Chapter 209: The Boy’s Got Your Back

​The moment my eyes focused on them, Gerald pushed himself up from his chair, a familiar, easy grin breaking across his face despite the deep shadows under his eyes.

​"Look who finally decided to join the party," Gerald said softly, though his tone was laced with a forced lightness that didn’t quite hide his relief.

​The rest of the room stirred instantly. Russo leaned back against the wall, folding his arms, while Miller adjusted his posture on the couch.

There was no judgment in their eyes, no lingering hostility—only a heavy, unspoken warmth. It was obvious Devin had already sat the team down and briefed them on the official situation: the sudden, secondary Omega presentation triggered by Reid’s severe rut heat weeks prior.

​"Man, I knew for a fact you and McCoy had something going on," Gerald jabbed, stepping closer to the side of the bed with his hands buried in his hoodie pockets. "Remember that game one with the Vipers? You couldn’t concentrate for shit after finding out Reid was in a rut. It was no wonder—you already called dibs on him. Our devoted Captain was the only one who could step up to ’help’ him."

​"Yeah," Jake added with a faint smirk, shaking his head. "The whole time we thought you were just dealing with a bad flu when we couldn’t contact you. Meanwhile, you two were playing house and rewriting medical science behind our backs."

​They kept talking, throwing lighthearted jabs and ribbing me with easy locker-room humor, desperately trying to soften the crushing reality hanging in the air—trying to make the room feel normal again, to make me feel like their Captain instead of a fragile patient in a leg cast.

​I lay there, listening to their familiar voices, but the sheer weight of everything hit me all at once.

The lost season, the smashed leg, the secret dragged into the light, and the immense, overwhelming loyalty of these men who didn’t care about my sub-gender at all—they just wanted their Captain back.

​Before I could stop it, my throat tightened violently. Warm tears welled up and spilled over my lashes, trailing hot down my temples into my damp hair.

​The entire room froze. The jokes died instantly, the easy laughter evaporating into a stunned, absolute silence as they watched the indestructible Kain Evans break down for the first time in ten years.

​"I’m sorry, guys..." I rasped out, my voice cracking, thick and ruined. "I didn’t want to ever show my pathetic side, but..."

​I threw my right arm over my face, covering my eyes as a quiet, shuddering sob escaped my chest. I couldn’t bear to let them see me undone like this—broken on a hospital bed while our championship slipped away.

​The silence in the room stretched, heavy and taut.

​Peter cleared his throat, his grin completely gone as he looked around at the rest of the guys, his face pale with sudden panic. He nudged Gerald in the ribs.

​"Hey... where’s Reid?" Petter asked Gerald in a sharp whisper, his eyes wide. "We need to go knock some sense into him. He made the Captain cry."

"That’s right," Gerald muttered, craning his neck toward the door like he was about to launch a search party. "Where is McCoy? The kid disappears for ten minutes to grab coffee, and everything falls apart."

​They were stumbling over themselves, trying to pass the blame onto Reid just to cover up their own awkward panic.

I knew what they were doing. They weren’t being cruel—they were hockey players, men who only knew how to communicate through hard hits, ribbing, and locker-room jokes. They didn’t know how to handle tears.

They had tried the only method they knew to make things feel normal, and when that failed, their immediate instinct was to go fetch the one person who actually knew how to handle me.

​"I’m fine," I whispered, my voice muffled beneath my forearm as I took a shaky, ragged breath.

​I slowly dragged my arm down, revealing my bloodshot eyes and the wet tracks on my cheeks. I looked up at the circle of men standing around my bed—men who had bled beside me on the ice for years, who had blocked shots, taken dirty hits, and fought in the trenches under my leadership.

​"I’m fine," I repeated, rasping this time, trying to force my Captain’s voice back into my lungs. "I just... I feel like I let the whole team down."

​The silence that followed was suffocating.

​Gerald’s forced grin completely vanished. Petter looked down at his sneakers, shifting uncomfortably, while Jake rubbed the back of his neck, completely at a loss for words.

​Then, Russo took a heavy step forward. He didn’t offer a gentle smile or a soft comforting gesture. He pulled a chair right up to the side of the bed, sat down with a dull thump, and leaned his broad elbows on his knees, staring at me with cold, unyielding intensity.

​"Shut up, Cap," Russo grunted, his deep voice cutting through the room like an axe. "Don’t ever say some stupid shit like that again."

​I blinked, taken aback by his blunt tone.

​"You took a forty-mile-an-hour blind-side charge from Pedro to protect the puck," Russo said, pointing a calloused finger straight at my chest. "You played through a broken body for two periods, hid a medical crisis that would have put anyone else in an ICU, and kept us tied in Game 2. You didn’t let anyone down. If anyone let this team down, it’s us for not clearing Pedro off your back fast enough."

​"Russo’s right," Miller spoke up from the couch, his voice low and steady as an anchor. "You carried this franchise on your back for years as a Beta, and now you’re carrying it through this nightmare. Sub-gender, broken leg, whatever—you’re our Captain. That doesn’t change because of a hospital gown."

​Before I could swallow down the fresh lump forming in my throat, the heavy wooden door to the private room pushed open.

​Reid stepped inside, carrying a tray of cardboard coffee cups. The moment his sharp grey eyes caught my wet cheeks and the tense, quiet huddle of players around my bed, his entire posture transformed.

His jaw locked, his eyes narrowed into dangerous slits, and his dark pine scent spiked instantly—thick, cold, and protective—filling the room like a sudden storm.

​"What happened?" Reid’s low, gravelly voice echoed off the white walls, a clear warning laced in his tone as he set the coffees down on the table with a sharp snap.

​Gerald threw his hands up in mock surrender, taking two fast steps backward. "Woah, easy, McCoy! We didn’t do anything! We were just talking!"

​"Yeah, man, don’t look at us like you’re about to put us through the glass," Peter said quickly, backing toward the door. "He started crying on his own! We were just... telling him he didn’t ruin anything."

​Reid ignored them completely. He stepped past Russo, who smoothly stood up and ceded his chair, stepping back to give us space.

​Reid dropped onto the edge of the mattress, his broad frame immediately blocking the rest of the room from view. He didn’t care that five of our teammates were watching.

His large, warm hand came up, his thumb gently reaching out to wipe a lingering tear from the cheekbone beneath my eye, his touch painstaking and soft.

​"Kain," Reid murmured, his low voice meant only for me as his pine scent wrapped around my senses like a velvet shield, drowning out the lingering distress. "What’s wrong? Are you in pain?"

​"No," I whispered, leaning my face just a fraction into his warm palm, letting his steady heat ground me. "Just... being stupid."

​"You’re not stupid," Reid rasped, his grey eyes locked on mine with a fierce, quiet devotion that made the rest of the world vanish. "You’re just... going through a lot. But you don’t have to go through a single second of it alone," he added softly, his thumb continuing its gentle, rhythmic stroke across my skin.

His broad shoulders remained squared against the room, creating an impenetrable sanctuary where I didn’t have to be the indestructible Captain for a few minutes. I could just be Kain.

Behind us, Gerald let out a soft, nervous cough, clearing his throat to break the intense, heavy atmosphere settling over the room.

"Look, Cap," Gerald said, stepping up near the foot of the bed while keeping a respectful distance from Reid’s territorial range. "The League’s emergency hearing is at eight. Devin said he’s heading in with your lawyer and sister. Whatever happens in that room, the boys have your back. Nobody in that locker room is letting them tear you down."

"He’s right," Russo grunted, crossing his massive arms over his chest as he looked at me. "We’ve got practice at noon to stay sharp while Game 2 is suspended. We’ll handle the ice, Cap. You handle recovering."

I swallowed against the remaining tightness in my throat, forcing a small, genuine nod as I looked around at them. "Thanks, guys. Truly."

"Alright, let’s leave these two alone before McCoy tries to throw us through the drywall," Miller said with a rare, faint smirk, tossing his empty coffee cup into the bin and heading for the door.

The guys filed out one by one, each of them tapping the foot of my bed or giving my shoulder a quick, supportive squeeze as they passed. Gerald paused at the doorway, giving Reid a long, warning look. "Take care of our Captain, McCoy. Or you’ll answer to the whole line."

"I always do," Reid replied without turning around.