Alex swerved in his lane. “What?”
“At first I wasn’t sure what was going on between you guys.” Shawn took a sip of his coffee. “Like, were you gonna fight or fuck? Even the guys in the locker room picked up on the tension. They had a bet going on when you were finally going to punch Sasha in the face. But the more I watched you two, the more I realized how much you just want to fuck him.”
Thankfully the road was pretty empty. Alex gripped the steering wheel and reminded himself that Coach would be pissed if he shoved Shawn out of a moving car.
“I don’t even—Carts. What the hell, man?”
Alex had so many questions, and no idea where to start. He took a deep breath, then let it out. Shawn smelled bright and clean, the way he always did, and that familiarity was enough for Alex to latch on to so he could relax.
“Are you telling me,” Alex said slowly, testing each word before speaking it, “that you bet the rest of the team that I was going to fuck Petrov?”
Shawn sat up straight. “No way, man!” He fumbled the coffee cup in his hands, turning to face Alex. “Dude, I wouldn’t out you like that. Come on.”
Alex exhaled. “Fucking hell, Carts. Don’t scare me like that.”
Shawn reached forward, resting his hand on Alex’s arm. “I just meant that everyone could tell there was something going on between you two. I’m the only one who guessed that it’s sexual tension, though. But, Phantom, you know they wouldn’t judge you if they knew.”
“They’re not going to know.” Alex swallowed around the sudden dryness in his throat. “Heather is going to let me feed from her on a regular basis, and she offered to pretend to be my girlfriend. And you’re wrong about me and Petrov. He hates me, and I hate him, and that’s that.”
Shawn stayed silent beside him for the next few miles, moving only to adjust the air vents or skip a song. When he finally spoke again, his voice was soft. “Hey, I’m sorry, bro.”
Alex reached over without looking to offer his fist, and Shawn bumped it gently.
“I only thought, y’know, it’s obvious you like Sasha. I mean, you have a type, judging by the guys I walked in on you screwing back in the NTDP.”
This time, Alex’s “Fucking hell” was spoken with laughter. “I’ve been trying to forget about that for years.”
“Man, I love you, but you were a terrible road roommate after you turned sixteen.” Shawn stretched his legs out and rapped on the window, silent for a moment. “Sasha doesn’t hate you, though. Just in case you were wondering.”
“Uh, yeah. He does.” Alex glanced over at his friend. “He won’t even speak to me, let alone look at me. Even if I did have a crush—I said if, shut up—even if I did, it’s definitely one-sided.”
“Uh, Phantom,” Shawn said, “I hate to break it to you, but I’ve played on a line with him for a couple of years now. I know the way he looks when he wants to punch someone. Hell, the entire NHL knows that look; he’s kinda got a reputation for trying to hit people in the face when he gets pissed. But the way he looks at you? That is not a punching kinda stare, lemme tell you.”
Interesting. But still. “Okay, so maybe he doesn’t want to punch me, but he’s still pretty clear about hating me.”
“Nah, bro. He and Despres were really close, you know? Like you and me, only Sasha was Ed’s rookie. I think he hates that you’re replacing his best friend. He’s talked about it a little.”
And, okay, that was even more interesting. “Do you, uh, talk to him about me?”
“Yep. Mostly about the shit we got up to when we were teenagers. He pretends like he doesn’t care, but it’s obvious that he’s listening.”
Eventually Alex was able to steer the conversation back to safer topics, like catching up on gossip about their respective families and friends they’d kept in touch with from when they were younger. But Alex kept coming back to Shawn’s words in his mind.
What if?
He’d seen the way Petrov had looked at him in the locker room, after all. And Shawn knew Petrov better than just about anyone else.
After a couple of hours, the Seattle skyline appeared. Alex let Shawn navigate them through the streets of downtown, and they pulled into the underground parking garage of Shawn’s building only a little behind schedule.
“Thanks for coming with me, Carts.”
Shawn grinned. “Anytime. It was fun to be on the road and not on a bus.”
They managed to get everything up the elevator in a couple of trips, laughing and competing to see who could carry more as they did so.
Once everything was piled in the corner of Alex’s room, Shawn leaned against the doorway.
“Hey,” he said. “What I said at the beginning of the trip, about Sasha?”
Alex raised an eyebrow and waited.
“Just, give him a chance, okay? I don’t know what’s going through his head, but I can promise there’s more to it than hate, okay?”
“Yeah, maybe.”
And that was that. Shawn smiled and pulled out his phone, clearly done with the topic. “You got plans tonight? Want to grab dinner?”
Alex thought about it, then frowned. “Can’t. I need to meet up with Heather and feed, but she’ll probably drag me out to some restaurant first. We’re leaving for the airport straight after practice tomorrow, so I won’t have a chance otherwise.”
Shawn nodded easily. “We can put a movie on when you get home later, then. Sjöberg got a care package filled with weird Swedish candy and he shared some with me, so I want to try it.”
TMZ Exclusive
Seattle isn’t known as a celebrity playground, but we spotted actress and model HEATHER BELL out and about with Seattle Cascades goalie ALEXANDER FANNING! The two were seen having dinner at Le Renard Rouge. Could romance be in the air? Read more: bit.ly/xC4m….
FANNING WAS beginning to drive him absolutely insane.
Every time Sasha looked at him, Fanning was staring at him, brown eyes focused intently like they were taking Sasha in and judging him. It was unnerving, and he was certain that it was purposeful. Unfortunately, none of Sasha’s useless friends would listen to him when he tried to bring it up.
It had started the day before they played New York at home, in the locker room. He’d been startled to see Fanning there so early, and furious to have his routine interrupted. But even though he’d tried to focus on his own workout and ignore the steady thump of footsteps on the treadmill behind him, he could feel Fanning’s gaze fixed on him.
It had only gotten worse from there.
“I think he’s trying to sabotage my game,” Sasha told Wilson, halfway through the New York game. They were winning, but only barely.
Wilson rolled his eyes and chewed on his mouthguard. “What, by staring at you?” He glanced over Sasha’s shoulder, to where Fanning was sitting on the bench. “He’s a goalie, man. Goalies are weird. They stare at people; it’s what they do.”
But the staring wasn’t just limited to when he was on the ice; no, every time Fanning was in the same room as him, Sasha would feel eyes on his back or glance over to find himself being studied by that intense gaze.
“He’s doing it on purpose,” he said to Andrej one afternoon while they were waiting for their turn to take a drill. The Slovakian forward spoke Russian well enough, which meant Sasha naturally gravitated to him.
Andrej patted him on the shoulder. “Who’s doing what on purpose?”
“Fanning.” Sasha practically spit the name out. “He’s always around, getting in my way. Every time I turn a corner, he’s there staring at me.”
“Maybe he just thinks you’re a handsome young man,” Andrej said, patting his cheek.
Sasha pushed the hand off and frowned.
He tried Carts next. “Tell your friend to leave me alone.”
Both of Shawn’s eyebrows went up. “Who, Alex?”
“Yes. He is always staring at me like he’s angry.”
For some reason Shawn found that incredibly amusing
. “Dude, I don’t think it’s anger that you’re seeing.”
Sasha shook his head. “He is still pissed at me for the Vancouver game.”
“Nah,” Shawn said. “Trust me. Phantom doesn’t hold grudges like that. He just needed to vent after the game, and now he’s fine. You should talk to him. I’m sure he’ll say the same thing.”
Sasha exhaled and walked away. Useless. Why wouldn’t anyone listen to him?
His last attempt was the one that he was least looking forward to. He found Mikhail in the waiting area at the airport two days after they played New York at home. The team was getting ready to depart on one of their longest road trips of the season, heading east to play in Pennsylvania, Buffalo, and then up through eastern Canada.
“I hate him,” Sasha said in Russian, flopping down in a chair next to his countryman.
Misha put his tabloid magazine down and turned to Sasha with narrowed eyes. “Alexander Vladimirovich, you are my good friend, and I am so thankful that you are letting me live with you during my first season in the NHL. But if you do not stop talking to me about how much you dislike Fanning, I will have to smother you in your sleep. Especially when it’s obvious that you just really want to be his friend.”
And this is why I didn’t want to talk to him. Sasha sputtered. “I don’t—I do not want to be his friend. I hate him, Misha.”
Clearly no one had punished Misha enough as a child, because the brat had the nerve to roll his eyes at Sasha. “You watch him all the time, and you get grumpy when he ignores you. You hate that there’s someone on this team that doesn’t like you. You want to be BFFs.” He dropped the last word into the sentence in English.
“I do not like Fanning,” Sasha said firmly.
“Protest more, hm?” Misha laughed. “Maybe you should skip this road trip and go home to make friendship bracelets for you both.”
Misha was a literal child, and Sasha said as much.
“Perhaps, but I’m not wrong.” Misha was grinning smugly. Then the smile slipped away, replaced by a seriousness that seemed out of place on the younger man’s face. “Sasha, I think he would be your friend if you talked to him.”
Sasha sighed and gazed across the room toward the boarding door, forcing himself not to look around at his teammates. “I hate him.”
“You do not.”
“I do.” Sasha sighed. “I hate that he’s here instead of Eddie, and that everyone seems to like him even though he’s cold and rude and stares all the time like he’s judging people.”
Misha tapped his fingers on the page he was looking at. “He’s not cold at all. He’s quiet, sure, but he’s friendly. The only person he acts this way with is you,” he said slowly. “Have you realized that?”
What? Sasha sat back in his chair hard and looked around the waiting lounge that the team was sitting in. It only took a second for him to find Fanning. The goalie was sitting cross-legged on the floor in the corner, with Bayer, Rager, and Hertzog in front of him. They had a card game going on, and everyone was laughing and shoving one another playfully… even Fanning, whose face looked far more open and beautiful when he smiled like that.
“He hates me, then,” Sasha said.
He didn’t see Misha roll his eyes again, but he could practically feel it. “He doesn’t. He thinks that you hate him.”
“I do.”
Misha rolled up his magazine and whacked Sasha on the arm with it. “Go talk to him, idiot. Ask to join the card came they’re playing. Maybe show him that you have an emotion other than glaring.”
Could it be true? Misha spent more time with the younger guys on the team, and it made sense that he knew Fanning better than Sasha did. And it was tempting to go talk to Fanning. Maybe try to see the man beneath the icy exterior.
While Sasha was still trying to make up his mind, Alex detached himself from the group, standing up and dusting himself off before wandering off in the direction of the bathroom. The urge to go after him almost yanked Sasha from his chair. I could talk to him. Now, alone. I could… apologize.
He went to stand but was stopped by Misha’s hand on his arm.
“Hey, Sasha.” Misha’s voice was amused. “Before you go, look!”
Turning, Sasha looked over at his friend. “What is it?”
Misha held up his magazine, flipping it around so Sasha could see. There, in color, was Fanning and a gorgeous blonde woman, arms linked together as they stood outside an expensive restaurant that Sasha recognized.
“Alex is in my magazine!” Misha sounded delighted. “He’s dating the lead actress from that police detective show. He’s famous!”
Sasha rolled his eyes. “You’re famous, idiot boy.” But the easy dismissal was only to cover the disappointment that flooded Sasha’s entire body. So, Fanning has a girlfriend. Of course. Sasha slumped back into his seat as Alex walked out of sight.
So he has a girlfriend, he repeated to himself. It didn’t mean anything. Clearly Fanning was doing well for himself, settling in easily and meeting lots of people. If he didn’t want anything to do with Sasha, then that was his own damn problem.
He won’t even be here long enough for any of this to matter.
For some reason, that thought made him feel worse than anything else.
Chapter Eight
Burn types differ between species, as seen in the case studies of Dr. Ritvik Patel, who proposes a fourth category with regards to vampires and other heliophobic Paranormals. Within his revised system, a first-degree burn results in superficial damage to the epidermis, specifically painful blistering and reddening. Second-degree burns affect the epidermis and dermis, with blackening tissue of the other layers of skin. Third-degree burns affect underlying musculature and can cause irreversible scarring and damage for the victim. Fourth-degree burns result in full charring of all layers, and possible loss of limb or life.
Müller, P. D. (2014). Reevaluating burn trauma in Paranormal beings. Journal for Paranormal Medicine, 34(2): 12-19.
THE DAY of Alex’s second NHL start began badly and only got worse from there.
The sun was shining brightly through a gap in his hotel curtains when he awoke, the stripe of sunlight falling right over Alex’s arm and leaving a painful sunburn in its wake. The pain yanked him out of bed and to the sink, where he cranked the faucet on as cold as he could and thrust his arm beneath it.
Alex stripped off the T-shirt that he’d slept in, soaking it and wrapping it around the burn while he dug one-handed through his toiletries case for the tube of burn ointment he always kept on hand.
The relief that washed over him when he rubbed the ointment in was incredible… and short-lived, because his phone rang a minute later.
Cradling his arm to his chest, Alex dodged the beam of sunlight and grabbed his phone off the nightstand.
“Hello?”
“Phantom, hey, you’re awake!” Shawn sounded far too chipper for—Alex checked the clock on the nightstand—just after eight o’clock. “A couple of us are gonna go get breakfast outside the hotel. There’s a place down the road that has the best pancakes I’ve ever had in my life. I know, you wouldn’t think Buffalo is the place to go for breakfast food, but I swear this restaurant will change your mind. You in?”
Alex winced. “I think I’ll have to pass, sorry. I’m just going to order room service this morning.” And take advantage of having a room to himself on the road so he could treat this damn burn without anyone noticing. Maybe it wasn’t the way he’d prefer to be using the privacy this morning, but he’d take the silver lining where he could find it.
“All right, fair enough. Don’t forget to meet for the bus to the arena at eleven for practice, ’kay?”
Shawn was a great friend, and he really seemed to care, but right then Alex wanted to get him off the phone because his arm was starting to sting again. “Sure, will do. Bye.”
Maybe a little abrupt, he thought as he hung up the phone, but he needed to get some ice and another layer of burn cream stat.
“Carts, seriously, I said no,” Alex growled.
There was a long pause on the other end. “Fanning? It’s Daniel Henrique.”
Well, fuck. “Coach. Sorry, I thought you were….” He trailed off, sitting down heavily on his bed.
Henrique hummed. “Well, at least you’re already awake.” His tone said he didn’t particularly care if he’d woken Alex up anyway. “We’re set up downstairs in the conference room right now, reviewing some tape, and I was wondering if you could stop by before we leave for the arena. Maybe ten thirty or so?”
Alex’s mouth went dry. The words weren’t a request; they were a clear command. “Yeah. I mean, yes. Of course.”
“Excellent, I’ll see you then.” Coach hung up, leaving Alex to stare down at his phone with nausea rising in his gut.
What on earth could he possibly want? Is he going to pull me as the starter tonight? Alex slumped backward. Coach hadn’t sounded pleased, and he could already picture the conversation to come. Maybe they found someone better, someone who’s actually won an NHL game, and they’re sending me back to the AHL. A sick, twisted feeling grew in his stomach. He’d been looking forward to this game since it was announced that he’d be getting the start; it was a second chance for him to prove himself and show the Cascades management that he deserved to be there. The fear that he was about to lose that chance made him want to curl up and cry.
And to make a shitty situation even worse, he had to be injured. The burn on his arm wasn’t so bad, but it was a vivid, angry dark red that sat exactly where one of his arm pad straps would rest. Normally he’d just call Heather and get a quick feeding in, which would help accelerate the healing. But they were in Buffalo right now, not Seattle, and there were another five days after this one before he’d be back in Washington. He was, as Shawn would say, “totally outta luck, bro.”
First things first—he put in a call for breakfast to be brought up, running through the mental list he kept of appropriate foods. As sick as he felt, he knew he’d have to eat something, if only to give his body energy to try to heal; oatmeal, eggs, and turkey bacon were all iron-rich, and would help at least a tiny bit. The burn throbbed as he ate, showered, and got dressed, and even a couple of painkillers and more burn cream didn’t help to dull it much. He wrapped a bandage around it reluctantly, gritting his teeth and hoping for the best.
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