All Chapters of CROWN OF ICE: My Rival Captain Forgot Our Bond(MM ROMANCE): Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

Jax POVThe main arena lights went out with a heavy thud.Leo stopped near the blue line. Ice shavings sprayed up from his skates. “Jax? The crew is still cleaning the benches. What are you doing?”I skated backward toward center ice, hands in the pockets of my dark Titans hoodie.A single white spotlight came on high in the rafters and lit up the red line.“Get over here, Vance,” I said. My voice echoed in the empty seats.Leo narrowed his eyes but skated over. His black Chicago Wolves practice jersey hung loose. No collar. His scent—clean winter pine and quiet river water—drifted out into the cold air.“If this is a drill,” he said, stopping two feet away, “Coach Dawson is going to fine us both.”“Dawson went home an hour ago,” I answered.I took his hands. My thumbs brushed his cold knuckles. The bond between us hummed steady and warm. For a second I just stood there, feeling how real this moment was. No cameras. No secrets. Just us on the ice where we used to fight.***Leo looked

Adrian POVThe buzzer rang as thirty seconds showed on the overtime clock at Madison Square Garden.The score sat locked at 3-3. The white ice was cut up, covered in deep grey grooves and slush. Cold mist drifted off the surface, smelling of rubber, sweat, and wax.I circled behind our net, digging my steel blades deep into the ice to turn sharp. The puck sat flat against my composite stick blade.Across the ice, Jax Miller held the blue line, his broad frame blocking two Chicago defenders. On the left wing, Leo Vance cut wide, drawing our remaining blue-liner away from the crease.Referees in clean zebra jerseys skated alongside us, watching every glove and stick with sharp, fair eyes. No dirty elbows. No fake penalties. No syndicate calls.I looked up through my visor.Noah Bennett was moving down the center slot, his dark black Wolves jersey fitting clean over his custom carbon-fiber torso guard. His sea-salt scent flared hot into the cool air, blending with my dark cedar heat in a

Adrian POVMy broad hand reached into the heavy inner pocket of my New York Titans jersey. My calloused fingers closed over the small, cold square of a dark velvet ring box. I raised my left hand toward the arena ceiling and gave a sharp, clear signal to the crew in the sound booth above the rafters.The arena floodlights cut out all at once with a heavy electrical thud. Eighteen thousand fans gasped in unison as the stadium plunged into darkness, leaving only a single, brilliant beam of white spotlight shining directly down over center ice.Noah stopped three feet away, his skates cutting a thin line into the ice sheet. His black Chicago Wolves jersey fit clean over his composite chest guard. His unmasked sea-salt scent flared with sudden, sharp curiosity, blending hot against my cedar aura.“Adrian?” Noah asked, his voice echoing off the quiet glass walls. “What are you doing? The press conference is in ten minutes.”I didn’t answer with words. I took three slow, unhurried steps for

Adrian POVSawdust drifted through the warm afternoon sunlight in the penthouse spare room. I dragged a sheet of heavy sandpaper down the curved oak rail of the crib headboard. The rough wood smoothed out under my palm, revealing clean, pale grain.My shirt sat on the floor near the doorway. Sweat slicked my back and chest as I worked the rasp, shaping the solid timber by hand.The door frame creaked softly. I didn’t turn around. My uncapped Alpha senses picked up the shift in the air two seconds before boots touched the threshold—a sweet, rich tide of sea salt and warm milk that filled my lungs.Noah stood in the doorway, leaning his shoulder against the white frame. He wore a loose grey hoodie that belonged to me, the hem falling over his sweatpants. A soft, visible curve rested under the fleece at his stomach.“You’ve been in here since six this morning, Cross,” Noah said, his voice quiet in the room.“The rail wasn’t smooth enough,” I replied, not stopping the sandpaper rhythm. “I

Adrian POVThe glass doors of the terrace stood wide open, letting the cool ocean breeze blow through the starlit reception hall. I clinked my fork against my crystal water glass. The sharp metallic chime echoed across the white-draped tables, cutting through the laughter of thirty hockey players, coaches, and federal agents.Jax Miller stood up from his seat at the head table, holding a glass of dark amber whiskey in his massive right hand. Beside him, Leo Vance adjusted the lapels of his navy suit, his dark sapphire engagement ring glinting under the string lights overhead.“Two years ago,” Jax spoke into the microphone, his voice deep and steady, “if you told me the New York Titans Captain and the Chicago Wolves Captain were getting married on a cliff in Maine, I would have checked you into the boards.”The room erupted into a loud wave of laughter, Coach Dawson slapping his hand flat onto the tablecloth.“For three years,” Jax continued, his dark amber eyes locking onto me and Noa