17. DMITRI

17

DMITRI

A dull throb in my knee gets worse. It takes effort not to walk any differently, when Forrester pulls me to the side after the game.

His expression tells me nothing, but the dread in my gut knows what's coming. What I did on the ice today was out of formation. Yes, I scored, but I went completely rogue to do it.

All because Kavi Basra was watching me.

Fuck.

"Son." He crosses his arms.

"Coach."

"I want to be honest with you. The GM was kicking around the idea of not renewing your contract?—"

A buzzing starts in my head and my breathing shallows. Without hockey, I have nothing. It's all I'm great at and what I've sacrificed everything for. It's also what my dad needs to keep going. Without it, he'll turn back into a man who drinks too much and gets fired from every job he's tried to hold down since his injury.

"—salary cap," Forrester says.

I missed a few words.

"I don't understand," I grate out. A headache starts in the lower lobe of my head.

Is he telling me I'm getting traded after the season? If that happens, there's no guarantee the next team will play me like the Wings do. Not if their medical team figures out how bad my knee can get. Also, fresh rookies get drafted every season, desperate to prove themselves. Moving to another team means different internal bullshit and favoritism clashing. Any of those things can kill a career.

My throat closes.

Coach Forrester leans forward. "The way Hughes and you were in sync at the end, that's what I've been talking about. Working as a team. You need to keep playing like that, like an offensive defenseman when the timing is perfect to go all the way. Do that and we'll be having a different, much better conversation at the end of your season, especially if you help bring the Cup home this year, son."

"You want me to play harder…"

My knee flares, mocking me.

"Keep stepping it up," confirms Forrester. "Now, go shower. I'm sure the rest of the team is waiting to celebrate with you."

With that, he leaves.

In the dressing room, the shower almost scalds my skin before I plummet the temperature. Looking down at my scarred knee, I see it's swollen. After taping it up, I head upstairs to the box. If I'm smart, I'll say goodbye to Kavi Basra, go straight to the hotel, and keep my leg elevated. It needs to not move for the next twelve hours to recover. Especially if I have to play—step up—like Forrester is demanding I do.

No choice. You have to.

Inside the box, she's hanging around the team. No, the team is hanging around her, joking around. I should be grateful they're making her feel comfortable. But then Hughes taps her with his elbow.

He fucks a different woman every night.

I move fast. My body goes and wedges itself between them. "Go away." The sneer I point at Hughes is thunderous.

Kavi glances up at me, eyes widening. "He's not bothering me."

"Trust me, it builds."

Hughes is straight-faced, miming a knife going into his chest.

"Believe nothing he has to say," I tell her.

That startles a smile out of her. "Actually, we were talking about you, so consider me warned."

Hughes smirks. "Now he's dying to know more. And I will not put Lokhov out of his misery and tell him what it was about." His smirk widens. "But I'm also weak. Bribe-able."

I consider him. "How much money to make you hate me?"

"Not enough in this world, bro."

Kavi hums. "This friendship is weird."

I say, "We're not friends," at the same time Hughes says, "That's the best thing anyone has said to me all day."

"If you must know," Kavi says. "We were talking about that last-minute goal of yours. How unexpected it was." Her cheeks flush a pretty tinge of pink.

"Almost like he wanted to impress someone," says Quinn, walking by.

"Naw." Hughes shakes his head. "The Great One Who Never Smiles always kills it." He grins at Kavi. "Come to the next game to find out. You have to. There's nothing like hearing our home crowd cheer for us."

"Oh. Um." She swallows. "I'm not sure. This is a—one time invite—" She glances furtively at me. "Plus, my dad coaches the Blades, so I shouldn't."

Hughes gasps. Literally fucking gasps.

"They know," I tell Kavi. "Ignore him."

"We don't care who your dad is or who your ex is," admits Hughes. "You're here now. With us."

"Let's celebrate the win together," suggests Quinn.

Hughes threads a hand through his blonde hair. "Everyone come! Friends and family!"

His voice booms loud enough that Quinn's sister shifts her attention away from the book she's propped up on a couch nearby.

"Lokhov never comes out," complains Matt. "But he should. That last goal, man. I've never seen you go hard like that."

The last time I went to a bar, my knee was collateral damage. Nothing is going to make me repeat the experience.

"Come out. Promise we'll keep the debauchery to a minimum, darling," Hughes drawls to Kavi.

My nostrils flare. Did he just call her darling?

Kavi tugs on her bottom lip. "If this night ends, then pretty soon it will be tomorrow and I have to catch a flight back to Seattle…"

Hughes grins. "Sounds like you're coming."

"Um… yeah? Maybe. Sure?"

He attempts to slide closer to her, but I block his approach.

Hughes and some other players are watching me, beginning to smile.

"You want to go out?" I ask Kavi, towering over her.

"Yeah…"

"Fine. We'll go out." Fuck.

Behind us, Quinn swoons. Matt cheers. Emmad does a jig.

The team shifts away to coordinate food and rides.

"Are you sure about this?" Kavi whispers.

"Why wouldn't I be?" It's not like my knee is yelling at me to be responsible. Or that the pressure to perform hasn't just quadrupled after my talk with Coach.

"You're probably tired. I know routine has always been important to you." She pauses. "I remember."

Dangerously, I let my head drop so I'm closer to her ear. "What do you remember?"

"High school. The others would go drinking after, but you never joined them. You went home."

My eyebrow quirks up. "You watched me?"

Her eyes widen again. "You wish."

"Lying? Don't make me pinch you, Basra."

"Blame that eye-sore of a leather jacket you always wore. Everyone else had on jerseys or hoodies except you." Her hands move in the air. " Angsty eyes. Bad boy tattoos. Never talking to anyone." Her finger prods my jacket. "Shocking to see you in a suit today. Guessing that leather jacket finally fell apart. My apologies for not being devastated about that."

"Mean."

She clears her throat, something she's been doing a lot around me. "The last time I saw you in a suit was prom. That night probably doesn't stand out to you, I know."

"You would know nothing."

Kavi shivers. "Hey?—"

Before she can finish, Quinn interrupts us. "Car is ready."

"Is your sister going?" Kavi asks him.

He shrugs. "If you can convince her."

"I want to try." She walks away, almost tripping before getting stable on her feet again. Not looking back, she heads straight for Quinn's step-sister.

"You're so screwed," Quinn declares.

My eyes narrow. "Why?"

He points down.

It's my hand. It had shot out, ready to catch her if she fell.

"Hockey reflexes," I say, my tone completely flat. "Nothing more."