down beside me between shifts, still breathing hard but eyes bright. “Not that I mind the view, but I think the fans are starting to notice you’re glued to my ass out there.”

I grunt, tapping my stick against his shin guard. “Focus on the game, Vance.”

But I cannot hide the way my eyes keep tracking him every time he jumps back over the boards. The sugar and caffeine have him flying now, and the team feeds off it. Elias is feral beside him. Even Damian looks satisfied behind the bench.

Damian leans on his cane, his gaze fixed on the ice where Elias and Cole are circling near center ice during a stoppage. Elias is saying something that makes Cole throw his head back and laugh, loud enough to carry over the noise of the arena.

“You good?” Damian asks me, without looking away from the ice.

I turn my head slowly to glare at him. The smug bastard. He knows exactly what he did with the room assignment. “Kade… you are the worst,” I mutter, exhausted.

Damian’s mouth twitches into a smirk. “Mhm… Bed too small?”

The words hit exactly where he wanted them to. Heat crawls up the back of my neck. I do not even think. I rip off one of my gloves and throw it at his chest. It hits him square in the sternum with a dull thud.

Damian catches it easily, chuckling low as I stand up.

I jump over the boards for the next line change without another word, skates hitting the ice hard. Behind me, I can feel Damian smirking on the bench like the smug, meddling asshole he has become since marrying Elias. The worst part is he is not even wrong. The bed was not too small. The problem was much bigger than that.

Elias wins the faceoff cleanly and taps the puck to Cole, who explodes up the wing, curls flying under his helmet. I follow him like a shadow, clearing space, making sure no Vanguard idiot gets near him. Cole threads a pass back to Elias, who rifles it toward net. The goalie makes a desperate save, but the rebound comes right back to Cole and he buries it. We take the lead, 4-3.

Cole crashes into Elias near the net, both of them screaming like idiots. As he skates past the bench on the way back to position, his eyes find mine for half a second. That bright, dangerous grin flashes across his face—the same one that has been ruining me for years.

I tap my stick against his as he passes. He does not say anything, but the look he gives me says enough.

The final horn sounds with the scoreboard reading 5-3 in our favor. Elias and Cole crash together near the boards one last time, screaming and laughing like idiots while the rest of the team piles on. Even with the exhaustion still clinging to all of us, the victory feels good.

Back in the visitor locker room, the energy is chaotic. Gear flies into stalls, showers turn on, guys are shouting over each other. Cole is practically vibrating. The ridiculous amounts of sugar and caffeine Elias kept feeding him have him bouncing on his heels, eyes bright and manic as he peels off his pads.

“Curls, please,” he begs, already half-undressed and gesturing wildly. “We have to go out. Just one night. Two nights away from home, we deserve it. I need noise. I need lights. I need something other than hotel sheets and Viktor’s judgmental staring.”

Elias laughs, his eyes sparkling as he looks toward Damian, who is leaning against the wall near the coach’s area. Elias turns on the full puppy eyes—wide, pleading, disgustingly effective.

Damian pinches the bridge of his nose, letting out a long-suffering sound before rolling his eyes. “Fine. Go out. But stay together. And behave.”

Cole whoops like he just scored the overtime winner. Elias grins victoriously and leans in to kiss Damian’s scarred cheek in thanks.

Damian’s voice drops into that low, dangerous tone as he points at both of them. “If I have to come find your drunk asses in an unknown bar, Hollywood, I’m benching you for the rest of the season.”

Cole clutches his chest dramatically. “You wound me, Coach. I am a responsible adult.”

“Bullshit,” Damian deadpans.

Then Zara’s voice cuts through the noise from where she’s standing near the door, tablet in hand, her eyeliner still perfect despite the long night. “And no TikToks,” she says firmly, not even looking up from her screen.

The entire room goes quiet for half a second before Cole gasps, offended. “You’re killing me, Reyes. You’re actually killing me.”

I sit in my stall, unlacing my skates, watching the whole circus unfold. Cole is still buzzing, loud and chaotic, but I can see the edges of exhaustion creeping back in now that the adrenaline is fading. He keeps glancing my way every few seconds, like he is not sure what to do with the leftover tension from last night.

I do not say anything. I just watch him—watch the way he laughs too loud, the way he moves like he is trying to outrun whatever is still sitting between us in that hotel room.

Damian claps his hands once. “Showers. Then behave. Or don’t. Just don’t make me regret saying yes.”

Cole flashes Elias a wicked grin and they both head toward the showers, still chirping each other like overgrown children. I stay seated a moment longer, rolling my shoulders, feeling the weight of too little sleep and too many unsaid things pressing down on me.

The music in my head won’t shut up.