39. DMITRI

39

DMITRI

The game ends.

Hughes pulls me to the side. "You good?"

No, I am not.

We won. I played better than I ever have, pushing this new offensive defense strategy, pushing the limits of my knee… crossing it …

Coach is ecstatic.

I'm in agony, but my face does not move.

The permanent smirk Hughes wears is gone. "Something is going on with you. What is it?"

Before he can push for an answer, Forrester thumps my shoulder. "Keep playing like this, Lokhov."

My molars hurt from grinding. I can only nod.

The rest of the team crowds us. Someone pulls Hughes away, so I'm free of him, but every time my knee is jostled, I want to scream.

I stink so I shower. I know Kavi is waiting upstairs in the box for me. She's wearing my jersey.

Raw, chest-thumping satisfaction floods my body as I imagine her in it. She has my number on her. Mine. A wave of primal possessiveness threatens to knock me over.

My chest rises and falls with each breath. Fuck, I'm suffering. I want her in my arms, sitting on my lap. I want to hold her, squeeze her, and rock back and forth as I whisper rough and dirty praises in her ear.

I'm so fucking proud of you. Tell me how to show you. Tell me I can.

Do you know how great you are? How incredible? How inspiring?

I want it so badly my bones ache, and not just because she has my number on her back.

It's way more dangerous than that.

From the moment she came in with her camera, I was disgustingly proud. And when she took that step of courage and brought the lens to her face and started clicking, when she keyed into her own special mode of seeing the world around her, waiting and hunting for the shot?—

I could see.

She fucking shone.

This is what she's meant to do.

She did it. She believed in herself.

And now I've promised her a barbecue.

It can't be tonight. I can't be around anyone. I'm barely holding it together. No way I'll last an evening of pretending that I'm good. Everyone, including her, will learn about my knee.

Don't let anyone in, son. Execute the same, no matter what. No distractions.

I towel off, trying not to move my knee. It's swelling, so I tape it up before anyone can see. Putting on clothes again is difficult. A faint sheen of sweat covers my forehead. My breathing is loud.

I have to sit down and close my eyes.

Get over it. Move. This is nothing.

The words are a blend of two voices. My dad's orders and my own after his bled into me for so long.

Hockey or nothing. You are hockey or nothing.

I pop my eyes open and push through the pain to dress myself, although it's never been this hard before. That rattles me. Because suddenly the possibility of my contract getting renewed feels mockingly farther than before. Almost impossible. If my knee deteriorates like this, I won't make it. Hockey will quit me. And every hope and dream my dad's pinned on me, the pressure to continue his legacy, dies.

Don't do it. You'll turn into me. Depressed. A failure.

My phone buzzes. When I look at the screen, despite everything, my body goes lax.

It's Kavi. She's asking me when I'm coming to the box. Other players are already there. The team is celebrating and I'm hiding in the locker room.

I get up.

Wherever she is, I go to her.

I can't help myself. Whatever the problem was before, with her being this distraction I needed to exorcise, has compounded. Grown worse, exponentially. Having her live with me hasn't blunted anything between us. The late nights together on the couch are stacking up. So are the dinners. And the breakfasts when I'm off. Our talking.

Upstairs, the first person I find is her. She runs into my arms. I push my face into her shoulder to hide the flinch.

"You were amazing," she exclaims. "I was on the edge of my seat!"

When she pulls back, I see her eyes are bright with excitement. She tugs on my hand. I let her lead me to the team. Everyone claps me on the shoulder, except Hughes.

He's looking at me funny. I ignore him and the throb that consumes my leg.

Matt cracks open a champagne bottle. "We won! We need to celebrate!"

Kavi spreads her hands. "Funny you should mention that. Dmitri has thoughts on what to do tonight."

Surprise ripples through my team. Faces lean in, waiting.

She means the barbecue at my place, but I can't. There is no way.

Kavi bounces on her toes. The hem of her skirt swishes as she waits for me to tell them.

My breathing shallows as panic peaks inside me. I want to give her this, but I can barely keep standing like this. Unaffected. As if my leg isn't about to collapse if it doesn't get rest right away.

What should I do? Can I open my mouth and admit to her—and everyone—that I'm not good? That I need help? How I'm starting to fear I won't be playing long for this team or any team at this rate?

You think they'll care, but they won't.

There's a burning in my chest. It's reddening my insides.

I open my mouth. "No."

Kavi startles. "No?"

I'm an asshole. She deserves so much better than me. I want to make her understand, but we're not alone. And more so, she doesn't need my stress on her shoulders.

Kavi was incredible in the dressing room tonight. She's finally gaining confidence, away from her deadweight ex. Now, especially now, she doesn't need my issues going through her head. All she needs to focus on is herself and believing in her dreams.

"You said—the bet—" Kavi shakes her head. I almost hear the question in her head. What happened?

"You win," I concede, grinding my teeth.

"What bet?" asks Emmad, butting in.

If I keep talking, I'll forget how it's hurting. So I do, offering more words than usual. "We made a bet," I say to Emmad and everyone else listening, which is a good chunk of the team. "Kavi's photography and… something related to me getting better at hockey." As a team . "Whoever makes more progress gets to dare the other person to do anything they want. No limits. And—she won today."

"Make Lokhov do whatever?" repeats Matt, swigging from the frothy champagne bottle. "Sick!"

Quinn rubs his hands together. "The power you have, Kavi."

Other players chime in, telling her to make the dare unhinged. They tell her she can call them any time of any day to watch and that she should film it, if that's possible. Laughter blooms as my team gets invested. Everyone is on a high from winning tonight.

I'm counting down from a hundred, looking anywhere but at her.

It doesn't matter.

Kavi taps her shoe against mine. I pretend I don't notice. She does it again until almost stepping on me. I step backwards.

Our eyes hook on each other.

She steps forward again. I move backward.

It repeats until we're pulled away from everyone else.

"I don't get it," she says, lowering her voice. "If you do the barbecue, we're even. Or we can go out somewhere else if you don't want to bring the team home? They just want to celebrate with you. You'll get points for team building efforts. We'll be tied, basically, in my head."

"No. You won. I owe you a dare."

"Wouldn't it be easier to celebrate? To be with your team? To build connections with them tonight?"

Her expression is so open, as if she's willing to find whatever compromise I'll give her. As long as it helps me towards my goal. As if she wants to make sure I'm progressing as much as she did today.

"I'm not afraid," I say stiffly. "Of your dare."

Her smile fades. "What if I dare you to do the barbecue?"

"Anything but that."

Her hand brushes against my arm. "You… promised."

I step away. "Guess I'm just another hockey player disappointing you."

My answer is flat and dull; the world around me has gone glassy. I need to sit down, but that doesn't mean I don't see her shoulders deflate.

Fuck.

I hate myself.

Something is bleeding. It has to be. I need to check my chest because it feels as if a hole has opened up there.

"It sounds like you want to go home…" she trails off.

"I do. I'm tired. But you can go out with them. The team."

She picks at the skin around a nail. "I—I—" Her shoulders push back. "I… will. Fine. Without you."

"Good."

I leave immediately.