chapter six : **The Leverage**

Jeffery’s fist accidentally hit the locker door before he could stop himself, the loud thud echoing down the empty hallway like a gunshot. “You think this is a game?” he snapped, turning sharply on Roland so quickly that his skates nearly slipped on the rubber mat.

Roland’s smirk remained steady. Standing there in just his compression shorts, arms crossed over that exaggerated chest, he seemed like he’d been waiting all day for this moment. “It stopped being a game the second you put on your brother’s jersey, little omega. Now it’s about leverage.”

Jeffery’s blood ran cold as he asked, “What did you just say?” Roland leaned in, his voice soft yet threatening, sending a shiver down Jeffery’s spine. “Just one word from me to the league, and I can destroy everything—your fake identity, impersonating a drafted player, your chances with the team—everything. Your pack could be finished, with sponsorships pulled and your father’s legacy tainted, all because you couldn’t let Lucien go.” The words hit Jeffery hard, like a punch to the gut. His vision blurred as he realised how much he’d sacrificed—lies, sleepless nights pretending to be the golden son—all crumbling in an instant thanks to this arrogant man. “You wouldn’t,” he managed to whisper. Roland’s eyes gleamed with a dark, triumphant smile. “Try me,” he said softly but firmly. “I own you now, Jeffery. Every nervous breath, every thrill you feel when I push you against the boards—I own it.”

Something inside Jeffery suddenly broke. He forcefully pushed Roland, with both hands hitting that strong wall of muscle. Roland stumbled back, surprise first showing on his face. He managed to steady himself against the wall, but the moment was already lost. A camera flashed from the corner, capturing everything. One of Roland’s loyal supporters, a guy named Marcus, stood there with his jaw hanging, recording the scene. “Shit,” Marcus muttered, already stepping back. “Delete that!” Jeffery shouted, lunging forward, but Roland quickly grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

“”Let it run,” Roland said gently, with a hint of amusement. “The world’s about to see who you truly are.” By evening, the clip was all over. “TEAM CAPTAIN ASSAULTED BY TEAMMATE IN LOCKER ROOM BLOWUP” — the headline blared across every hockey forum, T*****r, and I*******m. The video captured Jeffery’s furious shove in stunning 4K, Roland’s surprised expression, and the intense anger flickering between them. Comments poured in, each one more lively than the last.

What’s really going on with Lucien? Roland has been the backbone of this team, and it’s heartbreaking to see him treated this way. Lately, Dominic has been calling at 2 a.m. and, when Jeffery saw his brother’s name flashing on the screen, he hesitated before answering with trembling hands.

The moment he answered, Dominic’s voice was sharp and filled with anger. No hello, just bitter words. “You selfish little shit—did you push the captain on camera? Are you out there damaging Lucien’s reputation,our reputation—because you’re too weak to handle the pressure?”

Jeffery tried to explain, but Dominic cut him off. “Save it. I saw the video. Everyone did. Sponsors are already calling Dad, questioning if you’re unstable. You were supposed to be the perfect one,untouchable. Instead, you’re acting like some emotional omega who can’t control himself.”

The word omega struck like a slap. Dominic didn’t know the full story, but even so, that insult hurt deeply.

I was trying to protect us, I really was,” Jeffery explained, hoping to find some understanding. “But making us look like a dysfunctional circus? It’s not okay. Please, fix this, or I’ll have to tell the pack how your actions are hurting everything Lucien worked so hard for.” Without waiting for a reply, Dominic hung up the call.

Jeffery sat quietly on the edge of his bed in the dark gripping his phone so tightly. The pain from earlier—the teasing touches from Roland and that bruising kiss—had long faded into a dull nausea.

The next morning, the summons arrived with a sense of anticipation. At the coach’s office, both Jeffery and Roland arrived right on time at 9 a.m. Jeffery was the first to go in, his shoulders tense and carrying the weight of yesterday’s bruises on his pride. Roland followed two minutes later, maintaining his usual calm and wearing that daring smirk, as if he’d already declared victory.

The room felt a bit too crowded, with Coach sitting behind his desk, flanked by two serious-looking sponsors dressed sharply in suits. The atmosphere was heavy with disappointment, yet there was also a faint undercurrent of alpha authority that added to the tension.

“Explain,” Coach said plainly, skipping the formalities.

Roland leaned against the wall with relaxed confidence. “Just a little disagreement that got heated — locker room stuff, you know how it is.”

“That’s not true,” one of the sponsors interrupted. “That video makes us look weak. Sponsors are pulling back. Fans are questioning team spirit. We can’t afford this kind of drama.”

Jeffery’s mouth felt dry, like sandpaper. He sensed Roland’s eyes fixed on him—watching, waiting, enjoying his discomfort.

“It was my mistake,” Jeffery said suddenly, tasting the words like ash. “I lost my temper. Roland didn’t do anything wrong.”

Roland raised an eyebrow, surprised.

Coach rubbed his temples. “Lucien—Jeffery, whatever your name is today—we’ve invested in you. The team believes in you. We can’t have this behavior continuing. One more incident, and you’re benched—maybe worse.”

The warning was clear.

As the meeting continued—discussing numbers, optics, and damage control—Jeffery felt Roland move closer behind him. No one else noticed when Roland’s fingers lightly brushed the back of his neck, like a whisper.

“See what happens when you push back?” Roland whispered so softly only Jeffery could hear. “Now everyone’s watching. And I haven’t even told them the best part… that every time I touch you, you’re hard for me.”

Jeffery’s breath hitched. His face heated despite himself.

The sponsor kept talking about reputation and contracts, but all Jeffery could focus on was Roland’s presence behind him, like a storm about to break.