Chapter 93 93: The Powerhouse Duo
The shift in the room was instantaneous. Saint's harsh words hung in the air, but the silence that followed wasn't one of shock—it was the silence of a PR disaster in the making.
Sloane Vane's eyes narrowed to slits. She didn't look angry; she looked like she was recalculating a formula. She stepped forward, her hand landing on Saint's arm with a grip so soft it was threatening.
As she spoke, her voice projected across the nearby microphones, smoothing over the tension with practised ease. She looked at the reporter with a sharp, dismissive smile. "I hate that people still see my Captains as rivals. It is clear that they've transitioned into a team and are only focused entirely on the championship. They've moved past the rivalry. They're a unit now."
She leaned in closer to both of them, her voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "The 'Full Hate' act is done. I believe the netizens are past their imaginary romance. Now, you are making the Consortium look like they bought a broken machine. If you two don't show this room the 'Unified' powerhouse I paid for within the next ten minutes, I'll consider the contract breached. Act like teammates. Now."
Saint and Baby shared a look. The residual rage from the Candy incident and the fear of their parents were still there, but the threat of the contract was a cold bucket of water. They couldn't be lovers, and they couldn't be enemies. They had to be the Captains of Westbridge, candidates of THC.
"Sloane's right," Baby said, his voice shifting. He took a deep breath and raised his face with a focused expression filled with professional intensity. He stepped back into Saint's space—not as a lover, but as a brother-in-arms. He adjusted Saint's lapel, a gesture that was visible to every camera in the room. "We're here to win, not to hold grudges. We'rea team."
Saint took the cue. He let out a short, bark-like laugh, clapping Baby on the shoulder—this time, the grip was supportive, the way a veteran leader anchors his star player.
"Danvers is the only one who can handle my mood swings," Saint added, his voice projecting a rough, teammate-style camaraderie. "We've got a job to do. Let's show them the synergy, shall we?"
A small, synthetic ice rink had been set up at the far end of the ballroom for a "Skills Exhibition" sponsored by the THC. The guests crowded around as Saint and Baby took to the small patch of white, still in their tuxedos but handed high-end sticks.
They didn't play against each other. They played together.
It was a masterclass in non-verbal communication. Saint would flick a puck blindly behind his back, and Baby would be there to catch it on his blade without looking. They moved in a synchronised dance, weaving through the small space with a grace that silenced the room. When Baby 'tripped' slightly on the edge of the synthetic board, Saint didn't laugh—he caught Baby by the waist, steadying him instantly, and they transitioned the stumble into a joint puck-handling move that looked rehearsed for weeks.
To the world, they looked like the greatest duo in hockey history. To the parents watching from the shadows, they looked like a successful merger.
To each other, it was the only way they could touch without being destroyed.
Applause, cameras flashing and smiles from the higher-ups were all they needed to know that their act was successful.
The exhibition was over, and now, it was time to go home.
"Great work, guys," Sloane met them at the exit, full of smiles.
"It was our pleasure, Ms. Sloane," Saint replied, his tone even.
"We enjoyed every moment... super grateful," Baby added.
Sloane chuckled, "I smell your sarcasm, Danvers," She paused, pointing them toward the side where almost all the press and cameras were crowding over.
"Your parents, taking pictures," She murmured.
Saint and Baby held back from looking at each other, they so wanted to roll their eyes so bad, but cameras were everywhere like a spotlight, any slightest impression would be captured and devoured by the hungry press and netizens.
"They look lovely," Baby said, smiling as he stared at his mother who looked every part a member of the socialites.
His mother stood beside Mr. Kross, smiling like some old-running family friend.
"Exactly, Bab," Sloane said, facing them squarely, his eyes narrowed, "They 'look' lovely. Even though everyone in the country knows how much 'not-lovely' your families are. That's my point, boys." She tapped their shoulders, smiling softly.
"We do not care how much hate you both might have inherited from your parents, or even the ones you created yourselves. However, we do care that you guys really do get along..." She cleared her throat, turning serious.
"The championship match that will determine whether or not you two are worthy of my investment or not is around the corner. Four months exactly. Now, if you lead your team to victory against the international opponents, you pass, if you lose..." her eyes drifted to their parents, who were still flashing dashing, aristocratic smiles to the press, "They would have a lot to lose... socially and financially."
A short silence settled between them as the weight of their situation finally crashed down on them.
It wasn't enough to be chosen by THC. They actually needed to prove they were worth the investment.
"We won't disappoint, Ms. Sloane. We'll be ready," Saint assured.
Sloane gave a short nod, "I spoke to your therapist..." She said.
Suddenly, it was as if Baby's bones turned to jelly. He almost tripped while standing if he wasn't smart enough to place his hand on Saint's shoulder, acting as if he was just posing for the camera that suddenly flashed past them.
"Only good things, I suppose," Baby chuckled, smiling easily even though he was wrecking within.
Saint wasn't any better, he sensed Baby's feelings and placed a supportive hand on his shoulder while his eyes glanced over at his father.
He was really hoping that Elena didn't rat them out, if not, he stood to lose everything: family, career, love.
"Of course, Danvers. It's a good thing. Can't you see our synergy was so good the netizens started to –"
"Yes, we know that. However, that's not the market I'm trying to sell," Sloan cut off.
Saint nodded, retrieving his hand from Baby's shoulder and so did Baby.
"Of course. We know that," Baby smirked, looking too confident for someone who wasn't sure if the next words Slaone spoke would ruin his entire life and dreams.
Sloane nodded, "You two would not be returning to therapy. She sent in her evaluation and you both passed. Now, focus on the game, four months isn't a year. Clear?" She questioned, brows lifting.
"Crystal," Saint nodded.
"Crystal," Baby mimicked Saint.
"Good," with that, she turned and walked away.
The cameras zoomed in, watching the captains standing side by side.
"I'll bid you a goodnight, Mr. Danvers," Saint spoke, offering Baby a handshake.
Baby internally sighed, feeling so drained with all the pretence, "See you on the ice, buddy." He replied with a firm handshake, then, he turned and walked toward his limo.
Before Saint could leave, too, the familiar taller silhouette blotted into his path.
"A picture, son?" Mr. Kross asked, his voice filled with pride for his son.
Fake pride.
"Yes, Father," Saint replied.
He knew this was no father-son bonding. This was a check-in.