Chapter 138: Have a good game

Friday evening arrived with a deafening roar that vibrated straight through the concrete floors of the arena.

Every single seat was packed to the rafters; the game had been completely sold out for days, fueled by the looming battle against the Avalanche and the relentless wildfire of our dating rumors.

​The morning had been a blur of heavy, lung-burning drills and endless tactical meetings.

Coach Devin had marched up and down the locker room, his voice hoarse as he hammered home the execution of our power plays. But no matter how hard we tried to keep our heads locked in a purely professional space, reality hit us the second we skated out onto the ice for pre-game warmups.

​The stadium lights cut through the darkness, blindingly bright, and the massive Jumbotron hanging over center ice flickered to life.

​I skated toward the blue line, stopping short as the crowd suddenly erupted into a frenzy of high-pitched cheers and frantic whispers. I instinctively looked up at the massive screens.

​It wasn’t a clip of our previous highlights. It was the latest promotional shot the front office had authorized—the one taken just last week under Marcus’s supervision.

The graphic designers had zoomed in tightly on the two of us. It captured the exact moment Reid and I were standing chest-to-chest, our eyes locked in a fierce, unyielding stare that was supposed to scream intense rivalry, but under the current internet climate, looked entirely like heavy, suffocating tension.

​"Look at the Jumbotron!" I could hear a fan screaming from the lower bowl near the glass. "They’re literally matching each other’s stare, oh my god!"

​A tight, sudden warmth rushed straight to the tips of my ears. I forced my gaze down, digging the blades of my skates sharply into the ice to carve a hard turn, desperately trying to lock my Captain’s mask back into place.

​Right on my left flank, the heavy, unmistakable presence of number 7 materialized.

Reid glided up right beside me, his massive frame effortlessly cutting off the view from the opposing bench.

He didn’t look up at the screen. Instead, his grey eyes locked directly onto the side of my face, a slow, knowing smirk pulling at the corner of his lips as the thick, familiar scent of frozen pine drifted off his jersey, completely shielding me from the chaotic roar of the stadium.

​"They really know how to build a narrative, don’t they, Cap?" Reid murmured, his deep voice easily cutting through the thudding of my heart.

​"Shut up and focus on the puck, McCoy," I hissed back, keeping my eyes fixed on the red line. "Edward’s watching."

​Across the ice, warming up near the Avalanche bench, stood number 11. Edward Stein was already looking our way, his expression calm, respectful, and entirely too observant.

​Reid’s smirk vanished instantly. His jaw locked, his large hand tightening around the grip of his hockey stick until his knuckles turned white. "Let him watch," he growled softly, his voice dropping into that dangerous, territorial Alpha register. "The second the whistle blows, he’s mine."

The thunderous roar of the sold-out crowd reached a fever pitch as both teams finished their final warm-up laps, the heavy scraping of sharp steel blades carving into the pristine sheet of ice.

The Serpents lined up along our blue line, a unified wall of blue and white, while the Avalanche moved into position on their own side, their white and burgundy jerseys cutting clean paths through the rink.

​I skated out toward center ice to meet the officials, my movements crisp, rigid, and entirely practiced. But as I approached the face-off circle, the opposing captain detached himself from the Avalanche line and glided forward.

​Edward Stein.

​Unlike the other rowdy, discriminating Alpha captains in the league who would already be throwing slick jabs and dirty talks about a ’Beta’ leading the team, or trying to use their heavy pheromones to crowd my space, Edward stopped a respectable distance away.

His posture was relaxed, completely devoid of malice. He looked me straight in the eye, treating me with the exact level of professional equality he’d give anyone else, and smoothly brought his gloved hand forward.

​"Let’s have a good game, Evans," Edward said, a genuine, easy smile breaking across his face.

​I looked at his outstretched hand for a split second, feeling the intense glare of the Jumbotron cameras pinning us down.

I reached out, my thick glove wrapping around his in a firm, solid handshake. "It’ll be a blast," I replied, keeping my voice level, appreciative of the respect but fully aware of the ticking clock.

​Behind me on the blue line, the air grew instantly thick. Even without looking back, I could feel the sudden, violent spike of frozen pine flaring off the Serpents’ side of the ice. Reid was staring a hole straight through the back of Edward’s jersey, his massive frame practically vibrating with a dark, simmering jealousy that was entirely too loud.

​A sharp, deafening blast of the referee’s whistle shattered the pre-game tension.

​Edward gave a polite nod, releasing his grip, and turned back toward his bench. I wheeled around, skating hard back toward the Serpents’ side as the starting lineups were called.

​Once we climbed over the boards and took our seats behind the thick plexiglass, the reality of the impending battle truly set in.

The bench was a chaotic symphony of heavy breathing, Coach Devin barking final instructions, and the sharp snap of gear being tested.

I sat down, immediately pulling at the straps of my elbow pads, making sure every single piece of my armor was locked perfectly into place.

​Right next to me, the bench dipped heavily. Reid slammed into the seat beside mine, his jaw clenched so tight the muscles in his cheek were twitching.

He didn’t say a word, but his fingers aggressively checked the straps of his own shin guards, his grey eyes fixed entirely on Edward across the ice.

But then, as if something else caught his attention, he nudged his heavy shoulder against mine, cutting through my intense pre-game focus. "Hey," he muttered, his voice a low rumble over the deafening stadium music. "Over there."

​I followed the line of his gloved hand, looking past the thick plexiglass and up into the lower bowl of the crowded VIP stands. My heart gave a sudden, violent thud against my ribs.

​Sitting right there in the front row of the section were Marina and Jennifer. Marina looked as composed and regal as ever, her sharp Alpha eyes scanning the rink, while Jennifer sat close beside her, wearing a sleek Serpents scarf and waving enthusiastically.

​But right next to them were Chleo and Chloe—and they were making an absolute scene.