Page 22 of Hold the Line

I push my chair back and head to the door, muttering under my breath. “If this is some delivery guy with the wrong address, I swear to God—”

I open the door and then the entire Reapers team is standing in my hallway.

Shane at the front with a massive casserole dish, grinning like a maniac. Mats behind him holding two pies. Tyler and Jace juggling bags of side dishes. Roman with a bottle of vodka in each hand. Even Zara is there, looking impeccably put-together in a black coat, carrying what looks like a fancy charcuterie board.

“What the fuck?!” I mumble, blinking at the invasion.

Before I can say anything else, they start pouring in like a tidal wave of loud, sweaty, hockey-flavored chaos. Shane shoulders past me with a “Move it, Hollywood, this is heavy,” while Elias laughs, delighted, from the table. Within thirty seconds my living room is completely occupied — guys sprawled on the couch, sitting on the floor, leaning against walls, food bags and dishes covering every available surface.

Alex is still at the table, eyes huge, looking like he’s about to combust on the spot. His face has gone bright red, and he’s gripping his fork like it’s a lifeline. The entire starting lineup of his favorite team is now crammed into my apartment like it’s completely normal.

I snort at the look on his face, unable to help it. Poor guy went from a quiet Thanksgiving with me, Damian, and Elias to suddenly being surrounded by professional hockey players and their very sharp PR coordinator.

“Surprise!” Shane yells, already setting his casserole down and claiming space on my couch. “We figured if we left you to cook, we’d all die of food poisoning. So we brought reinforcements.”

Zara gives me a dry look as she passes. “Try not to make my job harder tonight, Vance.”

I close the door behind the last straggler, still half in shock, and lean against it for a second. My tiny apartment has never felt smaller. Or louder.

Alex stares at me, wide-eyed and overwhelmed, and I can’t help the soft laugh that escapes. I walk over and squeeze his shoulder gently. “Welcome to the family, I guess,” I murmur.

He looks like he might faint.

Within ten minutes of the team invading, it feels like a full-blown Reapers locker room exploded in my living room. Food is everywhere — casseroles, pies, trays of wings, multiple turkeys, bottles of beer and vodka. Shane is already on his second plate, telling some unhinged story about last year’s Thanksgiving when he tried to “bless” the turkey with ritual symbols and almost burned Damian’s kitchen down. Mats is flirting shamelessly with Zara, who keeps shutting him down with increasingly creative threats. Tyler and Jace are wedged on the couch with the rookies, wide-eyed and trying to keep up.

Elias and Shane have zeroed in on Alex like sharks smelling fresh blood.

“So, Alex,” Elias says, leaning forward with that feral grin. “How’d you manage to bag Hollywood? Did you have to fill out an application? Because we’ve got a very strict vetting process.”

Shane nods solemnly, his mouth full of mashed potatoes. “Yeah. We need to know your intentions. Are you in it for the abs? The TikTok fame? Or are you secretly a spy for Vancouver?”

Alex turns bright red, looking like he wants the couch to swallow him whole. He glances at me for help, and I can’t help but laugh as I wrap an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer. “Leave him alone, you animals,” I say, pointing my fork at both of them. “Alex is a good guy. Unlike some people in this room who shall remain nameless but whose names rhyme with Shmane and Shmias.”

Elias gasps dramatically. “Rude! I’m an angel.”

Shane cackles. “He brought you here during Thanksgiving. That’s basically marriage in hockey years. We need details. How nervous were you when you met Cole? Did you stutter? Did you cry?”

Alex hides his face in my shoulder, mortified but laughing softly. I rub his back, grinning. It’s sweet — the way he’s trying so hard, blushing every time someone teases him. These moments feel easy.

For a little while, I let myself enjoy it. The chaos. The food. The loud, ridiculous family I somehow ended up with. Alex fits in better than I expected — quiet but polite, answering their ridiculous questions with shy honesty. Elias eventually takes pity on him and starts telling embarrassing stories about me instead, which has the whole room howling.

Then Shane pauses mid-bite, blinking as he looks around the crowded living room like he’s doing inventory.

“Where’s Petrov?” he asks suddenly.

The room quiets a little as everyone starts glancing around, as if Viktor has been here the whole time and they just misplaced the 6’6” Russian brick wall.

“Russia,” Damian says casually, spearing another piece of turkey.

Russia.

I try to keep my face neutral, keep smiling, keep laughing at whatever stupid story Shane is telling, but I feel the shift hit me like a blindside hit. My shoulders tense. My grip on my fork tightens. The noise of the room fades into background static for a second.

Viktor is in Russia.

He went back. To the place he hates. The place full of memories he never talks about. And he didn’t say a word to me. Not a text. Not a heads-up. Nothing.

Alex notices almost immediately. He leans in closer, soft and concerned under the chaos of the team yelling over each other. “Hey… you okay?”