And now, we were here, together,hers.
“So you’re a puck bunny now?” Cole asked, lazily moving his wrist under his jacket as Eva’s cheeks turned pink and her breaths turned uneven.
“Have been for a long time,” she managed then half-moaned as he did something that made her squirm. “Cole, you can’t—not here?—”
“The fuck I can’t,” he interrupted her, and she squeaked at whatever he’d done in response. “I promised Tristanyou’d be soaked and waiting for him after the game, ready to celebrate his win.”
“What if—ah—they don’t win?” Her voice was breathy, desperate.
“Then you’ll console him.” Cole’s smile was wicked. “Either way, kitten, we’re fucking you stupid tonight.”
I slid my hand up her thigh, found Cole’s fingers working her, and added my own. She whimpered then dragged me down for another kiss.
“Shhh, baby girl. Can’t let all these good people know how needy you are, hm?”
The game started. Tristan played like a man possessed—skating faster, hitting harder, finding openings that shouldn't have existed. Every time he passed our section, his eyes found us.
Cole kept his fingers moving the entire first period, bringing her to the edge and then backing off. By the time the buzzer sounded, Eva was trembling, her face against my shoulder.
“Please,” she whispered.
“Absolutely not,” Cole said, withdrawing his hand. She whimpered at the loss as he licked his fingers clean.
The second period was torture for all of us. Tristan scored midway through, a beautiful shot that had the crowd on their feet.
In the third period, with the Marauders up 2-1 and seconds left in the game, Cole finally gave Eva permission.
“Come for us, princess,” he whispered. “Show us how much you love watching Tristan play.”
She shattered, silent except for her shuddering breath against my neck, her entire body trembling as she came. I held her through it, one hand in her hair, the other on her cheek.
“So fucking perfect,” I whispered in her ear as the final buzzer sounded. The Marauders won 2-1, and the crowd erupted.
The celebration on the ice was chaos—confetti falling, music blaring, and the Marauders losing their shit with joy. We helped Eva onto the ice carefully, her legs still shaky, and found Tristan in the center of the celebration.
He swept her up in his arms and planted a kiss on her lips. Then, he did the same to Cole. When he came to me, he leaned his forehead on mine. “I love you, Alek,” he said quietly.
“I love you too,” I murmured. I brushed my lips against his as flashes from photographers went off around us and confetti dropped down onto the ice.
“She’s ready for you,” I murmured.
“Gonna fuck her stupid,” he said with a grin.
“Maybe I’ll do the same to you,” I promised.
“Fuck, I hope so.”
“Novikov.”
I turned to find Coach Caruso standing behind me, arms crossed, expression unreadable. The championship trophy gleamed between us, held aloft by celebrating players.
“Coach,” I said.
He looked at the team—his team, the team I’d built and left behind. Then, he looked back at me.
“You did good work here,” he said finally. “Really good work. These boys—” He gestured at Tristan, Massi, and Rami celebrating together, at the whole team. “They’re disciplined. They know how to work together.”
My chest tightened. “You finished it. The championship is yours.”