Chapter 208: Go Manage The Team

Devin froze mid-breath, his mouth dropping open as his furious glare slowly whipped around to lock onto the shadowed corner of the room.

​For three long seconds, the silence in the medical suite was absolute—so heavy you could hear the steady, rhythmic beep of my heart monitor spiking wildly against the silence.

​Reid didn’t flinch. He didn’t drop his head, didn’t shift his stance, and didn’t offer a single word of apology.

Standing at his full height, his massive shoulders squared and his jaw set like reinforced iron, he stepped out of the shadows. His grey eyes burned into Devin’s with a cold, uncompromising steel, his pine scent flaring just enough to draw a clear line in the sand around my bed.

​"McCoy?" Devin choked out, the word coming out as a strangled, disbelieving rasp. His face turned from dark red to an eerie, pale ash. He stared at his star rookie as if Reid had suddenly sprouted horns. "You? You’ve been... with Evans? The whole time?"

​"Yes, Coach," Reid said, his low, gravelly voice cutting through the room with absolute, terrifying calm. "It was me."

​Stanley’s eyes narrowed into razor-sharp slits as the League’s Senior VP snapped his head toward Reid, registering the full political nightmare now dropping into his lap.

"A teammate," Stanley murmured, his jaw clenching as he processed the sheer legal catastrophe. "An unbonded Alpha and his own Captain. The League is going to have a field day with the conflict of interest alone—"

​"The League will do nothing until my firm completes an independent audit of your player safety protocols," Audrey Stevens interrupted, stepping smoothly in front of Stanley and tapping his pen against the thick folder. "My client took an illegal, career-ending hit on your ice tonight after suffering a sudden, documented medical trauma. If you attempt to discipline Mr. McCoy or Mr. Evans before analyzing the medical precedent and Pedro’s deliberate assault, we will file for an immediate federal injunction that halts the Finals entirely."

​Stanley looked at the lawyer, then at Dr. Aris’s sealed medical files, and finally back at Reid, who looked ready to break the jaw of anyone who took another step toward my bed. Stanley knew when he was backed into a corner.

​"This facility remains on lockdown," Stanley gritted out through tightly clenched teeth, backing toward the door with his reps. "No press releases, no media statements. The League will convene an emergency disciplinary and medical board tomorrow morning at eight. I expect all parties to be present."

​With that, Stanley and the League officials backed out of the double doors, leaving the room vibrating with residual tension.

​Devin stood frozen in the center of the room, looking between me—pale, sweating, with an immobilizing boot on my shattered leg—and Reid, who immediately stepped past the coach without a second thought to reclaim his post at my bedside.

​"You two..." Devin rasped, his voice trembling with a mix of utter betrayal, awe, and sheer, overwhelmed exhaustion. He rubbed a heavy hand over his face, letting out a long, ragged breath. "A late-onset presentation... a rut... Jesus Christ. The whole locker room thinks the sky is falling."

​"Go manage the team, Devin," Marina said softly, her voice losing a fraction of its icy edge as she looked at the veteran coach. "My lawyer will handle the press. Right now, my brother needs his leg set and his vitals stabilized."

​Devin looked at me one last time, his eyes softening with genuine worry behind the frustration. He gave a single, tight nod, turned on his heel, and walked out, letting the heavy doors swing shut behind him.

​The moment the room cleared, the suffocating aura of defense faded.

​Reid instantly dropped to his knees beside my bed, his broad hands hovering anxiously over my shoulders, his grey eyes glossy with raw, unvarnished fear as he looked down into my face.

​"Kain..." Reid whispered, his voice cracking as he carefully took my hand, his thumb stroking my trembling knuckles. "I’m right here. You’re okay. They’re not going to touch you."

​I forced my eyes open, choking back a sharp gasp as a wave of pain rippled up my left leg. The room still smelled heavily of my own orchid pheromones, but beneath it, the warm, steady scent of frozen pine was wrapping around my senses like a protective shield.

​"The League..." I rasped out, my throat dry as bone as I looked over at Marina, who was offering me a small, tired, but deeply triumphant smile. "What’s happening?"

The pain did not let me follow up on their conversation properly but I did know there was a conversation.

​"Marina came and told the league everything," Reid whispered, leaning forward until his forehead rested gently against the side of my mattress, his heavy shoulders finally sagging under the release of the crushing pressure. "Just as planned. Now, there’s nothing for you to worry about. Just endure and let them fix your leg."

I groaned, bolts of pain spreading through my body.

"My leg... How bad... Is it?" I asked and he pursed his lips, his brows knitting together. He couldn’t tell me that my leg was twisted the other way and my bone was apparently snapped in two.

It was like handing me the premature news of having to take me off the ice before we even lifted the Stanley cup.

"I’m sorry, Cap," he whispered. "I’m so sorry,"

Hearing that, I could only turn my head away, my body trembling, and a single trail of tears rolling down from my eyes.

"It’s fine," I whispered, but I was far from fine. "It wasn’t your fault."

"Kain," Marina called but I didn’t turn my head. "Just try to relax so they can work on your leg. They’ll be administering a sedative soon so you’ll fall unconscious,"

I didn’t respond to that but I did opened my mouth and said,

"Thank you, sister. You’re always there, helping me..." I whispered weekly,

"Don’t do that," Marina whispered, her sharp voice cracking as she leaned over the bed, gently brushing my sweat-damp bangs away from my forehead. "You don’t need to thank me for saving my own brother, Kain. You just need to hold on."

​The attending doctor stepped up beside the bed, holding a syringe filled with a clear, heavy sedative. He gave Reid a cautious look, waiting for the Alpha to nod before approaching the IV port in my arm.

​"Mr. Evans," the doctor said softly, his voice dropping into a calm, practiced tone. "This is going to take the pain away and put you under while we reset the bone and stabilize the surrounding tissue. You’re going to feel a sudden warmth in your chest, and then a heavy sleep."

​"No..." I gasped faintly, my fingers desperately tightening around Reid’s large hand, my knuckles turning white. "But the game... It’s not over yet..."

​"Shh," Reid rasped, shifting closer until his face was inches from mine. He brought my hand up to his lips, pressing a hard, lingering kiss to my cold knuckles, his dark grey eyes burning with an intense, unyielding promise. "Stop thinking about the ice, Cap. Game 2 is currently suspended, the League is backed into a corner, and nobody can take what you built away from you. I’m going to be right here when you wake up. I won’t leave your side for a single second."

​As the fluid entered my vein, a sudden, heavy warmth flooded my chest, radiating down through my arms and legs. The blinding, white-hot agony in my shattered knee began to recede into a dull, distant throb, the harsh fluorescent lights above blurring into soft streaks of white.

​The heavy, sweet fog of orchids in the room slowly melted away, replaced entirely by the rich, comforting blanket of frozen pine wrapping around my senses.

​"Reid..." I breathed, my eyelids growing too heavy to keep open.

​"I’m here, Kain," Reid’s voice was the last thing I heard, deep, steady, and anchoring me against the dark. "I’ll carry us the rest of the way."

I drifted off to the steady beat of the heart monitor. And then, there was nothing.

...

A soft, low hum of activity drifted into my consciousness long before my eyes could open.

My body felt heavily grounded, enveloped in crisp white linen and a profound, drug-induced numbness that kept the agonizing throbbing in my left leg far off in the distance.

​"Hey, seems like he’s waking up," a hushed voice whispered near the foot of the bed. "Tell the guys to get their assess up."

​I blinked slowly, my eyelashes heavy, as the pale morning light filtering through the high hospital blinds gradually brought the room into focus.

​Instead of a cold, sterile isolation ward, I opened my eyes to find half the team crammed into the room.

Chairs had been dragged in from the waiting area, sports bags were piled in the corner, and coffee cups lined the windowsill. Russo, Miller, Gerald, Peter, and Jake were all there—their faces worn with exhaustion, their eyes bloodshot from pulling an all-nighter in the hospital corridor.