Chapter 20
Practice is winding down, everyone drenched in sweat and breathing like they just ran a marathon through hell, mostly because Elias has been in full feral captain mode — chirping everyone, pushing the pace, and generally being an absolute menace.
The rookies have already puked. Several times.
Jace looks like he is one more suicide away from crying.
I am grinning like an idiot because this is exactly how I like it.
Lena is in the stands like she is every damn year around Christmas, screaming and cheering like we are playing in the Stanley Cup Final instead of a tired end-of-practice scrimmage.
“Let’s go, Reapers! Skate harder, you lazy asses!
That’s my brother out there looking like a snack!
” She has been doing this since I got drafted.
It used to embarrass me. Now I just wave my stick at her like a lunatic and yell back.
Damian blows the final whistle, the sharp sound cutting through the arena.
We all start gliding toward the bench, exhausted but buzzing, when — of course — he blows it again.
Two short, angry bursts. Jace, poor kid, faceplants dramatically into the ice mid-stride.
A couple of the guys have to jump over his sprawled body like it is some kind of hockey obstacle course as they turn back toward the bench.
“Listen up, Reapers!” Damian barks, voice carrying that commanding growl that still makes rookies straighten up instantly. Elias is practically vibrating out of his skin beside him on the bench, which means he is absolutely in on whatever this is.
“And Lena!” Damian calls louder, tilting his head toward the stands.
Lena actually yelps — a high, surprised sound I have never heard from her before. She clutches the railing like she has been caught doing something illegal. I snort so hard I almost choke on my own spit.
Damian continues, cane planted firmly, looking every bit the terrifying coach even with the holiday lights someone strung up along the boards. “This Christmas it’s dinner at our house. 24th December, 6 pm. Be late and you will run laps around my house for Christmas.”
The team erupts into a mix of groans, laughter, and excited chirps.
Mats, I notice, has been eyeing Lena in the stands the entire practice — and now he is staring even harder, a slow, interested grin spreading across his face.
I make a mental note to threaten him later.
Nobody eyes my sister like that without consequences.
I skate over to the boards, still breathing hard, and grin up at Lena.
She flips me off but she is smiling. I’m about to chirp her for it when movement near the bench catches my eye.
Viktor has skated over to Damian, shoulders tense under his practice jersey, head dipped slightly like he is trying to make the conversation private despite standing in the middle of the damn rink.
Damian says something too low for me to catch, but whatever it is makes Viktor go still.
“Kade,” he starts, careful like he already knows this is going to be a fight.
Damian interrupts him instantly, not even letting him finish the sentence. “Out of the question. Bring her.”
I blink, skates slowing as I glide closer. “Bring who?”
Viktor sighs, rubbing a gloved hand over his face. “Kade… absolutely not. You guys are too many, too loud.”
Now I am completely lost. I stop skating altogether, planting my stick on the ice and staring between them. “WHOOOOO?” I whine, voice pitching higher with confusion.
Damian just shakes his head, steady and unbothered. “I will not hear it, Petrov. Bring her. Elias already planned the entire thing and counted her. Don’t bring me divorce, man.”
The whole team is now staring, genuinely confused. Shane has his helmet half-off, mouth open. Mats looks like he is trying to solve a math equation. Even the rookies have stopped pretending they are not listening.
“WHO… THE FUCK… ARE WE TALKING ABOUT?” I demand, getting properly pissed now because I hate being the only one not in on the joke.
Viktor turns to me, his eyes softening just a fraction as he says it. “My mother.”
I swear I black out for a second.
My brain does a full system reboot and immediately launches into a screaming spiral.
Viktor’s mother. The mother. The one he risked everything to get out of Russia.
The one he has been quietly protecting and worrying about for years.
If he is bringing her to Christmas dinner at Damian and Elias’s house, that means I am going to meet her.
Meet his mother. What if she hates me? What if I’m too loud, too chaotic, too much?
What if I say the wrong thing and she thinks I’m not good enough for her son?
What if she takes one look at my loud mouth and my TikTok personality and decides I am exactly the kind of bright, chaotic thing that could ruin Viktor the way his father ruined her? Wait, no…that makes no sense.
My stomach drops so fast I feel nauseous. I am standing there on the ice in full gear, mouth open, probably looking like a complete idiot while my brain screams at me in ten different languages.
The arena noise fades to a dull roar in my ears, and I can barely hear anything except the screaming in my own head. Viktor is gesturing toward me with both hands like he’s saying see what you did?! to Damian, but I can’t even process it.
“Cole… baby… you’re turning green,” Elias says somewhere to my left, voice laced with concern, but it sounds far away.
My brain is spiraling so hard I can’t stop it. Viktor’s mother. The woman he crossed an ocean and risked everything for. The one person in the world who matters most to him. What if Viktor has to choose and he chooses her and breaks up with me? The thought hits like a slap shot to the ribs.
I twist violently, stomach heaving, and grab the first rookie helmet I can reach — poor Jace’s — before puking into it hard enough that my vision whites out for a second.
Viktor is on me instantly, massive hands steadying my shoulders as he pulls me closer. “Cole. Breathe. I’ve got you.”
I look up at him, still gasping, eyes wide and probably wild. He looks so real. So solid. So mine. The thought of losing him makes my chest cave in.
“Don’t…” I blurt out, voice cracking. “Don’t leave me.”
Viktor freezes, dark brows pulling together in confusion as he wipes my face clean with the sleeve of his practice jersey, careful and gentle. “What?” he asks, frowning. “What the hell are you talking about? What’s wrong, soroka?”
My breathing starts turning erratic, sharp and too fast, like my lungs forgot how to do their job.
The arena lights feel too bright, the ice too cold under my skates, and my chest is tightening in a way I’ve never felt before.
I’ve seen Elias have panic attacks on planes, but this is my first time experiencing one, and it’s terrifying.
My body feels weird — detached, buzzing and wrong.
I can’t stop staring at Viktor’s chest, at the rise and fall of his practice jersey, like if I focus hard enough the rest of the world will stop spinning.
“No. Cole. Look at me.” Viktor’s voice cuts through the static in my head, firm but gentle. His big hands cup my face, tilting it up until I’m forced to meet his eyes. “I am right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
I try to nod, but my breath keeps hitching, coming out in shaky little gasps. The panic is still clawing at me — thoughts about his mother, about not being enough, about him leaving — spinning faster and faster.
Viktor doesn’t let go. He keeps my face cradled in his palms, thumbs stroking slowly over my cheeks, and starts speaking in Russian, low and steady, forcing me to focus on the words, on him, just to understand.
“Four years ago, when you were a rookie… I used to watch you during practice. You were so loud, so bright, always chirping and laughing even when you were exhausted. I told myself I was only observing the new player. But at night, in my apartment, I would think about you. I imagined pulling you into the equipment room after everyone left, pressing you against the wall and kissing you until you couldn’t talk anymore.
I imagined what your skin would taste like after practice, how you would sound if I put my mouth on you.
I hated myself for it, but I couldn’t stop.
Every time you smiled at me, soroka, I wanted you more.
I wanted to ruin that pretty mouth. I wanted to hold you down and make you mine.
I have wanted you for so long, Cole. Longer than you know. ”
The Russian words wrap around me like a lifeline, pulling me out of the spiral.
I have to concentrate to understand them, translating in my head, and the effort forces my breathing to slow, to match the steady rhythm of his voice.
My hands come up to grip his wrists, holding on as the panic slowly loosens its grip.
“That’s it, my good boy… breathe with me. Deep and slow. You’re doing so well. Look at you, trying so hard for me. I’m so proud of you.”
I can hear him breathing deeper on purpose now — loud, deliberate inhales and exhales right in front of me. I latch onto the sound desperately, forcing my own lungs to match his rhythm. In… and out. In… and out. My breathing is still shaky, but it starts to even out, syncing with his.
Viktor’s voice softens even more, still in Russian, praising me every time I get it right. “Good… just like that. Such a perfect boy. Breathe for me, baby. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
Then he starts telling me another story, still speaking in that low, soothing Russian, each word deliberate so I have to focus on understanding him.