CHAPTER 18 #2
The final horn exploded through the heavy steel rafters of the arena.
It was a massive, vibrating, prolonged blast of sound that entirely rattled the bones in Dorian’s chest. The red goal light positioned behind the glass flashed continuously, bathing the chaotic ice in a violent, triumphant strobe.
3-2.
The Chicago Inferno won the PHA Championship Cup.
The stadium detonated. Sixty thousand fans unleashed a roaring, hysterical wave of absolute madness. The noise was no longer a pressure front; it was a physical lifting force, entirely eradicating the gravity in the building.
Dorian lay flat on his back inside the netting for a single, gasping second. His chest heaved violently against the heavy plastic of his gear. His left hand throbbed, his spine burned, and his vision was entirely blurred by the sweat stinging his eyes.
He let the heavy catcher glove drop to the ice. He opened the leather webbing. The black puck rolled harmlessly out onto the white surface.
He had done it. He had held the final line.
Before Dorian could even attempt to push himself up, the heavy, reinforced steel door of the Inferno bench flew wide open.
A massive tidal wave of black and red jerseys poured over the boards.
Sticks, heavy leather gloves, and helmets were thrown blindly into the air, clattering against the ice as the entire roster swarmed the defensive zone.
Dorian rolled onto his knees, dragging his mask off his head. He threw the fiberglass shell aside, exposing his pale, sweat-drenched face to the cold arena air.
He didn't look for the coaches. He didn't look for his agent.
He scanned the chaotic, rushing mass of his teammates.
Everett Kane was already there.
The captain had discarded his stick and his heavy protective gloves. Everett was skating toward the crease with a desperate, terrifying speed, entirely ignoring the teammates trying to grab his shoulders to celebrate. His dark eyes were locked entirely on the goalie pulling himself out of the net.
Dorian didn't wait for him to reach the paint.
He pushed off his blades, driving his exhausted legs forward.
They collided directly in the high slot.
The impact was a massive, bone-jarring crash of dense Kevlar, hard plastic, and heavy muscle. Dorian didn't brace himself. He slammed his body flush against Everett’s chest protector, throwing his bare, taped hands entirely around the captain’s thick neck.
Everett absorbed the kinetic force with absolute ease. The captain’s massive arms wrapped instantly around Dorian’s heavy, padded waist. Everett gripped the goalie with a desperate, crushing pressure, physically lifting Dorian’s skates completely off the ice.
Dorian buried his face directly into the heavy, sweat-soaked curve of Everett’s neck. He clung to the defenseman, his long fingers digging fiercely into the thick fabric of the jersey.
The rest of the roster crashed into them a second later.
The heavy impact of twenty other fully grown athletes swarming their captain and their star goalie created a massive, chaotic pileup of pure team ecstasy.
Helmets knocked together. Heavy hands slapped against Dorian’s back and Everett’s shoulder pads.
The sheer, bruising weight of the celebration crushed them into the center of the mass.
But even as the entire franchise collapsed in around them, screaming and laughing, Everett didn't loosen his grip.
His right arm remained locked securely around the base of Dorian’s spine, his heavy hand pressing a dark, possessive heat directly into the goalie’s muscles.
It was the exact same unyielding pressure he had used to pin Dorian to the mattress in the penthouse, deployed now in front of sixty thousand screaming witnesses.
Dorian kept his face hidden against Everett’s collarbone, his breathing a frantic, jagged rhythm. The icy, fiercely guarded athlete from Vladivostok was entirely gone. He surrendered his weight completely, entirely willing to let the captain carry him through the chaos.
High above center ice, the massive digital jumbotron flashed the championship graphic.
Silver confetti began to violently flood the arena air.
The small, metallic squares caught the harsh stadium lights, raining down over the ice in a chaotic, blinding storm.
It coated the shoulders of their black jerseys.
It stuck to the wet ice around their skates.
It filled the air with a static, shimmering haze that entirely blurred the lines between the roaring stadium and the private, consuming reality of the two men locked in the center of it.
The final barrier was on the verge of total destruction. The fake legal contract was dead. The federal threat was a memory. The public lie of their convenience was entirely ready to be ripped apart.
Everett set Dorian’s skates back onto the ice, but he didn't pull away. He turned his head, his heavy, stubble-covered jaw pressing hard against Dorian’s temple, his breathing a rough, exhausted drag of air.
The media handlers were already opening the gates, rushing the live television cameras onto the red carpet for the trophy presentation.
The world was demanding their attention.
But as Dorian felt the captain's heavy fingers slowly trace the line of his spine through the thick padding, he knew the ultimate declaration hadn't even started yet.