Chapter 215: They Were Wrong

By seven-thirty that evening, the suite had been completely transformed.

​Marina had coordinated with the hospital administration to bring in a massive widescreen television, mounting it directly opposite my bed so I wouldn’t have to strain my neck or shift my leg. But she hadn’t stopped there.

​Just as the pre-game broadcast began rolling, the heavy double doors of the private suite swung open.

​My twin brothers, Kelvin and Kalvin, carried in two armchairs dragged straight from the waiting room lobby. Behind them came Chleo, Chloe, and my youngest sister, balancing bags of takeout, soft drinks, and extra blankets. Even my parents stepped in quietly, my mother carrying a home-cooked broth container while my father brought up the rear, silent but solemn, his jaw set in a tight line of quiet support.

​Out of nine people in our family, seven of us were crammed into that high-end hospital room, filling the space with familiar, noisy warmth.

"What... What are you doing here?" I asked softly.

​"We weren’t about to let you watch Game 2 by yourself," Kalvin announced, setting his chair down near the window with a heavy thud. "You yell at the screen too loud when the refs make bad calls. You need backup."

​"And somebody has to make sure you don’t jump out of bed when McCoy scores," Chloe added, giving me a soft, tentative smile as she draped a warm fleece blanket over my feet, being extra careful around my heavy leg cast.

​I looked around the room, taking in the sight of my family—the people who had spent their whole lives believing I was just another ordinary Beta brother, but who were now standing shoulder to shoulder in my corner regardless. My throat tightened, a sudden lump forming, but for the first time in two days, it wasn’t from grief. It was pure, unadulterated strength.

​My mother sat on the edge of the mattress, gently taking my hand, while my father took a seat near the door, his eyes fixed on the glowing television screen as the arena lights flashed on the broadcast.

​On the screen, the camera panned across the home ice. The atmosphere inside the Serpents’ arena was electrifying, a sea of black and teal jerseys roaring in the stands. The sports anchors were talking nonstop about the legal victory, Pedro’s suspension, and my secondary presentation, but the camera soon locked onto the Serpents’ tunnel.

​The team filed onto the ice for warmups.

​Leading the line was Miller in full goalie gear, followed by Russo—and right behind them walked Reid.

​Seeing him on the screen made my chest swell. Reid wore his helmet tight, his dark grey eyes sharp and focused, his broad shoulders squared under his jersey. There was no hesitation in his stride, no shadow of fear. He looked like a storm waiting to break over the Wolves.

​"Look at him," Kelvin muttered under his breath, leaning forward in his chair. "Kid looks ready to tear the rink down."

​As the national anthem finished and the ref stepped up to the center circle for the opening face-off, Reid looked straight up into the broadcast camera for a split second, adjusting his gloves.

​I leaned back against my stack of pillows, my hand resting flat over my lower stomach, a fierce, quiet pride settling over my heart.

​"Go get ’em, rookie," I whispered to the screen.

The puck dropped, and Game 2 exploded into action.

From the very first whistle, the Wolves tried to set an aggressive, punishing tone. Even without Pedro on the ice, they were playing dirty—chipping at our defensemen, throwing late hits after the whistle, and trying to test whether the Serpents had been rattled by everything that had happened over the last forty-eight hours.

They clearly thought we were vulnerable without our Captain.

They were wrong.

On the very first shift, a Wolves forward tried to pin Petter against the boards with a high elbow. Before the ref could even blow his whistle, a wall of black and teal smashed into the play. Reid hit the Wolves winger so hard the safety glass flexed outward with a deafening boom.

"Holy shit!" Kalvin yelled, slamming his hands onto his knees as the entire room gasped. "Did you see that?!"

On the TV screen, the camera zoomed in tight on Reid. He didn’t take a penalty; he just stood over the dazed player, his grey eyes cold, unyielding, and terrifyingly calm. He looked straight past the opposing bench, completely dominating the ice.

In our hospital suite, my father leaned forward in his chair, his eyes wide as he watched the twenty-one-year-old control the tempo of the entire game. "The kid plays like a battering ram," my dad muttered, his voice low, sounding almost impressed despite himself.

"That’s Kain’s line-mate for you," Marina said smoothly from her spot near the window, a small, knowing smirk on her face. "He promised to protect the ice."

As the game wore on into the third period, the tension in our room reached a fever pitch. The score was tied 2-2, the arena broadcast echoing with deafening chants from forty thousand fans in the stands. With less than three minutes on the clock, Russo forced a turnover in our defensive zone and sent a hard, crisp outlet pass up the ice.

Reid caught it on the fly, breaking past two Wolves defensemen with sheer, explosive speed. He cut hard toward the net, drew the goalie out of position with a quick shoulder fake, and snapped a ruthless wrist shot straight into the top right corner.

GOAL!

The broadcast horn blared through the TV speakers so loudly it made the hospital room walls vibrate. The Serpents bench erupted, players jumping over the boards to swarm Reid near the glass.

"YES!" Kelvin and Kalvin roared, leaping out of their chairs, high-fiving each other while my sisters cheered. My mother let out a loud laugh, clapping her hands together, while my dad let out a rare, heavy whistle of approval.

On the screen, Reid broke away from the team hug. He skated slowly toward the center camera, raised his stick high, and tapped his gloved hand twice directly over the team crest on his chest—our private sign, the exact gesture I always made to the fans before a third period.

He was dedicating the win to his Captain.

A sudden, warm wave of emotion swept through my chest. I rested my hand over my lower stomach, my thumb lightly stroking the fabric of the hospital gown, a tear slipping down my cheek—not from pain or grief, but from pure, unadulterated relief and pride.

"He’s doing it, Kain," my mother whispered softly, leaning down to press a sweet, tender kiss to my hair. "He’s bringing it home."

"Yeah, Mom," I rasped, my voice thick as I watched Reid skate off the ice toward the locker room tunnel, his eyes fixed on the camera, as if he was trying to tell me to keep watching his success as he fulfilled his promise. "He sure did."

After a tough game, the final horn sounded on the television screen, cementing the Serpents’ 3-2 victory in Game 2. On screen, the sports anchors were already analyzing Reid’s game-winning goal, calling it one of the most dominant performances by a rookie in playoff history.

In our suite, my brothers were still arguing over the replays, while my mother began cleaning up the takeout containers with Chleo and Chloe. The energetic buzz of my family filled the room, but my eyes remained fixed on the lower corner of the TV screen, watching the Serpents file down the tunnel into the visiting locker room.

I knew how post-game protocol worked. There were media obligations, Devin’s post-game speech in the room, equipment changes, and medical check-ups. It usually took at least an hour before players could even think about leaving the arena.

But barely thirty minutes had passed when rapid, heavy footfalls echoed down the quiet hospital corridor outside.

My family went silent, everyone turning toward the door as it swung open with a sharp, heavy push.

Reid stood in the doorway.

He hadn’t even taken off his team tracksuit, his dark hair still damp from a rushed shower, his duffel bag thrown carelessly over one shoulder. His chest was heaving softly as if he had practically sprinted straight from the team bus through the hospital security gates.

"McCoy?" Kalvin blinked, thoroughly shocked. "Did you fly here?"

Reid didn’t answer him. He didn’t even process the seven people crammed inside the room. His sharp grey eyes locked directly onto mine, sweeping over my face, taking in my clear eyes, my flush of color, and the half-empty broth container sitting on the side table.

The tight, suffocating tension that had held his broad shoulders rigid all morning completely vanished in a single, heavy exhale.

My siblings smoothly backed away, my twin brothers pulling my parents toward the kitchenette corner to give us room. Marina offered Reid a subtle, approving nod as he stepped into the suite, letting the heavy wooden door rest on its latch behind him.

Reid dropped his heavy duffel bag to the floor with a dull thud. He didn’t hesitate, stepping straight up to the side of my mattress.

"Reid—" I started, my voice raspy.

Before I could finish my sentence, Reid leaned down, carefully wrapping his broad, warm arms around my shoulders and pulling me up into a firm, desperate embrace.