15. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Beckett

Watching Viktor wilt when I mentioned he was too much made my chest hurt in ways I didn't expect. Sure, I care about how people feel, but what caught me by surprise was the strength of my reaction.

Same way those scars made me want to ride back to the club last night and rip Zachary Knight's throat out, especially after Viktor admitted he hadn't liked it. Which also means, I have to be careful with him, pay attention to what he actually enjoys versus what he may be doing solely for my benefit.

My focus lingers on the brat as he walks into the rink wearing one of my sweatshirts and a pair of my joggers, both a bit too big. But fuck. He looks sexy as hell in my clothes. And I already know I'm not getting that sweatshirt back, not with the way he keeps lifting his arm and smelling the sleeve.

I may have sprayed some of my cologne on it before giving it to him. While physically marking someone isn't my thing, that doesn't mean I won't do it in other ways.

My eyes close as I take a deep breath and shake my head.

This thing with Viktor is a bad idea on so many levels, but staying away isn't an option, not after fucking him, tasting him, and falling asleep with him in my arms.

Problem is, as much as I want to keep whatever we're doing a secret, my actions last night were in front of his friends. They all saw me carry him out of the club. Doubt they'd buy the excuse nothing happened, especially because there's no way Viktor will keep quiet.

And I don't want him to feel less than, like a dirty secret.

Some of my tension eased when he literally went feral the moment I brought up being worried about losing my job, like he'd nuke the damn planet if they even tried to fire me.

Yeah, he's intense. And not always in a good way, but there's no denying his intentions do appear to stem from caring. He just . . . doesn't always express it in the right ways.

"What's got you daydreaming?" Rinne hands me a cup of coffee.

"Thanks." I take a sip, then glance around the rink. "Just taking it in. Some of the guys are finally seeing me as a coach, others . . . not so sure. It's like I'm still on probation."

"For what it's worth, I think you're doing great, especially with Henneman. Kid's coming around. Looking more confident out there."

"What about Nieminen?"

Rinne lets out a full-on belly laugh. "You kidding? That man is so happy to share the migraine this team gives him. Yeah, he's snippy. But more like the way my wife just looks at me and says, ‘They're all yours now' the moment I get home because she's had enough."

Not sure what that's like, the having kids part, though I used to think about it some.

Taking another sip of coffee, I look over at Rinne. He's a good dad from what I can tell. Always calls his kids before practice, shows me tons of videos. And I can appreciate it more when he occasionally complains about going from working with Viktor, then home to his son who's just as demanding for attention.

"How'd you get through to Henneman, anyway?"

I grin as I swirl my cup around. "Easy when we're both the new guys walking onto the championship team. Nerves are the same. Expectations are the same. We just have different roles."

"Gotta ask. What's with him and showers?"

Something I've noticed too. Not everyone showers at the rink, but even at away games he doesn't. Not sanitary, especially with all that sweat. Some of the players have started teasing him about it. "Not sure. Trying to figure out a way to casually bring it up."

"Tread carefully. Saw his hand start shaking one day when Knight backed him into one of the stalls. You know how some of the team is, bunch of fucking bullies."

"Knight hurt him." I clench my jaw a bit too hard.

"Not that I can tell. Outside of the one incident, I don't see Henneman backing down even when Knight goes after him on the ice."

My attention drifts over to the players getting on the ice, specifically number twenty-seven, Knight. I know exactly what he's capable of. And what makes me nearly lose my shit is when I see Viktor idle up to the guy.

"Start warming up." Nieminen blows his whistle, then walks to us. "Harper, you got everything set up for video review later?"

"Yup. Want to get some one-on-one time with some of the newer players. Mind if I pull them early?"

"Do what you gotta do. We have a title to defend."

Rinne skates off to work with Viktor and our back-up goalie, while Nieminen works with the offense, leaving me with the defense. It takes no more than five minutes before Knight goes at Henneman like the rookie is his personal chew toy.

"Zach, focus or get the fuck off my ice." My voice is deep, my words hard. "He's not going to learn anything if he's always watching his back from one of his own."

He looks over at me, eyes practically void, the only hint of emotion the tiny lift of his upper lip. And just for good measure, he cross checks Henneman, knocking him on his ass.

"To my office now! The rest of you go with Coach Nieminen."

The team and coaches all stare, but I catch the tiny smirk on Nieminen's face. Knight slams his stick across the boards as he exits, and when I turn toward the net, Viktor's eyes bounce between me and his friend, but he doesn't lift the goalie helmet, so I can't read his expression.

Once inside the small office, I slam the door and point at Knight. "What the actual fuck is your problem! Why are you going at Henneman like that?"

"He doesn't belong here." His voice is calm, cold, and fully controlled. "Just because Crestwood let some scholarship student onto the team doesn't mean he's any good."

"Listen, you entitled prick, I never want to hear that type of shit from your mouth again toward any of your teammates. Got it? I can't control what you say to anyone else, but I protect my players so keep that shit to yourself."

He just stares, his body calm. No hint of remorse, no hint of stress. "He doesn't belong, but he'll get the message sooner or later."

The university warned me about the students here. How their families run everything. Nieminen did too, specifically mentioning Viktor and his friends. But enough is enough. I don't care how rich their parents are. I won't stand by and let this piece of shit hurt people.

I step into his space, my face inches from him. "Touch him again and you're done. Mommy and Daddy won't be able to help you."

A muscle twitches near his eye, his nostrils flaring. Seems I hit some sort of button. Good. Maybe I'm finally getting through that thick skull of his.

But then he narrows his eyes and smirks. "He'll get bored of you soon."

I jerk back, blinking.

His lips lift into even more of a venomous grin. "Then I'll touch him in whatever way I want."

Viktor.

He's talking about Viktor.

Whatever little decorum I had flies out of the window and I grab his jersey, slamming him against the wall. "Lay a finger on either Novotny or Henneman again and I will break your arms in a way they won't heal properly. You won't be so lucky next time."

The grin falls, morphing into a glare.

"I saw the marks, Zach. The scars. He didn't want that, didn't even enjoy it. And you don't even fucking care. You'll—"

"I do fucking care!"

He looks over my shoulder, his features scrunching. I turn, expecting to find Viktor, but instead find Reed, eyes wide and skin ashen.

Fuck.

I let go of Knight and step back, raking my hands through my hair. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that."

"Can I go?" Knight's voice waivers, some emotion slipping through.

"Yeah."

He leaves and I drop into my office chair, keeping my distance from Reed. This is the last thing he needed to see, the last way I needed to react in front of him.

"Jackson, I'm sorry. If you want to report what you saw, I fully understand."

He clears his throat, then steps into the office, closing the door. "Knight deserved it. And well, we've been wondering what the fuck went on between him and Novy. Now I've got something to hang over Knight's head . . . you know, because Petrov has no clue and will likely kill him."

My eyes widen and I groan. "Jesus, fuck. Why are you smiling about that?"

"You have no idea how hard it is to keep Zach in line sometimes. Now I have something that might help." Jackson takes a seat in Nieminen's chair. "Anyway, I was wondering if I can talk to you about something. But I don't want Coach Nieminen to know. I'm still figuring things out, but there's something I want to get your opinion about."

"Um, sure."

He sits back, picking at the sleeve of his jersey. "And don't worry. You're just protecting your boy. It's nothing like what happened to me. I just . . . sometimes it's like a flashback. PTSD or something."

I keep quiet, partially because he's opening up, and also because I'm stuck on the way he called Viktor my boy.

My first reaction was to correct it to my brat.

There's also another reason, one that has me smile in a way I haven't in a while.

For the first time, I feel like a real coach, not just some new guy running drills and barking at the players.

And fuck does it feel good.