Chapter 137: Late night strategy

​By midnight, the entire penthouse was silent. The city lights outside the floor-to-ceiling windows blinked through the dark, casting long, pale squares across the living room floor.

Reid was sound asleep in the bedroom after the physical toll of Thursday’s double training sessions.

​I, on the other hand, was sitting on the edge of the kitchen stool with my tablet glowing in the dark.

​Every single night before a game, it was the same story. My brain simply refused to shut down. The anxiety, the tactical tracking, the endless loops of opponent video—it was a routine I had carried alone for years.

I sat there in a grey t-shirt, my eyes tracing the white digital lines of the Avalanche’s defensive transition. Over and over, I watched how Edward Stein handled the blue line. He was fast, fluid, and his hockey IQ was undeniably high.

​If he cuts inside on the power play, our third-pair defenseman is going to get caught flat-footed, I thought, rubbing my temples as a low sigh escaped my lips.

​"Still awake, Cap?"

​The deep, gravelly voice cut through the dark kitchen, startled me enough that my fingers nearly dropped the tablet.

​I looked up. Reid was leaning against the bedroom doorframe, his blonde hair messy from sleep and his broad chest bare in the dim light.

He looked massive, his shadow stretching across the hardwood floor as he walked over to the island. He didn’t look annoyed or impatient; his grey eyes were entirely focused on the tight, exhausted line of my shoulders.

​"I always review the plays before a game," I muttered defensively, turning the tablet slightly away. "Go back to sleep. You need the rest for the first period."

​Reid didn’t listen. Instead of turning back, he slid onto the barstool right next to mine, his thick, heavy warmth instantly cutting through the cool midnight air of the kitchen.

A slow, comforting wave of frozen pine drifted over the counter, immediately pushing back the stale tension in my chest.

​He reached out, his large hand gently catching the back of my neck, his thumb rubbing right below the edge of the patch in a slow, grounding rhythm.

​"I’m not leaving you up here to spiral by yourself," Reid murmured, his eyes dropping to the glowing screen before he pulled the tablet closer to the center of the space. "Show me what you’re looking at. I’ll help."

I went silent for a second and then my heart fluttered. I don’t know why. He didn’t do anything specific or say anything loving but the support... Ah, I’m not used to this.

Slowly, I leaned in and pressed my lips to his for a brief moment before turning away.

"Thanks, Reid," I whispered, my ear flushing.

Reid froze for a second, his large hand still resting against the back of my neck. The sudden, brief touch of my lips against his had clearly caught him off guard.

Then, a low, incredibly warm vibration rumbled in his chest, and his thumb resumed its slow, grounding stroke along my jawline.

​"Anytime, Kain," he murmured, his voice dipping into an even deeper, rougher register in the quiet of the dark kitchen.

​He didn’t tease me about the sudden flush on my ears, nor did he use the moment to push for more. Instead, he pulled the tablet directly between us, his massive shoulder pressing firmly against mine as he focused on the glowing screen.

The sheer density of his frozen pine scent wrapped around us, making the vast, empty penthouse feel incredibly small and safe.

​"Alright," Reid said, his eyes narrowing as he analyzed the video loop of the Avalanche’s neutral zone transition. "Show me what’s keeping you up. Where is Stein trying to force the play?"

​I cleared the tightness from my throat, pointing a finger at the screen to trace the movement of the opposing captain. "Look at how he shifts his weight right here before the pass. Edward likes to bait the forecheck. He acts like he’s going to dump the puck down the boards, but the second our third-pair defenseman bites and moves to cover the line, he cuts inside."

​"And leaves the center wide open for a late-trailing winger," Reid finished the thought, his hockey IQ clicking into place instantly. He leaned back slightly, a sharp, calculating glint taking over his grey eyes. "He’s clever. But he relies too much on our guys playing textbook defense."

​"Exactly. If we don’t adjust our rotation on the penalty kill, we’re going to get caught flat-footed," I muttered, rubbing the bridge of my nose as the exhaustion finally started to creep into the back of my eyes.

​"We won’t get caught," Reid said, his tone absolute and completely unyielding. He reached over, his large fingers gently but firmly taking the tablet right out of my hands and setting it face-down on the granite island counter. "Because tomorrow, I’m the one tracking him. The second he tries to cut inside, I’ll be waiting at the hash marks to take away his lane."

​I looked at him, taking in the fierce, protective determination etched into his features.

For years, I had carried the weight of these playbooks entirely by myself, spending sleepless nights staring at screens in the dark, preparing to shield the team alone. But sitting here with Reid, listening to him break down the strategy with the sole intention of guarding my blind spot, made a strange, heavy warmth expand in my chest.

​"You need to sleep, Kain," Reid murmured softly, using my actual name again as he slid off his barstool.

He didn’t wait for my argument. He caught my hand, his large, warm palm completely enveloping mine as he gently pulled me up from the stool.

"Come on. Roster’s locked, the test is done, and the ice is ready. Let’s go to bed."

​I didn’t protest. I let him lead me down the dark hallway and back into the bedroom. The anxiety that had been tightly coiled in my stomach for days finally began to unravel, chased away by the steady, unbothered rhythm of his steps.

​When we got under the sheets, Reid pulled me back against his chest, his powerful arms locking around my waist to anchor me against him.

I buried the back of my head into his shoulder, breathing in the thick, suffocating wave of frozen pine that doused my senses. For the first time in my career on the night before a major game, my mind went entirely quiet, and I let myself fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.