Five

CHAPTER 5: ADRIAN

The screech of rubber blades on wet ice echoed through the arena, but all I could hear was the blood pounding in my ears.

During our three-on-three scrimmage, Elliot had completely ignored my call on the left wing. Instead of passing to me, he pulled the puck back, executed a tight drag, and took a shot himself. It hit the crossbar and bounced out, giving the opposition an easy breakaway.

The moment Coach blew the whistle, I skated right up to him, digging my blades into the ice so hard a spray of frost kicked up over his skates.

"I was wide open on the flank, Sorelli!" I yelled, pulling my helmet off and shoving it under my arm. "You pass the puck when the captain calls for it!"

Elliot didn't even blink. He unclipped his chin strap, his dark eyes cool and utterly unimpressed. "Your defender was trailing two feet behind you. If I passed, it would have been intercepted. My shot was the higher percentage play."

"You missed!" I roared, taking a step closer. "You cost us the drill because you refuse to play under my system!"

"Your system is predictable, Adrian!" Elliot shot back, his voice rising, taking a step right back into my space. "And I don't follow bad calls!"

Before I could grab his jersey, Coach Vance blew his whistle so loud my ears rang. He skated between us, shoving his clipboard against my chest to force us apart.

"That's enough!" Coach barked, glaring between the two of us. "I am sick and tired of this domestic drama on my ice! You two are stepbrothers now. Show some damn respect for this team, show some respect for yourselves, and start acting like family instead of two feral dogs!"

I clenched my jaw so hard it burned. I hated that word. Stepbrothers. Every time someone said it, it felt like a cold blade twisting in my gut.

Elliot’s jaw flexed, his nostrils flaring with a dark, silent rage that matched my own. He didn't say another word. He just turned on his heel and skated off toward the tunnel.

An hour later, the front door of our new house slammed shut.

Elliot tossed his heavy leather gym bag onto the armchair in the living room, unbuttoning his collar as he marched toward the kitchen. The tension between us had followed us straight from the locker room, thick enough to choke on.

"Don't drop your stuff on the furniture," I said, leaning against the doorframe of the hallway, watching him. "And we're going to talk about what happened at practice."

Elliot stopped at the island, pouring himself a glass of water. "There's nothing to talk about, Adrian."

"There is," I insisted, pushing off the wall and walking up to the opposite side of the counter. "I am sick of you constantly challenging me. You challenge my calls on the ice, you challenge my authority in front of the team, and you're actively trying to undermine my captaincy."

Elliot set his glass down with a soft clink. He looked up, meeting my eyes with terrifying directness.

"I'm not trying to hide it, Adrian," Elliot said flatly. "I want the 'C' on my jersey. I want your position."

The sheer honesty of it hit me like a physical blow.

"Can't you just leave something for me?" I asked, my voice dropping, genuine frustration leaking through my defensive walls. "Every single thing I've ever wanted since we were kids—track titles, university honors, leadership—you've come after it. Why can't you just let me have this?"

"Because you don't deserve it just because you were here first," Elliot replied, his tone razor-sharp. "I wanted everything good you had because I knew I could do it better. And I want this captaincy too. You're going to give it to me, Adrian, whether you like it or not. I will take it from you."

I stared at him, my heart hammering against my ribs. He was so cold, so determined, so completely blind to what was actually happening between us. He thought this was just about a letter on a sweater.

A dark, desperate idea seized my mind. If he wanted a war, I was going to give him one he wasn't prepared for.

"Then let's make a bet," I said softly, a slow, dangerous smile curling my lips.

Elliot narrowed his eyes, setting his water glass down with a sharp click. "What kind of bet?"

"A surrender bet," I said, leaning over the island, bringing my face close enough that I could see the golden flecks in his dark eyes. "We use whatever means necessary to break the other person. Flirting, touching, kissing, seduction—whatever tool you think you need to make the other person crack."

"What the fuck?" Elliot muttered, stepping back, his brow furrowed in genuine disbelief. "Are you insane? That's ridiculous."

"Listen to the rules before you chicken out, Sorelli," I cut in, pressing my advantage. "The rules are simple. We push each other to the absolute limit. But the moment one of us catches real feelings—the moment one of us genuinely falls in love with the other—that person loses. They surrender."

Elliot stared at me as if I had just spoken in tongues. "Whoever falls in love first... loses?"

"Exactly," I said, holding his gaze. "If you fall for me, you drop your bid for captaincy, you keep your mouth shut, and you follow my lead for the rest of the season. But if I fall in love with you first, I step down, hand you the 'C' on my sweater, and support you in front of the board. No backing out. No rules."

I watched his analytical brain working behind those cold eyes. He was calculating the odds, convinced that his strict emotional control made him completely unshakeable. He genuinely believed it was impossible for him to fall for a guy he claimed to despise.

He had no idea I was already walking into this game completely defeated.

"What's the matter?" I mocked, tilting my head with a condescending smirk. "Are you scared your precious logic won't hold up? You talk big about taking what's mine, but when real pressure hits, you run."

Elliot’s chest heaved. His knuckles turned white against the quartz counter as his pride completely obliterated his caution.

"I am not a coward," Elliot whispered, his voice trembling with pure, competitive heat. "And I am certainly not going to fall in love with you, Adrian."

"Then accept the bet," I challenged softly.

Elliot held my stare for three agonizing seconds, the tension between us stretched so thin it felt ready to snap.

"Deal," Elliot spat. "Prepare to hand over your jersey, captain."

He grabbed his glass and turned on his heel, marching up the stairs without looking back once.

I stood alone in the quiet kitchen, my hand shaking as I touched my racing heart. I let out a low, breathless laugh into the dark room.

He thought he was playing to win a captaincy. He had no idea the trap had already sprung.

The bet had officially begun.