CHAPTER 6: PUBLIC ENEMY

Chapter Six

The press conference room felt like a battlefield.

Bright lights glared down on the long table. Soren sat stiffly in his Grizzlies hoodie, his jaw locked so tight it ached.

JR lounged beside him like he owned the damn room, his spread legs, one arm draped casually along the back of Soren’s chair, and his fingers occasionally brushing the nape of his neck.

The cameras flashed nonstop.

“Mr. Draven, Mr. Calder,” a reporter called out, “can you clarify the nature of your relationship? Are the rumors true that you’re involved romantically?”

Soren’s stomach twisted. JR leaned forward toward the microphone, his posture was calm as ever.

“We’re involved,” JR said smoothly, with a low and confident voice. “That’s all we’re saying right now. The details are private.”

Soren felt the collective inhale of the room. Another reporter jumped in immediately.

“Captain Calder, how do your teammates feel about you… consorting with the enemy after Game Seven?”

Soren gripped the edge of the table. “My focus is on playing hockey and leading my team. Everything else is secondary.”

JR’s fingers pressed lightly against the back of his neck.

The questions kept coming, each one sharper than the last. By the time they escaped the room forty minutes later, Soren felt raw and exposed.

The second they were alone in the back hallway, Soren rounded on JR.

“You enjoyed that,” he accused.

JR’s smirk was pure sin. “Immensely.” He backed Soren against the wall, one hand planted beside his head. “You handled it well, Captain. It looked damn good doing it too.”

Soren shoved at his chest, but JR didn’t budge. “This is spiraling out of control. My phone won’t stop blowing up, my teammates are pissed and you’re sitting there like this is all some fun game.”

“It stopped being a game the moment I had you in my bed,” JR murmured, with darkening eyes. “Come home with me tonight.”

“I have an early practice tomorrow.”

“Then I’ll drive you.” JR leaned in, his lips brushing Soren’s ear. “I want you under me again. I want to hear you say my name while you’re falling apart.”

Soren’s breath hitched. Damn him. The worst part was how badly he wanted it too.

***

The next week became a dangerous new normal.

They played their rivalry on the ice like nothing had changed, JR throwing vicious checks, Soren blocking shots with everything he had. Off the ice, it was a completely different war.

Soren spent three nights at JR’s apartment that week.

Each night was more intense than the last. JR seemed determined to push Soren’s limits, teasing him for hours, making him beg, then fucking him so thoroughly that Soren couldn’t think straight.

But there were also quieter moments creeping in. JR cooked pasta at 1 a.m. because Soren was hungry after practice, Soren absentmindedly tracing the tattoos on JR’s arm while they watched game tape.

It was starting to feel too comfortable and too real for both of them

***

On the flight back from a road game in Calgary, Soren’s phone buzzed with a text from Mitch:

‘Team meeting is tomorrow. No coaches are gonna be there, just the boys. You need to be there too.’

Soren’s stomach sank. He showed the message to JR, who was sitting across the aisle on the chartered plane.

JR read it and raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to tell them the truth?”

“What truth?” Soren muttered. “That I’m letting my rival fuck me senseless every other night?”

JR’s eyes flashed with heat. “That you’re mine.”

Soren looked away, tightening his jaw.

When they landed in Vancouver, JR pulled him into a shadowed corner of the private terminal.

“Go handle your team,” JR said, with a low voice. “But afterward… my place and please, no excuses.”

Soren nodded and left.

***

The team meeting the next morning was brutal.

Twelve players stared at Soren across the locker room. Mitch spoke first.

“So… Draven? Really, Cap?”

Soren rubbed his face. “It’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” One of the older defensemen snorted. “He’s the reason we lost Game Seven, he’s been gunning for you for years and now you’re what, dating him?”

“It’s not dating,” Soren said tightly. “It’s… we’re figuring things out.”

The room erupted in overlapping voices, some angry, some confused, a couple surprisingly supportive. Soren let them vent for a few minutes before raising his hands.

“I’m still your captain. This doesn’t change how I play or how I lead. If you’ve got a problem with me personally, bring it to me. Not the ice.”

Mitch shook his head. “Just be careful, man. This could blow up in your face.”

The meeting ended with heavy tension still lingering in the air.

That night, when Soren walked into JR’s apartment, he was exhausted and on edge. JR took one look at him and pulled him into a fierce kiss.

“Rough day?” JR asked against his lips.

“You could say that.”

JR backed him toward the bedroom, hands already working on Soren’s belt. “Then let me make it better.”

But for the first time, Soren stopped him, putting a hand on JR’s chest.

“Wait.”

JR paused immediately, searching his face. “What’s wrong?”

Soren swallowed. “This deal… it’s getting messy, my team is pissed, the media is obsessed and I don’t even know what we are anymore.”

JR’s expression turned serious. He cupped Soren’s face with both hands.

“We’re whatever the hell we want to be,” he said quietly. “The deal was thirty days. We’re already way past that. So tell me, Captain…”

JR’s thumb brushed Soren’s lower lip, eyes burning with intensity.

“Are you still fighting me… or are you ready to admit you don’t want this to end?”