Page 82 of Hold the Line

The clipboard slams against the whiteboard so hard everyone jumps.

“You four,” Damian growls, pointing at Cole, Elias, Jace, and Tyler, “are planning a wedding. During my playoff briefing.”

Cole, without missing a beat and still sitting happily between my knees, grins up at him. “It affects attendance, sir.”

Damian pinches the bridge of his nose so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t snap. “I swear to God…”

Then Elias, completely serious, adds, “But Coach… if Shane catches the bouquet…”

“I don’t care who catches the bouquet,” Damian deadpans.

I watch the whole thing with a small smile on my face. Cole isn’t planning escape routes anymore. He isn’t looking up fake passports or researching New Zealand immigration. He is planning our wedding. Our future. The relief in my chest is warm and deep. My little bird is finally looking forward instead of running.

“And you!” Damian groans, pointing straight at me.

I gesture to myself innocently.

“Yeah, you! If you don’t make that fiancé of yours shut the fuck up, I’m marrying you in the fucking locker room,” Damian huffs.

Cole gasps dramatically, hand flying to his chest. “But sir!”

The entire locker room explodes into laughter. Shane is howling. Mats is wiping tears from his eyes. Even Roman has a grin on his face.

I just pull Cole back against my chest, arms wrapping around him, and press a kiss to the top of his head while the chaos continues around us.

Cole, being Cole as always, of course, cannot leave well enough alone. He gets up from between my knees, walks straight over to Damian like he has zero fear of death, and looks up at our terrifying coach with complete seriousness.

“You said you’d marry us, right? Like Viktor married you and Curls. You guys got married on the rink, so obviously… Curls… WE are not doing that. But, sir… Green or black?” Cole asks, voice deadly serious.

Damian glares at him so hard I’m surprised Cole doesn’t combust on the spot.

Cole just grins wider, completely unbothered.

“Black,” Damian says eventually, almost against his will.

Cole looks victorious.

“And maybe a destination wedding would be more fun,” Damian adds, leaning down to whisper just loud enough for Cole (and me) to hear, “Since you wanted to run away. New Zealand, maybe?”

Cole’s mouth drops open in pure betrayal. Damian straightens up with the tiniest, most evil smirk I have ever seen on the man and goes right back to his clipboard like nothing happened.

I simply lean back against my stall, watching my fiancé get absolutely roasted by our coach and feeling something warm and steady settle deep in my chest.

Cole spins on his heel and looks straight at me, pouting like the dramatic little bird he is. “Get up, Petrov. We have a Cup to win… so we can get married,” he huffs, trying to look serious even with the blush still on his cheeks.

I stand up slowly, towering over him, and smirk. “Yes, baby.”

I pull him in right there in the middle of the locker room and kiss him. The team whoops and catcalls around us, but I do not care. Cole melts against me instantly, his hands fisting in my shirt, making that soft little sound I love so much.

When I pull back, his eyes are dazed and happy.

“Cup first,” I murmur against his mouth. “Then forever.”

Cole grins up at me, bright and brilliant and mine. “Deal.”

The locker room explodes into cheers again as we head out for the ice, hand in hand, rings catching the light.

I would burn the world for him. Thankfully, all he asked me to do was win one more Cup.