Echo On The Ice

Chapter 5: Echo on the Ice

The video call connected and my father’s face appeared behind the Handler like a ghost from every bad memory I owned. Same tight jaw. Same flat eyes that used to measure me after every youth game and find me lacking. He did not speak right away. Just stared while I stayed on my knees naked in Callan’s room with the link already humming hot in my blood.

Callan’s fingers stayed tangled in my hair. His pulse jumped hard through the new connection straight into my chest. A sudden sharp spike that felt too personal. Like his control had cracked for half a second when my father showed up on screen.

“Brooks,” my father said at last. Voice dry as old tape. “You always found new ways to let me down. At least this version might actually pay off.”

I kept still. The drugs made every heartbeat feel doubled. Mine and Callan’s layered together until breathing got complicated. “You built the app. All of it. The blackmail the bets the control. You turned players into content.”

He leaned closer to whatever camera they had him behind. “I built structure. Pressure shows what a man is made of. Weak ones fold. Strong ones become profitable. Simple economics.”

Callan’s grip tightened suddenly. Too tight. His knuckles pressed hard against my scalp. For one breath it felt less like command and more like he wanted to pull me behind him and block the screen. Then he forced it back down. “The rookie is complying. That is what you wanted tonight.”

Handler’s smooth voice slid in. “Precisely captain. We need to see how the link changes live obedience. Full intensity. The father stays on feed for observation.”

My throat closed up. The link flared hotter mixing Callan’s sudden flash of anger with my own shame until I could not separate them. I looked up at him. “Sir. Not like this. Please.”

Callan exhaled once. Short. Then his thumb brushed my cheek almost soft before the mask locked back in place. “Open Brooks. You do not negotiate when they watch.”

I parted my lips. He pushed in slow letting the camera catch everything. My father’s eyes never left the feed. No flinch. No disgust. Just that same cold calculation he used when he graded my every save.

“Deeper,” Callan ordered. Rougher now. “Show him what his perfect son will do to stay in the show.”

I took more. Gagged hard. Tears slipped free. The link made it brutal. Every throb of Callan’s arousal hit me like my own. Every flicker of his discomfort at my father watching bled straight into me. It felt like being split open and held together at the same time.

The woman noted calmly. “Sync strengthening. Heart rates matching. Dopamine and submission markers elevated.”

My father finally spoke again. “He always crumbled under real pressure. Nice to see it directed somewhere useful.”

Callan’s hips jerked forward once. Harder. “Enough commentary. He is my rookie. My call.”

There it was again. That slip. His voice carried something raw underneath the command. Possessive in a way that sounded like it cost him. I felt it through the link. A surge that was not pure control. Closer to need. Like he hated my father being here more than he hated the syndicate.

I made a low sound around him. Could not stop it. The drugs turned everything up. Humiliation. Want. The weird relief of finally being seen exactly as broken as I felt.

Handler sounded pleased. “Perfect. Maintain that rhythm captain. We are recording the emotional crossover. Father any closing thoughts before we cut the feed?”

My father stayed blank. “Remind him who gave him the talent. And captain. Remember your contract clause. Attachments void pensions. Do not forget.”

The call dropped. Screen went dark.

Callan pulled out fast. Breathing ragged. He tossed the phone aside like it was poison then crouched and yanked me up against his chest. Both arms locked around me tight. Not an order. Just holding.

“Shit,” he muttered into my hair. Voice low and rough at the edges. “I did not know they would bring him in tonight. I would have shut it down.”

I pressed my face into his shoulder. The old scars felt rough against my skin. My body still shook from the link and everything else. “He did not even blink. Just looked disappointed. Same as always.”

Callan rubbed slow circles on my back. The motion felt strange coming from him. Too careful for the man who had just used my mouth on camera. “He uses everyone the same way. The app. The bets. The league. I have been trying to keep the worst parts away from you.”

I pulled back enough to meet his eyes. They looked tired behind the guard. “You knew about him the whole time. You made my profile after camp. Were you protecting me or making sure you got me first?”

He did not answer right away. His thumb wiped the tear streak from my cheek. “Both. I saw how you carried the pressure. The fake grin. I knew what the syndicate does to rookies like you. Figured if I reached you first I could steer how bad it got.”

The link hummed between us. His regret bleeding straight into my chest mixing with my own strange relief that someone finally wanted me past the stats. “It got bad tonight Sir. Really bad.”

Callan moved us to the bed. He sat first then pulled me down so I straddled his lap facing him. His hands settled on my hips. Fingers pressing in but not cruel. “The link will make tomorrow’s game messy. You will feel every hit I take. Every breath I shift. We turn it. Make their weapon ours.”

I rested my forehead on his. Still naked. Still buzzing from the drugs. “And my dad? He is betting on us now.”

His mouth brushed mine. Not deep. Just enough to steal the next breath. “Let him. We run our own game inside his. You submit because you choose it. Not because he built the walls.”

I rocked once against him testing the link. It flared bright. His want answered mine fast. “I do choose it. Even when he sees. Even when it scares me.”

Callan kissed me properly then. Slower. Deeper. Like he was trying to erase the last hour. When he pulled back his voice came quiet. “Sleep here. I will wake you before Tate stirs.”

Morning came gray and fast. I slipped back to my room. Changed quick. Tate was already up poking at his phone. He tossed me a coffee. “You look wrecked rookie. Captain keeping you up with extra film again?”

I caught the cup. Burned my tongue on purpose. “Something like that. Ready for skate?”

He watched me a beat longer than normal. “Sure. Just remember we got your back. If the captain pushes past what you can take say something.”

Beck was in the lounge already. Quiet. Arms crossed. “You two moved like you shared one brain out there yesterday. Careful kid. League chews on secrets.”

Merrick handed out hydration packs. “That new recovery protocol seems solid. You looked sharp.”

Maren caught me on the way to the ice. “Shoulder still good? Anything else feeling off?”

Elodie waved her tablet. “Media wants more captain-rookie content after skate. Fans are eating up the mentorship angle.”

Practice hit and the link woke up wild. The second Callan threw a body check in drills the impact echoed in my own ribs. When he called out positioning my glove adjusted before I thought about it. The sync made me faster. Scarier accurate.

But it also made me distracted. During water break Callan skated close. Voice low under the helmet. “Feel it? Lean into my focus. Let it bleed through.”

Tate glided past. Chipped tooth showing in his grin. “You two whispering strategy or sweet nothings? Get a room already.”

Beck said nothing. Just gave that long steady look that missed nothing.

The game against Detroit that night tested everything. First real live pressure with the link wide open.

In net the world narrowed to rubber and bodies but Callan sat constant in my chest. When he blocked a shot up ice his satisfaction hit me before the crowd noise. When a forward slammed him into the boards my shoulder lit up with ghost pain.

We won tight. 3-2. My numbers stayed stupid high. The link turned me into something almost unstoppable.

Locker room exploded with noise. Tate crashed into my stall. “Monster night rookie. What the hell did they put in your water?”

Beck nodded slow from across the room. “Never seen a goalie read plays that clean on game two.”

Merrick tossed towels around. “Keep the protocol going kid. Results show.”

Callan stood at his stall calm on the surface. Through the link I felt the undercurrent. Pride mixed with worry. That same small crack from last night widening.

After showers and quick media Elodie pulled us aside. “Solid quotes. The chemistry pops on camera.”

We made it back to Callan’s room. Door locked. Lights low.

The side effects from the dose kicked harder after the win. Skin too sensitive. Every brush of air made me twitch. The link turned it up until I felt Callan’s leftover adrenaline like my own.

He noticed. Pushed me against the wall gentle then not. “Strip. On the bed. We bleed the excess out tonight. No cameras. No fathers. Just us and what they put in your veins.”

I obeyed fast. Clothes gone. I lay back. Already hard from the sync alone.

Callan moved over me slow. “Tell me what you feel right now Brooks. All of it.”

I pulled him down. “Everything Sir. Your win. The hit you took. How much you want to take me apart and keep the pieces. It is too much and I still want more.”

His mouth found my neck. Teeth scraping light. “Good. Because I am not stopping until the link screams with how completely you are mine tonight.”

He worked lower. Hands spreading me open.

Right as his mouth closed over me the link surged wild. Pleasure doubled then tripled.

My back bowed. A raw sound ripped out.

Under the heat I caught something else through him. Quiet fear. Not of the syndicate. Of how little he wanted to let go when the season ended.

He lifted his head. Eyes dark. Voice rough. “Stay right here with me Brooks. No pulling away.”

I nodded. Fingers tight in his hair. “I am not going anywhere Sir.”

The link dragged us under.

But somewhere deep that message from my father still sat cold. And the syndicate’s next play waited just off the ice.

Callan took his time. Thorough. Every touch echoed back through the drugs until I lost track of where I stopped and he started.

When I finally came it felt like the whole building shook inside my chest.

He followed right after. Dropped half on top of me breathing hard.

For a long minute we stayed tangled. Linked. Quiet.

Then his phone lit up on the nightstand.

Unknown number.

One line.

*Father requests private meeting with the rookie. Tomorrow night. Captain excluded. Comply or the next video drops with full audio.*

Callan read it over my shoulder. His arms locked tighter around me.

His voice came low. Edged with that same crack.

“They are already trying to pull us apart.”

I turned into his hold. Pressed my face into his neck.

“What do we do Sir?”