chapter six : The Leverage

My fist hit the locker door before I could stop myself. The loud thud echoed down the empty hallway like a gunshot, bouncing off the concrete walls and metal benches. My fists stung immediately, but I barely felt it. The anger was too loud inside my head.

"You think this is a game?" I snapped, turning sharply on Roland so quickly that my skates nearly slipped on the rubber mat beneath my feet. I caught myself on a nearby bench, but my balance felt wrong. Everything felt wrong.

Roland's smirk remained steady. Standing there in just his compression shorts, arms crossed over that ridiculous chest, he seemed like he had been waiting all day for this moment. Like he had planned it. Like he enjoyed watching me fall apart.

"It stopped being a game the second you put on your brother's jersey, little omega." His voice was calm, almost bored. "Now it is about leverage."

My blood ran cold. The word hit me like ice water straight to the heart. "What did you just say?"

Ronald leaned in closer, his voice soft yet threatening, sending a shiver down my spine that I hated feeling. "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. Sponsorships pulled. Your father's legacy tainted. All because you could not let Lucien go."

The words hit me hard, each one a punch to the gut. My vision blurred at the edges as I realized how much I had sacrificed. Lies stacked on top of lies. Sleepless nights pretending to be the golden son. The weight of a family that never wanted me until I became useful. All crumbling in an instant because of this arrogant man standing in front of me like he had already won.

"You would not," I managed to whisper. My voice cracked on the second word.

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. Every time your heart races because I am standing too close. I own all of it."

Something inside me broke.

I did not think. I just moved. I forcefully pushed Roland with both hands, hitting that solid wall of muscle beneath his skin. He stumbled back, genuine surprise flashing across his face for the first time since I met him. He managed to steady himself against the wall, his hand slapping the concrete for balance, but the moment was already lost.

A camera flash went off from the corner.

Marcus. One of Roland's loyal supporters, a skinny guy with a quick phone and a slower brain. He stood there with his jaw hanging open, phone raised, the red recording light still blinking.

"Shit," Marcus muttered, already stepping backward like he wanted to disappear.

"Delete that!" I shouted, lunging forward with my arm outstretched. My fingers nearly grabbed his sleeve.

But Roland was faster. He grabbed my arm and pulled me back against his chest, hard enough that the air left my lungs.

"Let it run," Roland said gently, with a clear hint of amusement in his voice. His breath was warm against my ear. "The world is about to see who you truly are."

***

By evening, the clip was everywhere.

"TEAM CAPTAIN ASSAULTED BY TEAMMATE IN LOCKER ROOM BLOWUP" the headline blared across every hockey forum, T*****r feed, and I*******m story I scrolled through. The video captured my furious shove in stunning quality. Roland's surprised expression. The intense anger flickering between us like a live wire.

Comments poured in, each one more vicious than the last. People called me unstable. Dangerous. A liability. Some questioned if Lucien had always been this aggressive. Others defended Roland, calling him a patient captain dealing with a broken teammate.

My phone buzzed at 2 a.m. Dominic's name flashed on the screen. I hesitated, my thumb hovering over the answer button. Then I picked up with trembling hands.

His voice was sharp, filled with pure anger. No hello. No greeting. Just bitter words designed to cut.

"You selfish little shit. Did you push the captain on camera? Are you out there damaging Lucien's reputation? Our reputation? Because you are too weak to handle the pressure?"

I tried to explain, to tell him what Roland had said, what he had done. But Dominic cut me off before I could get three words out.

"Save it. I saw the video. Everyone did. Sponsors are already calling, questioning if you are unstable. You were supposed to be the perfect one. Untouchable. Instead, you are acting like some emotional omega who cannot control himself."

The word omega struck like a slap across the face. Dominic did not know the full story. He did not know what Roland had whispered in my ear or how my body had reacted. But that insult still hurt deeply. Deeper than I wanted to admit.

"I was trying to protect us," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Making us look like a dysfunctional circus is not protecting us. Fix this, or I will tell the pack how your actions are hurting everything Lucien worked for."

He hung up without waiting for a reply. The line went dead. The silence that followed was louder than his yelling.

I sat quietly on the edge of my bed in the dark, gripping my phone so tightly my knuckles turned white. The pain from earlier, the teasing touches from Roland and that bruising kiss in the hallway, had long faded into a dull nausea that sat heavy in my stomach.

***

The next morning, the summons arrived.

Coach's office. 9 a.m. Sharp. I arrived first, my shoulders tense, carrying the weight of yesterday's shame like a physical coat I could not take off. Roland followed two minutes later, maintaining his usual calm and wearing that daring smirk, as if he had already declared victory before the battle even started.

The room felt too crowded. Coach sat behind his desk, flanked by two serious looking sponsors dressed in sharp suits with faces carved from stone. The atmosphere was heavy with disappointment, yet there was also a faint undercurrent of alpha authority that added to the tension. I could barely breathe.

"Explain," Coach said plainly, skipping all formalities. His eyes moved between us like pendulums.

Roland leaned against the wall with relaxed confidence. "Just a little disagreement that got heated. Locker room stuff. You know how it is."

"That video makes us look weak," one sponsor interrupted, slapping a printed screenshot on the desk. "Sponsors are pulling back. Fans are questioning team spirit. We cannot afford this kind of drama."

My mouth felt dry, like sandpaper. I sensed Roland's eyes fixed on me. Watching. Waiting. Enjoying my discomfort like it was his favorite meal.

"It was my mistake," I said suddenly, tasting the words like ash on my tongue. "I lost my temper. Roland did not do anything wrong."

Roland raised an eyebrow, genuine surprise flickering across his face for half a second.

Coach rubbed his temples. "We have invested in you. The team believes in you. We cannot have this behavior continuing. One more incident, and you are benched. Maybe worse."

The warning was clear. Crystal.

As the meeting continued, discussing numbers, optics, and damage control, I felt Roland move closer behind me. No one else noticed when his fingers lightly brushed the back of my neck, like a whisper I could not escape.

"See what happens when you push back?" Roland whispered so softly only I could hear. "Now everyone is watching. And I have not even told them the best part. That every time I touch you, you are hard for me."

My breath hitched. My face heated despite myself.

The sponsor kept talking about reputation and contracts. But all I could focus on was Roland's presence behind me, like a storm about to break over my head.