Chapter 6 #3
Cole’s finger stays jammed against my sternum, his eyes locked on mine, furious and desperate all at once. “You don’t get to be jealous,” he whispers harshly, voice cracking. “Not when you’re the one who made the rules.”
The angrier he gets, the more his voice rises in harsh whispers, finger jabbing harder into my sternum with every accusation.
“You don’t get to play jealous protector out there and then act like nothing happened between us!
” he hisses. “You don’t get to hold me against your chest and call me fucking birdie and then shut down again. You don’t get to—”
My hand shoots up, wrapping firmly around his throat, and I spin us hard. Cole’s back hits the tiled wall with a wet slap. I pin him there, my much larger frame crowding him completely, water cascading down our bodies. My thumb presses under his jaw, tilting his face up to mine.
“You are mine, soroka,” I growl, Russian spilling out because I cannot hold it back anymore. “You think I don’t want you? Every fucking day I want you. But I will not ruin you. I will not become him.”
Cole’s eyes go wide, lips parted on a sharp gasp, but he does not understand the Russian. He just stares up at me, breathing hard, completely at my mercy.
I cannot wait another second.
I crush my mouth to his. The kiss is hard and desperate.
Years of restraint shattering all at once.
I kiss him like I am trying to crawl inside his skin, teeth clashing, tongue demanding entrance.
Cole makes a broken sound against my lips — half moan, half sob — and then he is kissing me back just as fiercely, his hands flying up to grip my shoulders, nails digging in.
Water streams between us, making everything slick and hot as I press him harder against the wall, one thigh shoving between his legs.
I taste alcohol and anger and the same aching need that has lived in me since the night I first touched him. My hand stays wrapped around his throat, possessive, controlling, while the other slides down his wet body, gripping his hip hard enough to bruise.
Then the image slams into me like a dirty hit.
My father. Red-faced. Yelling. Bottle in hand. The way he used to grab my mother by the throat when she talked too loud, when she laughed too bright, when she existed too much. The way her light slowly dimmed year after year until there was almost nothing left.
I break the kiss with a sharp gasp, pulling back just enough to look at Cole. My hand tightens around his throat for a single, terrifying second — not enough to hurt, but enough to feel the danger in it. My pulse is roaring in my ears. Anger at myself rises fast and ugly in my chest.
“I can’t…” I rasp, voice wrecked.
I let go of him like he burned me and step back. Cole’s eyes are wide, lips swollen. I do not wait for him to speak. I cannot. I turn and walk out of the shower stall, grabbing a towel on the way and wrapping it around my waist.
Behind me, I hear the sound of flesh hitting tile — Cole punching the wall — followed by a string of furious, broken curses. “Fuck you, Viktor. Fuck you—”
I keep walking.
The locker room is still loud with post-game celebration when I step back in, water dripping from my hair. I head straight to my stall and start pulling on clothes with mechanical movements.
Damian is leaning against the wall nearby, arms crossed, watching me with that knowing look, then he raises one eyebrow.
I do not say a word. I just yank my shirt over my head and sit down to pull on my pants, the weight of what I almost let happen pressing down on me like a mountain.
Cole storms out of the shower area like a hurricane, water still dripping from his curls and down his skin.
He is completely naked except for the towel clutched in one hand.
His eyes are blazing with fury as he snatches his pants from his stall, yanks on Elias’s oversized Reapers hoodie — the one I know belongs to his best friend because I have seen Elias wear it a hundred times — and shoves his feet into his shoes without even bothering to tie them.
The entire locker room goes dead silent for half a second. Then Cole slams the door open so hard the walls rattle and storms out.
“Cole!” Elias shouts after him, worried. “Fucking hell!” He bolts after him, still half-dressed, nearly tripping over his own gear as he disappears out the door.
I drop onto the bench in front of my stall, elbows on my knees, and let out a long, exhausted sigh. My hand curls into a fist and I punch the wood beside my thigh — hard enough to sting, not hard enough to break anything. The pain grounds me for half a second.
Mats, who was changing nearby, turns to look at me with wide eyes. “Dude… what the hell did you do?”
I glare at him, dark and warning. He wisely shuts his mouth and goes back to pulling on his shirt, but I can feel the rest of the team’s eyes on me now.
Shane is muttering something under his breath.
Tyler looks uncomfortable. Even Damian raises an eyebrow from across the room, leaning on his cane like he already knows exactly what happened.
I drag a hand through my wet hair and stare at the floor.