RISK IT ALL FOR YOU

JEREMY’S P.O.V.

"Off the team? C-coach, please, you can’t mean that. Hockey is my life—"

"Not another word, Jacobson. There's your replacement right there. You’re off my team. Now, leave!"

I looked around, desperately seeking an ally, but the locker room had gone dead silent. A few of my teammates were actively stifling smirks; while others wore smug expressions, as they had been counting down the days to my downfall. They couldn’t wait to get rid of me.

Was I really that bad of a player?

My eyes gaze drifted to Axel. He was the captain—he had authority. He could vouch for me. He loved me, didn't he? At least, that’s what he told me last night in the locker room. He said it again while he fucked me in his bed.

If his words meant anything, he would never stand by and allow Coach to strip away my future.

Yet, Axel conveniently looked away, focusing intently on the floor.

Tears scalded the back of my throat, and it took an agonising amount of restraint to keep them from spilling over.

I couldn't let them see me cry. I cast one final, sweeping glance across the room—at my peers, at Axel, at Coach—imploring someone, anyone, to contest the decision. Their faces remained devoid of empathy.

My lips parted to offer one last plea, but Coach raised a dismissive hand, cutting me off.

This was it. The end of my hockey career. The end of every single dream I’d ever had about one day going pro. That dream was crushed right then and there.

Slowly, I bent down to gather my things. My hockey bag, equipment, and gear—all items I would never use again. They were useless, just like me. Still, I picked them up, keeping my head bowed as I trudged toward the door.

I had barely gone a few steps when my helmet slipped from my hands. The sudden clatter startled me, causing me to lose my footing. I slipped and tumbled to the ground, scattering my gear everywhere.

Kill me now.

The room erupted into a mocking laughter at my expense as they watched me clumsily scramble to gather my belongings. I was such an absolute klutz. Standing back up, I scooped everything up at once and walked toward the exit, dragging my feet. A single tear escaped, and I ducked my head, desperate to conceal it.

I reached for the cold metal handle, letting out a final exhale. It was over.

Til someone spoke.

"I’ll train him."

My fingers remained frozen around the cold door handle. The entire room seemed to hold its breath. Slowly, I turned around.

Niko Archer stood just a few feet behind me. I had been far too humiliated to look him in the eye ever since Coach had dropped the bombshell.

Niko’s gaze was locked onto Coach now—hard, cold, and unblinking.

"What?" Coach demanded.

Niko stepped forward. "I said I’ll train him," he repeated. His voice was low, several octaves deeper than when I had heard him speak the previous night.

A few of the guys shifted uncomfortably, muttering under their breath as their smug expressions began to fracture.

Someone jeered, "Good luck with that," prompting a fresh wave of snickers.

Niko’s eyes flicked toward them, and just like that, the laughter died. He turned his attention back to Coach.

"Archer, he’s a liability and dead weight," Coach warned, his tone sharp. "You’d just be wasting your time."

Niko cleared his throat. "You’re cutting Jacobson from the team because you believe he isn't good enough."

Coach crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing. "That’s precisely what I’m doing."

"Then give me two weeks."

My brows furrowed. Two weeks?

Niko pointed directly at me. "Give me two weeks to train him personally. If he doesn’t improve by then, you can kick him off the roster yourself."

Coach stared him down. "You’re volunteering to waste your time? I’m not looking for volunteers, Archer. I’ve made my decision—Jacobson is done."

That final word made me flinch, sinking me even deeper into despair. It was deeply degrading to hear my own coach give up on me, branding me a waste of time and warning others not to bother with me. Maybe he was right. Maybe I really did suck. I was a terrible player, and it was time to accept that I didn't belong on this team.

Yet, Niko stood his ground.

"Just two weeks. Give him one last chance," Niko bargained. He crossed the room to take a spot right next to me, bringing with him his scent of amber and cedarwood. "I spent three semesters as captain at Bronx, and I can tell you it’s a poor executive decision to cut a player who has never even been pushed to his full potential. I played against Westbrook multiple times back when we were rivals, and I never saw this guy on the ice once—and trust me, I always remember a face. He hasn’t been given the opportunity to prove himself. Give him this one."

Niko’s speech left me—and practically everyone else in the room—utterly dumbfounded. Coach stared back at him, his expression hardening.

"My decision is final, Archer—"

“If you kick him out, then kick me out too.”

What? No.

The room plunged into a deathly silence. The guys who had been smirking at me just moments ago were now staring at him in sheer disbelief.

Niko had just put his own position on the line for mine—and I had absolutely no idea why.

Why was he doing this? I barely knew the guy, yet here he was, challenging Coach on my behalf.

He shouldn’t be wasting his time on me. Even I was beginning to believe Coach was right; I was a waste of time.

My eyes darted between Niko and Coach. Everyone else did the same, holding their breath as they waited for Coach's final verdict. Niko was indispensable to this team, vastly experienced. I was neither of those things. The team could do without me, but they needed Niko.

Coach dragged a heavy hand down his face. “Do you have any idea what you’re asking, Archer?”

“I do, sir.”

“And you’d willingly throw away your spot on this team... for him?”

“If that’s what it takes,” Niko answered, his voice unwavering.

Coach’s gaze remained fixed on him. Only God knew what was going through his mind.

Would he actually kick us both out? Or would he bend and grant me a temporary reprieve to prove myself?

Finally, Coach's hardened eyes shifted to me.

“You have two weeks to prove to me that you deserve to be on my team, Jacobson. If you fail, you’re finished.”