Chapter 222: It felt like forever

I looked at him for a long moment, my eyes tracing the dark circles under his eyes, the sling on his shoulder, and the quiet devotion in his stance.

"Reid?"

"Yes?"

"Can you come over for a sec?"

Reid didn’t hesitate. He shifted his weight, carefully maneuvering his braced frame over to the edge of the mattress. "Sure."

The second he was within arm’s reach, I didn’t even give him a chance to sit down properly. I reached out with my uninjured side, wrapping my arm tight around his waist and pulling him straight into my space.

My face pressed flat against the warm, solid expanse of his lower abdomen, right where his shirt was stretched tight over his belt. The rich, overwhelming scent of frozen pine hit me instantly—warm, thick, and carrying the unmistakable comfort of safety and home. I instinctively leaned into him, resting my forehead against his stomach and inhaling deeply.

A soft, low hum vibrated through his chest beneath my cheek. Reid let out a quiet, amused huff, his uninjured hand coming up to rest lightly on the back of my head.

"You know, Cap... if you wanted to sniff me down there, you could have just asked," Reid murmured, his voice dipping into a low, shamelessly playful drawl. "I wouldn’t have minded."

My face flushed instantly hot against his shirt. A perverted idiot through and through. But I didn’t swat his shoulder, and I didn’t yell at him. I just tightened my grip on his waist, burying my face deeper into his warmth, my throat aching with a thick, suffocating swell of emotion.

"I missed you, Reid," I whispered into his neck, my voice barely audible, raw and trembling.

Reid went completely still. The teasing aura vanished instantly, replaced by a warm, protective stillness that wrapped around us like a shield. His fingers tangled gently into the hair at the back of my head, his thumb stroking my nape with painstaking care.

"I was only gone for two days..." Reid murmured softly against my hair, though his own voice carried a thick, raspy edge of emotion. He rested his forehead against mine, his dark grey eyes searching my face with an intensity that made my heart ache. "Only two days, Kain."

"It felt like forever," I rasped, tears finally spilling over my lashes as the sheer weight of everything—the media, his sacrifice, and the brutal war on the ice—came washing over me all at once. "It was too long..."

Reid didn’t say a word. He just leaned down, pressing a long, warm kiss right to my temple, letting his steady heartbeat answer every silent fear I had kept buried inside.

After a few minutes of quiet warmth, he shifted carefully, easing his uninjured side back onto the edge of the mattress. He didn’t try to move back to the sofa.

Instead, he leaned his head against the raised stack of my pillows, his hand remaining firmly linked with mine over the thermal blanket.

We talked in soft, hushed whispers for a while. Reid walked me through the chaotic blur of the final minutes—how Miller had practically stood on his head to make those miraculous saves in overtime, how Devin had almost lost his voice screaming at the refs, and the sheer, deafening explosion of noise when the puck hit the mesh.

I listened quietly, my thumb tracing the back of his knuckles, soaking in the low, gravelly rumble of his voice.

Eventually, the combination of my pain medication and the deep, heavy exhaustion of the past week caught up to me. My eyelids grew impossibly heavy.

"Get some rest, Cap," Reid murmured, his fingers giving mine a gentle, grounding squeeze. "I’m not going anywhere."

I let out a soft breath, drifting off into a deep, dreamless sleep—safe in the knowledge that he was right beside me.

A quiet, rhythmic knock at the suite door woke me hours later.

I blinked against the afternoon light, slowly sitting up as Marina pushed the door open, stepping aside to admit two figures.

Brad McCoy entered the room first, his warm, gentle presence immediately softening the sterile atmosphere. His light grey eyes swept over Reid’s sling before settling on me with a quiet, sympathetic smile.

Behind him stood Fidora McCoy. She was as immaculate and sharp as ever in a tailored cream coat, her posture showing zero trace of the media storm or the legal ultimatum her team had orchestrated forty-eight hours ago.

I could tell instantly that Brad was the reason she was standing in this room. He had likely used every bit of quiet persuasion he possessed to convince her to visit—not to start a fight, but to acknowledge the reality of the situation.

Fidora’s eyes locked onto Reid first. The moment she saw her son sitting on the edge of my bed with his shoulder bound in a rigid medical sling, her dark eyebrows drew together into a subtle, tight line.

"Look at you," Fidora murmured, her tone clipped, carrying the faint edge of a mother whose pride was quietly bruised by the sight of her son’s physical weariness. She stepped closer, her heels clicking softly, though her gaze flicked briefly toward the heavy silver Stanley Cup sitting on my desk before returning to Reid. "A broken shoulder for a piece of silver. Good riddance to that brutish game... your future without it is still far brighter."

The room went completely still.

Reid didn’t rise to the bait. He didn’t defend the sport, he didn’t brag about the overtime winner, and he didn’t bring up the price he had been forced to pay to protect my secret. He simply sat there, his fingers remaining locked with mine, his grey eyes calm and unyielding.

I kept quiet as well. Part of me—the proud captain who had given his youth to the ice—wanted to ask her how she could force her only son to abandon something he loved if she truly cared about him. But looking at her sharp, unbending posture, I realized the answer.

To Fidora McCoy, love wasn’t about supporting a passion; it was about securing control, legacy, and power. In her mind, the corporate path she had chosen for her only child far outweighed a game on ice. Arguing with her now was pointless—the paper was signed, the Cup was won, and the choice was finalized.

Brad stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on his wife’s arm before looking over at me.

"How are you feeling, Kain?" Brad asked softly, his voice full of genuine warmth. "The news, the injuries... It’s been a heavy week for both of you."

"I’m managing, Mr. McCoy," I replied quietly, keeping my tone respectful. "Thank you for coming."

"We are family now, dear," Brad said, offering a small, reassuring smile that pointedly acknowledged my place in Reid’s life. "There’s no need for such formality."