Chapter 4: Caught
The steam was a thick, choking veil, turning the white tiles of the showers into a glistening cave. The roar of the water was a white noise that swallowed all other sound, a private universe of heat and pounding spray.
V’s back was against the cool, wet tile, her legs locked around Alex’s hips. His hands were under her ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh, holding her aloft as he drove into her. Water streamed over his shoulders, down the carved muscles of his back, mixing with the sweat of their post-practice exertion.
There was no tenderness here. This was pure, unadorned reclamation. Every deep, grinding thrust was a confirmation. I am here. You are here. This is real.
His mouth was on her neck, teeth scraping the tender skin below her ear. “Tell me,” he grunted into the steam, his voice ragged. “Tell me who’s fucking you.”
“You,” she gasped, her head thrown back, the water hitting her face, blinding her. Her fingernails carved half-moons into the hard slabs of his shoulders. “Alex. Fuck… Alex.”
“Louder.”
“Alex!” Her cry echoed off the tiles, swallowed and amplified by the steam. He hammered into her, each impact a jolt of perfect, mind-numbing friction. The world had narrowed to the slap of wet skin, the gush of the showerhead, the guttural sounds ripped from his throat. She was close, a tight coil about to snap, the pressure building low in her belly with every brutal, perfect stroke.
Then the world fractured.
The shower door, a fogged pane of tempered glass, slid open with a violent rattle.
A massive silhouette filled the space, backlit by the harsh fluorescent lights of the locker room. The steam swirled around him, parting briefly to reveal the furious, stunned face of Gabriel Landeskog.
Alex froze, buried deep inside her. His grip on her tightened reflexively. V’s eyes went wide, a shocked gasp dying in her throat.
Landeskog stood there, a towel slung low around his waist, his chest still heaving from his own post-skate routine. His gaze, like a physical blow, swept from Alex’s face, down to where their bodies were joined, and back up. His expression cycled through stages: confusion, disbelief, a dawning, white-hot anger.
“Fucking hell, Kongsgard,” he growled. The sound was low, venomous, cutting through the roar of the water.
Alex didn’t move. A defiant, almost feral stillness settled over him. He didn’t try to hide them, didn’t try to pull out. He held V there, pinned against the wall, his body shielding hers from full view. “Cap,” he said, his voice flat.
“My office. Now.” Landeskog’s voice was iron. “Both of you.” His eyes flicked to V, a flash of something—disgust, maybe pity—before the anger re-solidified. “Get dressed.”
He didn’t move. He waited, a silent, imposing statue. The steam curled around his clenched fists.
Alex slowly let V down. Her legs, trembling and weak, barely held her. The sudden emptiness as he slid out of her was a shocking vulnerability. Water ran between her thighs, a stark contrast to the heat of him that was already fading. She kept her eyes on the drain, her face burning with a humiliation so profound it felt like ice.
Alex reached past Landeskog, not flinching, and grabbed two fresh towels from a stack on a bench. He handed one to V, his movements deliberate, almost casual. He wrapped the other around his own waist, tucking it tight. The defiance was back in his eyes, a blue challenge in the mist.
Landeskog turned on his heel and walked out, leaving the shower door open. The relative quiet of the empty locker room rushed in, broken only by the drip of water and the distant hum of industrial dryers.
V trembled violently as she dried herself. Alex was methodical, his jaw set. He dressed in silence, pulling on his practice gear from earlier—mesh shorts, a tight undershirt. He threw V’s clothes to her—a simple t-shirt, yoga pants. She dressed with numb, clumsy fingers.
Neither spoke. The walk to Landeskog’s office, a small, cluttered room off the main locker bank, felt like a death march. Landeskog was already behind his desk, still in his towel, his big arms crossed over his chest. He didn’t offer them a seat.
He stared at Alex, his gaze a physical weight. “What,” he began, his voice dangerously quiet, “in the absolute fuck was that?”
Alex leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, mirroring his captain’s posture. “Having a shower.”
“Don’t get cute with me,” Landeskog snapped, slamming a hand on the desk. A whiteboard marker jumped and clattered to the floor. “You know the rules. No guests in the player facilities. Ever. Especially not…after hours.” He spat the words. “Especially not now, when every camera in the city is waiting for you to screw up. When the team is counting on you to be focused, not fucking your…” He gestured vaguely, angrily, at V. “...your girlfriend in the goddamn showers like a pair of horny teenagers.”
“She’s not a guest,” Alex said, his voice low and even. “She’s my fiancée.”
The word hung in the air, a grenade with the pin pulled. V’s head snapped up. Her heart stuttered to a stop. Fiancée?
Landeskog blinked, his anger stuttering into confusion. “Your what?”
“We’re engaged,” Alex said, as if commenting on the weather. He reached into the pocket of his mesh shorts and pulled out a small, velvet box. He flipped it open with his thumb. Nestled inside was a ring—a simple, stunning band of diamonds that caught the overhead light. He hadn’t had that when they’d left the condo. He must have had it hidden here, planned.
He took V’s limp hand and slid the ring onto her finger. It was a perfect fit. Cold. Heavy. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles, his eyes never leaving Landeskog’s. “It happened this morning. Before practice. We got… carried away after. Celebrating.”
V could only stare at the glittering stones on her finger. It was a beautiful lie. A breathtaking, terrifying fortress of a lie.
Landeskog looked from the ring to Alex’s face, then to V’s surely pale, stunned expression. He saw shock, he saw embarrassment. He did not see the abyss of complicity beneath it. His anger deflated, replaced by a weary, frustrated disbelief.
“Jesus Christ, Alex. You couldn’t wait until you got home?”
“No,” Alex said, a ghost of his old, arrogant smirk playing on his lips. “I really couldn’t.”
Landeskog ran a hand over his face. He looked older suddenly, burdened. “The media. The team. You have to control this narrative. An engagement is… it’s big. Bigger than a girlfriend. It’s a commitment. It’s stability. It can work in your favor.” He pointed a thick finger at Alex. “But this shit? In the showers? It can’t happen again. Not here. This is a place of work. You disrespect the room, you disrespect the game, you disrespect every guy who puts his gear in those lockers.”
“Understood,” Alex said, the picture of contrition.
“And you,” Landeskog said, turning his stern gaze on V. “Victoria, right?” She nodded mutely. “Congratulations. Truly. But you need to understand. This,” he gestured around the room, “this life, it’s a fishbowl. What he does, where he does it, it reflects on all of us. You’re part of that now. The things you do in private stay private. This wasn’t private.”
“I’m sorry,” V whispered, the words genuine. She was sorry for all of it.
Landeskog sighed, the last of his anger dissipating. “Just… keep it in your pants until you’re behind a locked door, for fuck’s sake.” He shook his head. “Get out of here. And Alex? You have a press conference tomorrow. 10 AM. You’re announcing this. Get your story straight.”
They left his office, the heavy door clicking shut behind them. The locker room was silent now, empty. The only sound was the hum of the lights.
Back in the shower stall, their clothes were in a damp pile. Alex bent to pick them up. His movement was stiff. V stood frozen, staring at the ring. It winked at her, a circle of cold fire.
He straightened, the wet clothes in his hands. He looked at her, his face unreadable. “It had to be done,” he said, his voice devoid of all the earlier performance. “It’s armor. It’s the next logical step in the narrative.”
“You had this ring,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “You planned this.”
“I planned for contingencies.” He stepped closer, his gaze dropping to her hand. “Do you like it?”
It was a monstrous question. The ring was a shackle, a beautiful, public brand. It was also, perversely, a token. A claim staked not just on her, but on them, on the chaotic, irreversible truth they now were. She looked at his face, saw the faint strain around his eyes, the tightness in his jaw he always got when he was scared. He was terrified.
Slowly, she lifted her hand. She touched his cheek, her cool, ring-adorned fingers against his stubble. He closed his eyes, leaning into the touch like a starving man.
“Yes,” she lied, and it felt like the truest thing she’d ever said.
He let out a breath, a shuddering release of tension. He dropped the clothes, his hands coming up to frame her face. He kissed her, there in the damp, empty shower stall. This kiss was different from all the others. It was not hungry, or punishing, or tender. It was a seal. A promise forged in shame and steam and startling, desperate invention.
When he pulled back, his eyes were clear, resolved. “Let’s go home,” he said.
He led her out, past the silent lockers, her hand in his. The diamond cut into her palm, a tiny, persistent reminder. The story was no longer just a cover. It was a cage they had both willingly stepped into, and now, they had to learn how to live inside it. The world was waiting, and tomorrow, they would feed it a fairytale.