Chapter 155: Let’s Grab A Meal

​I didn’t wait for him to recover. I turned my back on him for the final time, pushed the heavy door open, and stepped out into the crisp afternoon air of the secondary facility’s private loading dock, the metal door clicking shut behind us with a definitive, grounding thud.

​Marina walked ahead, her trench coat catching the sharp breeze, before she stopped beside her car and turned to look at the two of us.

The lethal, terrifying aura she had carried into the conference room softened, replaced by a deep, protective exhaustion as she looked over my pale face.

​"He won’t say a word," Marina said, her voice quiet but entirely certain. "He’s arrogant, but he’s not foolish. He knows that pushing the issue means his destruction. Go home, Kain. Get some rest. Let Marcus handle the press regarding those alleyway photos—we’ll spin it as standard sports friction."

​"Thank you, sister," I murmured, the words feeling incredibly small compared to the massive weight she had just lifted off my chest.

"You asked for help, and you know I can’t say no when you ask me for help." She wrapped her arms around me, shuffled my hair and then pulled back.

​She offered a brief, firm nod, her gaze lingering on Reid for a second—evaluating the fiercely protective way he was still crowding my personal space—before she got into her car and pulled away, leaving us alone in the quiet alley.

The urge to reach out and grab Reid’s hand was almost overwhelming, a physical ache in my chest, but as I glanced toward the street, the cold reality of our situation snapped back into focus.

The fans’ cameras had already caught us once. We couldn’t afford a single slip-up now, not when we had just barely managed to claw our way back to safety.

​"Don’t touch me yet," I murmured, my voice low as I stared straight ahead, my posture stiffening into my usual, unreadable captain’s stance. "Keep your distance until we’re in the car."

​Reid’s jaw tightened, his fingers twitching at his sides as if fighting his own body’s instinct to pull me close. He let out a low, disgruntled huff, but he didn’t argue. He knew the stakes.

​We walked back to his car side-by-side, maintaining a strict, professional foot of space between us. To any lingering facility staff or distant onlookers, we looked like two focused teammates leaving a routine meeting. But beneath the cold distance, the air between us practically vibrated with residual adrenaline.

​The moment we stepped inside the car and the heavy doors clicked shut, sealing us in the quiet, tinted sanctuary of the cabin, the rigid wall between us instantly crumbled.

​Reid didn’t even wait to put his keys in the ignition. He lunged across the center console, his large hands immediately finding mine and locking our fingers together so tightly my knuckles popped. He pulled our joined hands up, pressing his forehead against the back of my knuckles as he let out a long, shuddering breath.

​"Now," Reid rasped, his eyes dark with a mixture of leftover rage and intense, overwhelming relief. "We’re okay. You’re safe."

​I let out a long, shaky breath I felt like I’d been holding since last night, finally leaning my head back against the headrest.

The ice beneath our feet had been incredibly thin, and we had nearly fallen through, but sitting here in the quiet of his car, our fingers completely tangled together, I knew the foundation we had built wasn’t going to break anytime soon.

​"Come on, let’s go grab a meal and diss Edward Stein while we’re at it," Reid said, a rough, genuine smile finally breaking through his rugged features.

I couldn’t help but let out a soft, breathless laugh, the heavy tension in my limbs finally beginning to unravel.

​"A meal and some trash-talking," I murmured, my voice a little husky as I squeezed his hand back. "Honestly, that sounds like the only thing that’s going to save my sanity right now."

​"Good. Because my stomach has been turning itself into knots since last night, and I’m not about to let some high-and-mighty asshole ruin my appetite," Reid grunted, though his fingers gently traced the side of my neck, his scent of frozen pine settling over me like a warm blanket. "Let’s get out of here before Marcus starts spamming our phones with PR drafts."

​"Agreed," I said, "Take us to that place off 4th Street. The one with the faded neon sign."

​Reid didn’t need to be told twice. He started the engine, the familiar, grounding rumble of his car filling the quiet cabin. He backed out of the private lot with sharp, decisive movements, his eyes constantly scanning the mirrors for any sign of lingering paparazzi.

​As we pulled onto the main road, the city blurred past in a smear of concrete and steel. For the first twenty minutes, we didn’t say much. We didn’t have to.

The quiet inside the car wasn’t the suffocating, toxic weight of earlier; it was comfortable, anchored by the solid heat of our joined hands resting over the center console.

Every few minutes, Reid’s thumb would stroke across my knuckles, a silent, repeating reminder that nothing was going to break up apart.

The diner was tucked away at the very edge of the commercial district, a low-ceilinged dive wedged between an old brick warehouse and a shuttered auto-body shop. It smelled heavily of burnt coffee, fried onions, and sweet maple syrup—unpretentious, normal scents that felt completely untainted by the high-pressure, clinical world of professional sports.

​The aging Beta behind the counter barely blinked when we walked in, entirely unbothered by the fact that two elite hockey players had just entered his establishment.

He merely slid a pair of greasy, laminated menus across the counter and gestured vaguely toward a worn vinyl booth tucked deep into the shadows of the far corner.

​We slid into the booth, immediately claiming the darkest spot in the room.

​"I’m eating enough to feed an entire roster," Reid declared, tossing his menu onto the table without even opening it. He leaned his forearms against the polished wood, his grey eyes locking onto mine with an intense, unblinking focus that made my chest tighten in the best possible way. "And then I’m going to systematically tear Stein’s entire existence apart with my bare words."

​"Please do," I said, leaning back against the squeaking vinyl, letting my head rest against the wall. "I think my brain needs the distraction before I actually throw up from the memory of his voice."

​We ordered a ridiculous amount of heavy diner food—double cheeseburgers, a mountain of grease-stained fries, and a stack of buttermilk pancakes thick enough to choke an Alpha.

The second the heavy ceramic plates hit the table, we dug in like we hadn’t eaten in days, the sheer physical exhaustion of the last twenty-four hours finally catching up to our bodies.

​"So," Reid started, pointing a ketchup-dipped fry at me, a sudden, wicked grin breaking through the lingering fatigue on his face. His eyes crinkled at the corners. "You like my ’hot-headedness,’ huh?"

​I nearly choked on my water. I set the glass down quickly, a sudden, hot flush creeping up my neck. "Reid. Do not start."

​"No, no, I want to hear it again," he teased, leaning further over the table, his frozen pine scent flaring with a smug, deeply satisfied warmth that filled the small space of our booth. "’It’s his try-hard way of getting exactly what he wants despite always being on the losing end!’ God, Kain, I practically wanted to vault over that table and claim you right then and there."

​"You were about to jump across the table and commit a felony," I pointed out, trying to keep my voice entirely flat, though a reluctant smile was fiercely tugging at the corners of my lips. "I had to say something to keep you from getting a lifetime league ban."

​"Maybe," Reid murmured, his cocky smirk softening into something incredibly raw, tender, and intensely grounded. He reached across the table, his large palm turning upward. "But you meant it. You defended my flaws. You told that pristine bastard that the exact things the media tries to crucify me for are the reasons you... the reasons you stay."

​"I did," I admitted quietly, dropping the captain’s guard entirely as I slid my fingers into his open palm, hiding our joined hands beneath the shadow of the napkin dispenser. "Because it’s the truth. Edward represents everything the league thinks an Alpha captain should be—polished, calculated, and completely hollow. You’re loud, you’re reckless, and you’re stubborn. But you’re real, Reid. You don’t hide a rotting soul behind a flawless reputation."

Reid’s expression darkened slightly at the mention of Edward, the playful energy in his scent instantly turning sharp and fiercely protective again.

​"That ’it was an accident’ line," Reid spat, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle twitched near his ear. "I wanted to tear his throat out right through his tie. Trying to play the victim because he was in a rut? It’s sick. It’s exactly what Alphas like him do when they get cornered—they blame their biology so they don’t have to face the fact that they’re just monsters."