Four

CHAPTER 4: ELLIOT

"You can't be serious, Mom."

I stood in the center of the spacious, open-concept living room, staring at my mother in complete disbelief.

The house was a modern two-story property located just ten minutes from the team's arena and training facility. High ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows, brand-new hardwood—it was objectively stunning. But the sight of Adrian Kessaro leaning against the kitchen island, looking just as furious as I felt, completely ruined the view.

"I am entirely serious, Elliot," my mother said firmly, crossing her arms as she looked between the two of us. "Your father and I bought this house for the two of you. It's close to the rink, it's fully furnished, and it's where you will both be living for the upcoming season."

"I have my own apartment, Mom," I said, my voice rising in panic. "I don't need a house. I can afford my own place. I am not living with him."

"And I can buy my own damn house, Dad!" Adrian barked, slamming his hand onto the quartz countertop. He pushed himself off the island and marched toward his father. "I'm the team captain! I make more than enough to rent a penthouse downtown! I am not sharing a roof with this arrogant, uptight snob!"

"You will both sit down and listen to me!" Richard's voice boomed, cutting through the room with absolute authority.

Adrian and I both went silent, though neither of us sat down. We just glared at each other from opposite sides of the room, the air thick with burning hostility.

"For fifteen years, the two of you have brought your childish grudges onto the ice, into the locker room, and now into our family," Richard continued, his tone stern and unwavering. "Maria and I are tired of it. We are married now. You two are brothers, whether you like it or not, and you are going to learn how to live together, respect each other, and function like a family."

"We are professional athletes, Dad, not toddlers!" Adrian argued, his face flushing red. "You can't force us into a playpen!"

"We just did," my mother chimed in, her soft eyes turning unusually rigid as she looked at me. "Your father and I are staying at the main estate downtown. This house is yours. Both of your names are on the lease deed. Neither of you is moving out. If I hear one report from your coach that you two are fighting off the ice, there will be serious consequences. Do you understand me, Elliot?"

I closed my eyes, taking a sharp, painful breath. My mother almost never used that strict tone with me. I knew that look; arguing further was useless.

"Fine," I muttered, opening my eyes to glare at the floor.

"Adrian?" Richard demanded.

Adrian dragged a hand down his face, letting out a dark, frustrated growl. "Whatever. Just get out so I don't have to look at either of you right now."

Twenty minutes later, the front door clicked shut, leaving us in absolute, suffocating silence.

The difference between us was obvious within the first hour. I unpacked my boxes methodically, placing my books in precise alphabetical order on the living room shelves, hanging my clothes neatly, and setting up my quiet workspace in the study. I preferred order, low lighting, and peace.

Adrian, on the other hand, was chaos incarnate.

By eight o'clock, he had turned the surround-sound speakers up to a deafening volume, blaring heavy rap music that vibrated right through the floorboards. He threw his muddy hockey duffel right onto the pristine coffee table, kicked off his boots in the middle of the hallway, and left three open protein shakers on the kitchen counter, letting the smell fill the house.

I reached my boiling point when I stepped into the kitchen to make tea, only to find my neatly organized spice rack completely rearranged and a spilled tub of pre-workout powder dusting the counter.

I grabbed the remote from the sofa, walked over to the sound system, and turned the music completely off.

The sudden silence in the house was deafening.

A second later, Adrian marched out of the master bedroom upstairs, wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants, his dark hair messy, his broad chest bare and flushed from a workout.

"Who told you to touch my sound system, Sorelli?" Adrian demanded, taking the stairs two at a time, his heavy footsteps echoing through the house.

"This is a shared space, Adrian," I said, holding my ground near the kitchen island, keeping my voice dead even despite the sudden spike in my pulse. "Not a nightclub. Some of us actually read, study game film, and prepare for tomorrow's practice in peace."

"It's eight o'clock at night!" Adrian yelled, coming to a stop right in front of me, crowding my space with his towering frame. He smelled like sweat and cedarwood, a heavy, overwhelming heat radiating off his bare skin. "If you want a library, move into one! I live here, and I play my music when I want!"

"You live here with me," I shot back, stepping forward until my chest almost touched his bare sternum, tilting my chin up to meet his dark, furious eyes. "Which means you clean up your mess, you stop leaving your disgusting gym bags on the furniture, and you turn that noise down!"

"Or what?" Adrian sneered, leaning down until his face was centimeters from mine, his hot breath brushing against my lips. "What are you gonna do about it, little man? Complain to your mom?"

Rage surged through me like an electric current. I reached out and shoved his bare chest with both hands, using all my strength to push him back. "Don't test me, Adrian!"

Adrian barely stumbled. Instead, a dark, dangerous smirk spread across his face. In one swift, terrifying motion, he lunged forward, grabbing both of my wrists and slamming me backward against the kitchen wall.

The impact rattled my spine. My heart slammed violently against my ribs as I found myself pinned between the cold wall and Adrian’s burning body, his fingers squeezing my wrists like iron bands right above my head.

"I told you on the ice, Sorelli," Adrian whispered harshly, his eyes dropping down to my mouth before snapping back to mine with a terrifying intensity. "You don't push me."