Chapter 136: Focus on the Avalanche

​Reid let out a low, unbothered hum, his fingers casually brushing against the small of my back for a fraction of a second—a hidden, brief touch that sent a spark of warmth straight through my damp shirt.

​"It’ll be fine, Kain," he murmured, using my actual name in that quiet, commanding register that always managed to break through my defenses. "You knew the drug test was today and that’s why you told us to be careful, remember? So you didn’t have to take the contraceptives? You haven’t taken a single dose since Monday and it’s Thursday today. Your system should’ve already been cleared by Tuesday." He did his best to assure me. "Those specific panels only look for active stimulants, heavy steroids, and masking agents. You know that."

​I swallowed hard, my jaw locking as I processed his words. He was right. We had been careful, and after the frantic weekend, I hadn’t touched the pills since Monday morning. I knew that but it made me paranoid even more, as if I needed to hear an assurance from someone in order to feel fine.

I sucked in one last steadying breath, trying to calm the erratic rhythm of my chest. I had to do it. It wasn’t like I had a choice anyway. Skipping a mandatory league drug test right before a major game would raise far more red flags than a standard urine sample ever could.

​"Okay," I muttered, my voice barely audible as I squeezed my clipboard. "Let’s get it over with."

​Reid gave my lower back one last, reassuring press before stepping away, his heavy presence lifting just enough to let the cool air of the gym hit me again.

We walked down the corridor toward the medical wing in a practiced, casual formation, looking every bit like the Captain and the rookie discussing ice strategy rather than two people harboring a scandal that could tank the entire franchise.

​The hallway outside the medical room was lined with the rest of the team. Miller was leaning against the wall, loudly complaining to Russo about how the cold temperature in the clinic always messed with his ability to ’go on command,’ while Russo just ignored him, his arms crossed over his chest, still looking thoroughly irritated and wrapped in Miller’s dense Alpha scent.

Really, what is up with that? Am I really not reading into it wrongly?

I had my own issues right now so once again, I looked away from them.

When my turn came, I stepped into the private cubicle, my heart doing a slow, heavy thud against my ribs. The proctor handed me the sterile plastic cup with a detached nod, like he’d rather be on his couch than checking male urine.

I stared at the clear container for a long second, my mind briefly flashing back to the raw, frantic heat on my living room and the bedroom floor—the exact reason those contraceptives had been resting in my system in the first place.

​Just focus on the game, I told myself, forcing my hands to remain steady as I completed the process. Focus on the Avalanche.

​I handed the sealed sample back to the medical representative, signed the compliance form with a crisp, rigid script, and stepped back out into the hallway.

My chest felt marginally lighter, though the weight of the situation still lingered.

​Reid was waiting a few paces down the hall, leaning carelessly against a vending machine. He didn’t look up when I approached, but as I drew close, the heavy, reassuring wave of frozen pine flared just enough to cut through the sterile, bleach-like smell of the medical wing.

​"Roster’s officially locked," Marcus announced, walking past us with a stack of signed clearances in his hand. He paused, looking directly at me. "Get some rest tonight, Kain. Tomorrow’s going to be a physical battle. Edwards already landed in the city, and the media is already hyping up the captain dynamic."

​"I’m ready, Marcus," I said, my professional persona fully locking back into place.

​As Marcus walked away, Reid finally shifted, his grey eyes sliding toward me with a dangerous, dark intensity.

The lazy, teasing rookie from the gym was gone, replaced by the territorial Alpha who had spent the last hour staring at the Avalanche’s top line on the whiteboard.

​"I’m also ready," Reid murmured, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly vibration as we headed toward the locker room to finally grab our bags. "Let’s see how nice he stays when I block him from getting anywhere near you on the ice tomorrow night."

"Just as long as you pay attention and don’t lose your mind like last week." I said to him, "Can’t have any more injuries."

"I should say the same thing to you," Reid countered smoothly, his long fingers hooking around the strap of his duffel bag as we stepped out of the facility and into the crisp afternoon air. "You’re the one who almost snapped an ankle over an empty soda can, Cap. If anyone needs to stay on their feet tomorrow, it’s you."

​I rolled my eyes, throwing my bag into the back seat of his car before climbing into the passenger seat. "That was an anomaly. I was distracted."

​"Distracted by me," he murmured, sliding into the driver’s seat and throwing the truck into reverse. He didn’t even try to hide the massive, smug curve of his lips as he backed out of the space.

​"Keep telling yourself that, McCoy," I muttered, turning my head to look out the window.

But as the tires hummed against the pavement on the drive back to the penthouse, the defensive walls I had kept up all day began tofracture.

My thumb mindlessly traced the edge of my phone screen. Roster locked. Drug test done. The immediate hurdles were cleared, but the quiet space inside the car only made room for the looming weight of tomorrow night.

​By seven in the evening, the penthouse kitchen was filled with the clean, savory scent of grilled meat.

True to his word about wanting to eat something healthy that didn’t come out of a grease trap, Reid had managed to pull together lean chicken breasts and thick cuts of seasoned beef on the indoor grill, using the tablet tutorial like it was a technical playbook.

​"See? Perfect," Reid declared, sliding a plate stacked with perfectly grilled protein across the island counter toward me. "Not a trace of food poisoning in sight."

​"I’ll reserve judgment until I’ve digested it," I said, though the knot in my stomach actually loosened enough for me to eat.

It was surprisingly good—juicy, properly seasoned, and exactly what my body needed before a high-intensity matchup against a skating team like the Avalanche.

​But while the food went down easily, the pre-game adrenaline was already beginning to seep into my veins.