Chapter 67: Right, and I’m a Beta

​Reid let out a harsh, bitter laugh, turning his head away to stare blankly at the ceiling. "I lost my edge. It happens."

​"It doesn’t happen to a first-round prodigy unless his head is completely up his own ass," I shot back, my tone sharp as I took off my jacket and tossed it over a nearby chair.

​I had planned to stay for five minutes, get the status update, and leave. But seeing him look this genuinely frustrated—this stripped of his usual untouchable, snobbish armor—made my feet anchor to the floor.

I sat down on the edge of the armchair opposite the sofa, letting out a long, tired sigh.

"You’re just a hot-headed, stubborn guy, aren’t you?" I murmured, my voice losing its angry edge, replaced by a quiet, exhausted honesty.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees as I looked at him.

"What’s on your mind?" I found myself asking. "You’ve been off since yesterday, and now you’ve gone and ruined your own line entry because you couldn’t keep your focus. What is it?"

​Reid didn’t answer right away. He stayed completely still, his back pressed into the leather cushions as the silence in the penthouse stretched between us, heavy and thick.

Without his usual polished armor, he just looked like a brooding, frustrated brat who hated being trapped on a couch.

​I had a feeling it had something to do with Edward but he didn’t say a word about the rival captain, keeping whatever was actually eating at his dominant Alpha pride locked behind his teeth.

Instead, he let out a short, bitter breath and turned his head away, staring blankly out the floor-to-ceiling window at the grey, rain-slicked Seattle skyline.

​"Nothing’s on my mind, Evans," he muttered, his voice rough and flat. "I just made a stupid mistake on a deep rut. That’s all."

​"Right. And I’m a Beta," I shot back dryly, not believing a single word.

​"I’m serious," Reid growled, his eyes flicking back to me for a fraction of a second, flashing with a sudden, defensive heat. "The ice was chewed up from the second-line drills. Just shitty luck that could’ve happened to anyone."

​"And I repeat, it doesn’t happen to a first-round prodigy who handles the puck like it’s glued to his stick," I countered smoothly, my tone quiet but unyielding. "You were skating like you had something to prove today, McCoy. You were completely absent-minded from the second the whistle blew. You practically threw yourself into the boards."

​Reid let out a harsh, cynical scoff, his fingers tightening against the fabric of his grey t-shirt.

"Are you here to lecture me on my mechanics, Captain? Because if Marcus sent you here to be my therapist, you can tell him I’m not interested."

​"Marcus sent me to make sure our star rookie didn’t completely ruin our first-line offensive grid before the biggest game of the month," I said, leaning back against the armchair and crossing my arms. "Whatever is distracting you—whatever petty grudge or annoying thought you’re spinning in that expensive head of yours—you need to clear it out. Fast. The match is in less than two weeks. I need my winger focused, not throwing tantrums on the ice and landing himself on a couch."

​Reid’s jaw clenched so hard I thought it might crack. He turned his head back toward the window, his chest rising and falling in a slow, tight, frustrated rhythm.

The room fell back into that heavy, suffocating silence, the scent of frozen pine growing slightly darker, thick with the unsaid frustration rolling off him.

​I pursed my lips, staring at his stubborn profile. He was an insufferable prick, a beautiful, ruthless monster who held my entire life in his hands—but right now, watching him simmer in his own quiet anger, he just seemed entirely human.

​"Does it hurt?" I asked quietly, breaking the silence before it could completely choke the room.

​Reid blinked, seemingly caught off guard by the sudden change in my tone. He didn’t look at me, but his shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch.

"It’s fine. The trainer pumped me full of anti-inflammatories before he dropped me off."

​"Which means it’s going to throb like hell the second they wear off tonight," I muttered, standing up from the armchair.

​Reid’s eyes instantly snapped to me, his gaze tracking my movements with a sudden, sharp vigilance, as if he expected me to immediately walk out the door now that the official captain’s business was concluded.

But I didn’t walk out.

​Instead, I casually strolled toward his open-concept kitchen, my eyes taking in the sleek marble countertops, the top-of-the-line appliances that looked like they had never been used, and the absolute lack of any real clutter.

It was exactly the kind of sterile, pristine space you’d expect a wealthy person to have when he had people paid to clean up after his messes.

​"What are you doing?" Reid’s voice rasped from the living room, a heavy spike of irritation cutting through his flat tone.

He tried to shift his weight on the sofa to get a better look at me, but the sudden movement clearly jarred his bad leg. A low, breathy hiss escaped his teeth, his fingers digging into the leather cushions.

​"I’m looking for a glass," I called back over my shoulder, completely unbothered by his glare. I opened a sleek cabinet and pulled out a heavy crystal tumbler. "And maybe a bottle of water. Marcus told me to get a read on your mindset, McCoy. I planned to stay for five minutes but you won’t talk and five minutes isn’t enough to dissect whatever disaster is happening inside your head."

​I walked back into the living room, the glass of water in hand, and deliberately bypassed the armchair. I sat right down on the very edge of the long leather sofa, only a few feet away from where his uninjured leg was stretched out.

​Reid practically stiffened, his smoky grey eyes widening slightly in sheer shock at the sheer audacity of my movement.

​The physical proximity instantly altered the air between us. Up close, without the vast expanse of the penthouse to dilute it, the raw, concentrated weight of his frozen pine pheromones rolled over me in a heavy wave.

It was thick with the throbbing ache of his injury and the simmering heat of his frustration, immediately teasing the hyper-reliant edge of my Omega brain.

My hole gave a faint, quiet squeeze, but I forced my expression to remain an untouchable, blank mask.

​This was absolute payback.