Chapter 144: You almost lost your mind

The stadium dissolved into absolute, ear-splitting bedlam. The red light was still flashing behind the netting as the entire Serpents bench leaped over the boards, the sharp thunder of their skates flooding the ice.

They swarmed us in a chaotic wave of navy and silver, yelling at the top of their lungs, gloves flying into the air, and pounding our helmets with loud, triumphant hoots and cheers.

​"Hell of a finish, Cap!" Miller roared, throwing a massive arm around my neck and nearly taking me down to the ice again.

​Through the thick crowd of celebrating teammates, a heavy, familiar presence forced its way through. Reid pushed past the others, his chest still heaving, his face slick with sweat.

The wild, murderous fury that had taken over him when Edward was on top of me had finally simmered down, replaced by a raw, overwhelming triumph.

He didn’t care about the cameras or the team watching; he stepped right into my space, his large gloved hand clamping firmly onto the back of my neck.

​A dense, suffocating wave of frozen pine crashed over me, completely erasing the sterile smell of the arena. He leaned down, his grey eyes burning with a dark, possessive heat as his visor brushed mine.

​"Good goal, Cap," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly vibration meant only for me. "I told you I’d deliver it."

​My heart did a stupid, dangerous flip.

"You almost lost your mind, McCoy," I muttered back, though my own hand instinctively gripped his jersey for a fraction of a second to steady myself against the adrenaline.

​"You told me to focus," he smirked, his thumb tracing a heavy line right against the edge of my collar. "And I listened."

​Across the ice, Edward Stein was gathered with his team, looking thoroughly exhausted but entirely graceful in defeat.

He caught my eye through the crowd and offered a respectful, definitive nod. I returned it, a quiet truce sealing the end of the battle.

​Two hours later, the high-stakes tension of the rink was replaced by the warm, boisterous atmosphere of a private dining room at one of the city’s upscale steakhouses.

Marcus had booked the venue to celebrate the locked-in roster and the hard-fought victory, and the team was taking full advantage of it.

​The long tables were piled high with thick, sizzling cuts of prime rib, loaded baked potatoes, and endless platters of grilled vegetables.

Coach Devin sat at the head of the main table, finally looking relaxed as he traded jokes with the veteran defensemen, while Marcus stood near the bar, checking his phone with a satisfied smirk as the post-game media metrics undoubtedly soared.

​"A toast! To the Captain’s backhand!" Peter yelled, raising a massive glass of beer as the rest of the table pounded their fists against the wood, making the silverware rattle. "And to the rookie actually listening to orders for once!"

​Loud laughter erupted across the room, the collective relief of the win washing away the lingering bruises from the ice.

​I sat near the end of the table, a glass of water in my hand, a faint, genuine smile finally touching my lips.

My ribs still ached from the collision, and my legs felt like lead, but the heavy, suffocating weight I’d been carrying all week had completely vanished.

​Beside me, the space was entirely dominated by Reid. He had a massive plate of steak in front of him, but his attention was entirely fractured.

Underneath the heavy white tablecloth, hidden completely from the sight of the team, his large, warm hand found my knee. His fingers gripped my leg firmly, a steady, anchoring weight that leaked a quiet heat straight through my trousers.

​I didn’t pull away. I just took a slow sip of my water, leaning my shoulder slightly into his broad chest as the team continued to roar around us. It had been a brutal, exhausting game, but we had come out on top—together.

After a while, I got up wanting some fresh air. Reid clearly wanted to follow but the others held him down, filling his glass with more best. "Shug up, rookie. You ain’t getting away from this one."

The rowdy, booming laughter of the team faded into a dull hum as I slipped through the restaurant’s exit doors.

​The night air was crisp and biting, a welcome shock against my overheated skin.

I walked down the quiet, dimly lit alleyway beside the steakhouse, leaning my back against the brick wall as I tilted my head up to stare at the dark sky.

The stars were entirely swallowed by the city’s neon glow, but the silence out here was exactly what I needed. I let out a long, ragged sigh, watching my breath plume into a faint white cloud.

​"Hey."

A deep, calm voice cut through the quiet, startling me. My eyes snapped toward the mouth of the alley.

​Leaning casually against the metal railing of the neighboring building was Edward Stein.

He was already out of his white-and-burgundy team gear, dressed in a sleek charcoal overcoat.

A faint, glowing orange ember burned in the dim light, a thin trail of smoke curling up from the cigar resting between his lips. He looked entirely relaxed, his posture easy and unbothered despite having just lost a brutal, season-defining match.

​"What are you doing here?" I asked, my voice instantly dropping back into its guarded, clinical captain’s tone.

​Edward took a slow drag, the tip of the cigar flaring bright against the shadows, before he exhaled a cloud of thick smoke.

"I like to take my guys out for dinner after a game, win or lose. Celebrate or cheer up," he stated simply, flicking the ash away with a casual tap of his finger. "They’re down at the bistro across the street."

​I looked at the cigar, my brow furrowing slightly. "I didn’t picture you for a guy who smokes."

​"Well, no one does, apparently," Edward said, a light, completely unbothered smile touching his lips.

​He took a few slow steps forward, his leather boots striking softly against the pavement until he stopped right in front of me.

The casual, polite distance he usually maintained was gone. He looked down at me, his gaze shifting from friendly to intensely analytical.

​"But then again," Edward continued, his tone dropping into a quieter register, "I also didn’t picture you to be so strong and agile. For an Omega, that is."

​A sudden, violent jolt of ice shot straight through my veins. My heart slammed against my ribs like a trapped bird, and for a terrifying second, the world seemed to tilt. He knows.

​My fingers instinctively clenched into tight fists inside my jacket pockets, but I forced my facial muscles to lock.

I kept my composure, drawing on years of practice handling the slick, demeaning jabs the other Alpha captains constantly threw at my ’Beta’ status. I couldn’t let him see a single crack in my armor.

​"Edward, I don’t really want to deal with a jab," I said, my voice cutting through the dark alley like a razor blade, cold and sharp. "Especially coming from you, since it’s never happened before. What exactly are you trying to do?"

​"Well, it’s not a jab."

​Edward leaned in a fraction closer, just enough to break the boundaries of polite professional space. The faint, clean scent of his calm Alpha pheromones drifted forward, entirely free of the rowdy aggression I was used to from others.

​"It’s just..." Edward murmured, his eyes locking onto mine with an unnerving, intelligent clarity. "During the game, when you were super flustered and ordering McCoy to focus on the puck... I caught a whiff of it. Your pheromones, that is."

​My breath hitched in my throat.

​Edward’s smile turned soft, almost appreciative, completely devoid of the mocking malice I expected. "You have a nice scent, Captain Evans. Orchids... are pretty nice."