PLAYING DEFENSE #2
Elara swallowed, her throat raw. She leaned her head back against the concrete wall, completely surrendering to his strength.
"Marcus called. Declan’s team gave an audio file to a tabloid. It’s from the night we broke up. They edited out the part where I caught him cheating, and they just published the audio of me screaming at him.
They want to prove that you and I are a fake PR stunt by destroying whatever credibility I have left."
Julian’s jaw clenched so tight the muscles leaped beneath his scruff. "Where is your phone?"
"In the pocket," Elara whispered, nodding to the jacket she was wearing.
Julian reached out, his hand sliding smoothly into the deep pocket of the jacket. He didn't look at the screen. He pulled the phone out, hit the power button, and powered the device entirely off. He tossed it onto a nearby medical cart.
"Julian, Marcus said—"
"I don't give a damn what Marcus said, and I don't give a damn what the internet says," Julian interrupted, his voice a low, dark purr of absolute possession. He leaned forward, closing the distance between them until his chest brushed her knees. "I am playing defense now."
Elara stared at him, completely captivated by the fierce, unwavering storm in his gray eyes.
"They want to play games? Fine," Julian growled softly, reaching up.
His hands framed her face, his thumbs wiping away the tear tracks on her cheeks with infinite, agonizing tenderness.
"But they are dealing with me now. You are not fighting this alone anymore, Elara. Do you hear me? You are completely, utterly off-limits to him."
Elara’s breath hitched. The physical proximity, the heat of his hands on her skin, and the sheer, breathtaking devotion in his eyes were overwhelming. The panic was entirely gone, replaced by a heavy, liquid heat that pooled low in her stomach.
"He's going to ruin your reputation, Julian," she whispered, a desperate plea for him to save himself. "If they paint me as toxic, the sponsors will pull your captaincy anyway. The contract won't work."
"Fuck the contract," Julian swore, the words tearing out of him.
He leaned in, his forehead pressing firmly against hers.
His breath ghosted over her parted lips, hot and ragged.
"I don't care about the captaincy. I don't care about the sponsors. If I lose it all because I stood between you and the rest of the world, then it’s a price I am completely willing to pay."
Elara closed her eyes, a fresh wave of tears hitting her, not from panic this time, but from a profound, shattering sense of being unconditionally valued. Declan had traded her dignity for a headline. Julian Thorne was ready to burn his entire career to the ground just to keep her safe.
"You can't say things like that to me," she breathed, her voice trembling, her hands coming up to grip the thick fabric of his jersey.
"I can," Julian whispered fiercely, his thumbs tracing the line of her jaw. "And I will. Every single day until you believe it. You are not broken, Elara. You were just loving a boy who was too weak to carry the weight of you. I am not weak."
He tilted her face up. He didn't break the rule. He didn't kiss her mouth. But the control he was exerting was so thin it was practically transparent.
He turned his head and pressed his lips to her cheek, right beside her ear. His mouth was scorching hot, searing a brand into her skin. He lingered there, the rough stubble of his jaw grazing her cheekbone, his heavy, frantic heartbeat thudding against her chest.
"I’m taking you home," Julian murmured against her skin.
He pulled back, standing up in one fluid, powerful motion. He didn't offer his hand; he simply reached down, gripped her waist, and lifted her to her feet with effortless ease.
They walked back toward the locker rooms. The hallway was empty, the team still out on the ice, completely oblivious to the hurricane that had just torn through their captain’s life.
When they reached the private exit, Julian’s phone buzzed in his gear bag.
He pulled it out. It was Sarah, the PR director. Julian answered it, putting it on speaker so Elara could hear.
"Julian, tell me you aren't in public," Sarah’s voice barked, frantic and sharp. "The audio clip is everywhere. We need a counter-strategy immediately. I am drafting a statement for your social media distancing yourself from Elara’s 'emotional distress' to protect your image—"
"Stop," Julian commanded. His voice wasn't loud, but it possessed a terrifying, lethal calm that instantly silenced the PR veteran on the other end of the line.
"Julian—"
"You do not draft a damn thing without my explicit approval, Sarah," Julian warned, his hand finding Elara’s and interlocking their fingers tightly. "And if you ever suggest distancing me from Elara again, you will be looking for a new job by the end of the hour."
A stunned silence echoed from the phone.
"Here is the new strategy," Julian continued, his stormy eyes fixed on Elara, offering her a dark, triumphant smile.
"We aren't hiding. We aren't issuing apologetic statements. Tonight is the team charity gala. Elara is my date. We are going to walk onto that red carpet, and we are going to look the media dead in the eye. You make sure every camera in the state is there."
"Julian, that is suicide," Sarah gasped. "They will ambush her with questions about the recording!"
"Let them try," Julian said softly, the underlying violence in his tone unmistakable. "I’ll handle the press. Just make sure the cameras are rolling."
He ended the call, tossing the phone back into his bag.
Elara stared at him, her heart hammering a frantic, wild rhythm against her ribs. The sheer, unapologetic confidence radiating from him was the most intoxicating thing she had ever felt.
"A gala?" Elara whispered, the thrill of the fight finally sparking in her whiskey eyes. "Tonight?"
Julian stepped into her space, his large hands settling heavy and warm on her hips. The practice facility, the PR crisis, the noise of the world outside—all of it faded into absolute insignificance against the heavy, gravitational pull of his touch.
"Tonight," Julian confirmed, his voice dropping into that rough, ragged purr that made her knees feel weak. "Go home. Put on the most devastating dress you own. And tonight, I’m going to show the entire world exactly what it looks like when I play defense.