8. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Viktor

The moment my skates hit the ice, the roar of the crowd crashes over me like a tidal wave. It's electric, intoxicating—the first official game of the season, and it's all eyes on us.

On me.

Quinnipiac's got some new rookie they think is hot shit.

Please.

I've seen the kid play. He's fast, but he's gonna learn quickly that speed won't save him from getting crushed out here. Welcome to hell, fresh meat.

But as I skate to the net, everything's different. It's our first game without Alexei. My eyes drift to the seats right behind me and, sure enough, my BFF is right there with his two friends.

Eli's waving with a stupid grin on his face, wearing his custom sweatshirt with Alexei's number on it.

What a dork.

I smile and wave back, then tap my helmet, feeling the familiar crinkle of the burnt Ace of Spades card tucked inside. My lucky charm. A reminder of the time Alexei and I got shitfaced on some vodka and nearly set ourselves on fire while playing poker.

Mom almost murdered me, but it was so worth it. Played a game the next day with that charred card in my helmet and got my first fucking shutout. Been playing with it in my helmet ever since.

After stretching, I go about tearing up the ice in the crease, but I can't help sneaking a peek at the bench. Coach Harper , that fucker. He's been ignoring me since that shit in his office, when he had me on my knees, choking on his dick.

The way he just used me, dominated me . . . Fuck, it was hot. The man is definitely into men. Didn't even bat an eye about shoving his dick into my mouth.

And he called me Chaos. A nickname. My stomach flutters at the memory.

Thought I was finally winning him over, but then he just walked away like it was nothing.

Fucking typical.

I'm used to being the center of attention. I crave it, need it like I need fucking air. But I'm also used to being left behind. Rejected. Abandoned. I'm always too much, too crazy, too intense for anyone to handle. Story of my goddamn life.

And Beckett?

He's just the latest asshole to make me feel that way.

Jackson skates over and taps my pads with his stick. "What's got your panties in a bunch?"

"Fuck off."

He straightens up, brows pinched and lips pressed into a tight line. "Uh, Novy, you okay?"

Connor and Zach skate over, and Connor looks at Jackson. "What's going on?"

"He's . . . gloomy."

The three stare at me and I do some side-to-sides, warming up my legs and ignoring them. While I normally share my sexual escapades the way people talk about the weather, this time I don't.

And I'm not sure why. They already know I have a thing for our new coach. Maybe it's because, for once, someone managed to outplay me at my own game. It's both infuriating and intoxicating.

Especially after tasting him, feeling his hands in my hair, his dick down my throat. Fuck, just thinking about it makes me hard.

I want more.

Need more.

Coach Nieminen calls us in for the pep talk, saving me from the impending interrogation. We skate to the bench, but I hang at the back, only half-listening, my eyes glued to our assistant coach. Fucker won't even look at me.

But that's okay. I like a challenge.

Jackson throws an arm around me, knocking his helmet against mine. "Ready to fuck shit up?"

"Always."

As both teams line up, I go through my ritual. Tap the posts, tap my helmet, and feel that lucky card rubbing against my hair. Me and that card, we're the MVPs of our games. The most valuable and most powerful.

The puck drops and it's on. I'm in the fucking zone, blocking shot after shot like a goddamn wall. Not like I have a choice with the rookie who replaced Alexei shitting the bed out there. Zach's ready to murder the kid.

"Henneman, get your fucking head out of your ass," I yell as he skates off to the bench.

Connor and Jackson score, putting us up two points by the end of the first. Connor skates to me as we head off the ice. "Still don't get why you didn't just sign with the Islanders."

I snort. "And miss out on all this? No fucking way."

But honestly, I've been thinking about it more and more, especially since Alexei went pro. The Islanders drafted me, wanted me. But I wanted to study science.

People always assume I'm dumb, but they couldn't be more wrong. I'm a fucking Chemical and Molecular Engineering major, top of my class.

It's my other obsession.

But I can't call it love, though. No, my drive comes purely from hating Big Pharma. So, I turned down the contract the Islanders offered and came to Crestwood.

Zach joins us. "Going to plaster Henneman into the boards myself if he doesn't get his shit together."

Second period's a little better. Zach makes good on his threat, slamming our rookie defenseman into the boards after the dumbass screens me, causing the puck to slip through five-hole.

Third period is fierce, especially since we're only up by one. Coach Nieminen benches Henneman. His replacement doesn't play well with Zach, but at least the kid has skill. Quinnipiac gets a breakaway, and the player tries to deke but I poke the puck away.

It's a fucking madhouse in front of the net. I'm doing splits, reaching, bending in ways I didn't know I could. Another shot. This time, the puck hits my glove and I smother it against my chest.

The horn sounds. Game over. We won.

I grab the puck and toss it over the glass to Eli before hitting the handshake line. The dork's grinning so wide, I swear his face is gonna split. Bet he'll lose his shit the first time Alexei tosses him a puck.

After shaking hands with the other teams' coaches, I make my way off the ice. But when I skate past Coach Harper, he has the audacity to look at me with a proud fucking smile. Like he thinks we're cool now.

Please.

I blow right past him, ignoring his outstretched hand. I feel his eyes on my back, but I don't give him the satisfaction of turning around because Viktor Novotny doesn't get outplayed.

Beckett Harper wants to play games?

Fine.

I'll show him just how petty and bratty and fucking entitled I can be.