CHAPTER 4

Soren’s stomach dropped like he’d taken another hit into the boards.

He stared at JR, phone still warm in his hand. “What do you mean you want more than thirty days? We had a deal. One month. That’s it.”

JR didn’t flinch. He sat up fully, the sheet pooling around his waist, exposing the hard lines of his tattooed chest. “Deals change, Captain. Especially when the loser ends up in my bed looking like that.” His eyes raked over Soren’s marked neck and bruised torso with clear satisfaction. “You think I’m letting you walk away after one night?”

Soren swung his legs off the bed and stood, ignoring the ache in his ribs and the deeper soreness lower down. “This isn’t a negotiation, Draven. I have a career, a team and now apparently leaked photos of us leaving together. Fuck.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “I need to get ahead of this before it explodes.”

JR rose too, towering and unashamedly naked. “Or…” He stepped closer, voice dropping. “We lean into it.”

Soren laughed sharply. “Lean into it? Are you insane? I’m the captain of the Grizzlies. I can’t be seen as…”

“As what?” JR cut in, crowding him against the dresser. “As human? As someone who wants to get fucked by the man who’s owned his head for three years?” His hand came up, fingers tracing the fresh hickey on Soren’s collarbone. “Maybe it’s time they knew their perfect captain has a weakness. And that weakness is me.”

Soren shoved at JR’s chest, but there wasn’t much force behind it. “This was supposed to be private, dirty, contained and not tabloid fodder.”

“Too late for that.” JR caught Soren’s wrist and held it. “My phone’s been blowing up too. Teammates. Agent. One reporter already asked if we’re ‘reconciliating our rivalry.’” He smirked, but his eyes were serious. “We give them something. Or we deny everything and look guilty as hell when more photos drop.”

Soren’s jaw clenched. The thought of his teammates seeing those pictures, seeing him leaving with the enemy right after that brutal loss made his skin crawl. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

JR’s smirk faded into something darker, more intense. “We tell them we’re working on… tension release. Private meetings to settle our rivalry off the ice and no details. Let them speculate. Meanwhile, you still come home with me every night you’re free. The deal stands.”

“That’s not a solution. That’s digging the hole deeper.” Soren pulled his wrist free, but JR simply stepped closer until their bodies brushed.

“Tell me you don’t want more nights like last night,” JR murmured, lips hovering near Soren’s. “Tell me you didn’t love every second of me wrecking you. Tell me you’re not already half-hard again just thinking about it.”

Soren’s breath hitched. Damn him. The worst part was JR was right. Even now, standing here arguing, Soren’s body remembered every thrust, every filthy word, every time JR had made him fall apart.

“I hate how much I want this,” Soren admitted quietly, the words scraping out like they hurt.

JR’s expression shifted into a triumph mixed with something softer. “Good! Because I’m nowhere near done with you.” He kissed Soren then, slow and deep this time, less like a claim and more like a promise. Soren found himself kissing back, hands sliding up JR’s bare back, nails digging in just enough to make JR groan.

When they broke apart, JR rested their foreheads together. “Stay the rest of the night. We’ll figure out the media shit in the morning. Together.”

Soren wanted to argue. He should ague. Instead he nodded once, curtly. “Fine. But I’m not sleeping in your arms like we’re fucking boyfriends.”

JR laughed softly. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, Captain.”

***

They barely slept.

JR kept his word about not being done. He woke Soren twice more, once with his mouth, slow and teasing until Soren was begging, and once with Soren on top, riding him hard while JR gripped his hips and whispered filthy praise.

By the time dawn crept through the floor-to-ceiling windows, Soren was exhausted, sore in the best and worst ways, and dangerously comfortable in JR’s massive bed.

His phone started ringing again at 6:45 a.m.

This time it was Coach Harlan.

Soren answered on speaker while JR watched from the bed, arms behind his head.

“Calder,” Coach barked. “My office, nine sharp. And bring your new friend if he’s still with you. The GM wants answers, the league office is already asking questions about conduct. You two better have one hell of a story.”

The line went dead.

Soren dropped the phone and rubbed his face. “This is a nightmare.”

JR sat up and swung his legs off the bed. “It’s an opportunity.” He stood and stretched, muscles rippling. “We go in together, we control the narrative, we say the rivalry got personal and we’re working it out privately. No confirmation, no denial on anything physical. They can’t suspend us for that.”

Soren narrowed his eyes. “You’ve clearly thought about this.”

“I’ve thought about you,” JR corrected. He crossed the room and pulled Soren up by the hands. “Shower with me. Then we’ll face the firing squad.”

***

Forty minutes later they walked into the Grizzlies’ practice facility side by side. Heads turnedbabf whispers followed. Soren kept his expression locked down but he could feel every stare like a slapshot to the chest.

Coach Harlan’s office felt smaller than usual with the GM, the team’s PR director, and two assistant coaches crammed inside.

“Explain,” the GM said without preamble, sliding printed screenshots across the desk. Blurry but clear enough: Soren and JR leaving the arena together last night.

Soren opened his mouth, but JR spoke first.

“It’s personal,” JR said calmly. “We’ve been at each other’s throats for years. After last night’s game, we decided to settle some things off the ice, privately.”

“Settle things,” Coach repeated flatly. “That what they’re calling it now?”

Soren’s neck burned, but he forced himself to meet their eyes. “It’s not affecting our play. We’re both professionals.”

The PR director pinched the bridge of her nose. “Social media is exploding. #DravenCalder is trending. Half the fans think it’s a PR stunt. The other half thinks you’re sleeping together. We need a statement.”

JR glanced at Soren, a challenge in his gray eyes. Then he reached over and casually rested a hand on the back of Soren’s neck in a possessive and visible way, impossible to ignore.

Soren stiffened but didn’t pull away.

“Tell them whatever keeps the league off our backs,” JR said. “But Soren’s mine to handle. That part isn’t negotiable.”

The room went dead silent.

Soren’s heart hammered. He turned his head slowly to look at JR. “What the fuck are you doing?” he whispered.

JR’s fingers tightened slightly on his neck. His voice was low enough that only Soren could hear.

“Making sure they know the deal isn’t up for discussion anymore.”

The GM cleared his throat. “Gentlemen. We expect both of you at the press conference tomorrow. Figure out what you’re going to say, and Calder, if this affects your leadership…”

“It won’t,” Soren said firmly.

As they left the office, JR stayed close, hand brushing Soren’s lower back. The moment they were alone in the hallway, Soren spun on him.

“You just basically told my entire organization that I belong to you,” he hissed.

JR backed him against the wall, one arm braced beside Soren’s head. His eyes were dark, intense, and completely unapologetic.

“Because you do.” He leaned in, lips brushing Soren’s ear. “And after last night? After the way you said my name while you came? I’m not pretending anymore.”

Soren’s breath caught. “This wasn’t part of the deal.”

JR pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, a dangerous smile playing on his lips.

“Then maybe it’s time we renegotiate, Captain.”

He paused, his thumb tracing Soren’s bottom lip.

“So tell me… how much of you am I really allowed to keep?”