Time dragged on until the clock finally read 10:25. Alex tugged the sleeves of his shirt down until the bandage was hidden, ran a hand nervously through his hair, and left his hotel room with dread pooling in his gut.
Seattle Cascades (@CascadesNHL)
Tonight’s starting line-up for your Seattle Cascades:
LW Akseli Mäkelä (#38) / C Derick Merkley (#96) / RW Brad Thompson (#88)
D Alexander Petrov (#12) / D Shawn Cartier (#3)
G Alexander Fanning (#31)
#TealAndWhite #LetsGoCascades
ONE-ON-ONE MEETINGS with Coach Rico weren’t rare, but it was uncommon enough that Sasha pushed the door of the conference room open with mild trepidation. It was most likely that Coach wanted to talk to him further about the incident with Ed, but after three and a half weeks of radio silence from the team’s management it seemed odd to be bringing it up now. Sasha rarely checked sports media sites, but he’d caught glimpses of a few articles about the accident and Ed’s recovery… and the police charges against him. After seeing that headline, Sasha had stopped looking.
It was bad enough that he hadn’t been to see Ed since the last visit to the hospital a week before, but Ed had finally been released and sent home, and now he was texting Sasha nonstop. Guilt made him ignore some of the texts, especially the ones about Ed’s arraignment and upcoming trial.
So he was expecting a quick, informal meeting before boarding the bus for practice. He was not expecting to walk into the conference room and see Fanning sitting comfortably in one of the plush chairs, cradling a mug of coffee in both hands. He froze, meeting Fanning’s dark brown eyes and seeing identical shock reflected in them. Well, at least he’s just as surprised as I am.
“Come in, Petrov.” Coach motioned him forward, and Sasha slunk inside and took a seat at the opposite end of the table. “Coffee? There’s one of those single-serve machines against the wall.”
Sasha shook his head silently.
“All right, then. I’m sure you both can figure out why I’ve called you in here today.”
Uh, no. Sasha didn’t have a clue, and a glance across the table told him that Fanning was in the same position, though he was trying to hide his confusion behind his drink.
“It’s come to my attention that there was some tension a couple of weeks ago, after the Vancouver game. Words were exchanged.”
Sasha went absolutely still, fisting his hands against his thighs.
“Sir.” Fanning sat up straight, eyes wide. “I’m so sorry about that. It was entirely my fault, and—”
Coach waved a hand and Fanning fell silent. “No one is at fault here. It was a rough game, with a lot of emotion on the line. I understand that it was a tough situation for Sasha to be in, and a frustrating loss for you, Alex.” He tapped the table in front of him. “But whatever issues are lingering between the two of you need to stop. Now.”
Sasha bristled. “Coach, just because he throws a tantrum—”
“A tantrum?” Fanning turned to look at him, eyes blazing. “Are you serious, after your stupid little argument with that Vancouver player—”
Coach slammed his hand down on the table, hard enough to shock them both to silence. “Enough. This isn’t an elementary school playground where the two of you can bicker about who’s the bigger bully. This is the NHL, and your tension is putting a strain on my locker room.”
Sasha crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat.
“Here’s what’s going to happen. For the rest of this road trip, the two of you are best friends. You eat together; you sit next to each other on the bus or the plane. You work through whatever the hell is going on between you, or else.”
Fanning opened his mouth to protest, then shut it when Coach leveled a glare at him.
“Push me, and you’ll be rooming together as well.”
The rest of the road trip… that was three more games, each with a day in between. Five days, plus the entire six-hour flight back to Seattle. And he’d be spending almost every waking minute stuck with Fanning.
Coach dismissed them shortly after that, leaving Sasha and Fanning to eye each other warily as they walked through the hotel hallways to where the bus was parked. Fanning fidgeted for a second, staring at Sasha. He took a deep breath, and something on his face changed before he quickly turned away and started walking.
Sasha reacted without thinking, grabbing Fanning’s arm. The reaction he got was not what he expected; Fanning jerked, hissing, and yanked his arm away with a strength that belied his smaller form. Sasha’s eyes narrowed; that was the reaction of someone who was injured… but Fanning wouldn’t be stupid enough to play with an injury, would he? No, surely not.
“Sorry,” he said, studying Fanning’s body language from behind. “Мне не стоило этого делать.”
Fanning didn’t move, not even to look behind him. “I don’t speak asshole,” he said.
God damn, like he was one to talk. Asshole? Fanning needed to take a long look in a mirror. Still, Coach’s threats rang in his ears, so Sasha exhaled slowly and tried to get a grasp on his anger. “It’s Russian,” he said. “Means I shouldn’t have done that.”
That caught Fanning’s attention, at least. He turned around, wary. “Done what? Grabbed me?”
“Yes.” Sasha tucked his hands in his sweatpants pockets. “And also the fight, with Bilovsky. I’m sorry.”
Fanning looked surprised. His brown eyes were round as he looked up at Sasha. “Are you serious?”
Sasha shrugged. “I messed up. I know this. Merks, he yelled at me after the game too, once media left.”
“Oh.” Fanning appeared to be at a loss for words. “Look, Petrov, I—”
“Sasha.”
Fanning stopped midsentence. “What?”
“Coach says we must be friendly, yes? So, you should call me Sasha, and I will call you Phantom, okay? It’s your nickname?”
Fanning laughed, a short, surprised noise. “Yeah, okay. You’re Sasha. But you can call me Alex… only Carts calls me Phantom, like he thinks we’re still back in Juniors or something.”
“Good, then. Alex.” Sasha rolled the name over his tongue. “We should go catch the bus. Coach will yell again if we’re late.”
Alex took another deep breath. He still seemed hesitant, but at least he wasn’t glaring at Sasha any longer. “All right. Lead the way.”
Maybe this next week of games and flights wouldn’t be so bad, Sasha thought.
“We believe these proposed changes will help to preserve the sanctity of the game. The fact is that there haven’t been sufficient studies on Paranormal athletes to determine what advantages, if any, are afforded by their nonhuman nature. By instituting required genetic testing for all players in the National Hockey League, we can ensure parity and equality for all.”
—NHL Commissioner George Heatly
ALEX TRAILED after Sasha, resisting the urge to cradle his arm against his stomach. The defenseman had managed to grab right over the burn, and it radiated pain all the way up his arm. But there was nothing he could do about it, and no way to explain the injury to any of his teammates or the trainers, so he gritted his teeth and put one foot in front of the other.
But walking just behind Sasha introduced a new issue that he hadn’t planned on. The scent that clung to Sasha wafted in the air behind him and flooded Alex’s senses with every breath he took. He ducked his head, trying to breathe around it, but embarrassingly he could feel his fangs start to extend with every inhalation.
What the hell? He’d fed a few nights prior, before heading to the airport to fly out with the team. And he’d been fine for their first few games in Philadelphia and Pittsburgh. It must be the injury. My body wants to heal the burn, and it’s making me hungrier than I should be. And Sasha smelled so ridiculously good.
Alex pressed his lips together and hoped no one would notice.
They entered the lobby, and Sasha stopped abruptly. Alex, head still down, almost ran into
him and managed to stop only at the last second.
“Look, Fanning,” Sasha said, turning around. He froze, staring down.
Alex was suddenly aware of how close they were standing. He inhaled sharply and gazed up into pale blue eyes.
“Alex,” Sasha said, softer this time. “I meant to say, before….”
Heat rose between them. Alex wanted to lick his lips, to go up on his toes and see if the look in Sasha’s eyes meant what he thought it meant. The way Sasha was looking at him right now, the bare emotions that Alex could see there…. God, tell me I’m not reading this wrong.
A burst of noise sliced through the tension as a group of their teammates emerged, heading outside to the bus. It was enough to break the spell, though it took everything in Alex’s power to pull his eyes away from Sasha’s before he could embarrass himself.
What the hell am I doing? Ten minutes ago this guy hated me, and now I’m standing here about to kiss him? No matter what Shawn seems to think, I’d probably get a punch to the face for my troubles, and another tabloid report to boot. Alex turned his head, breathing like he’d run a marathon, but every time he breathed in, his lungs filled with that decadent smell that was so unique to Sasha.
He looked to the side and caught sight of one of the lobby televisions, which was set to a sports network, NHL news scrolling by in the background as reporters talked. He could just make out the words from across the room.
“Commissioner Heatly’s proposal has pro-Para groups in an uproar, with many claiming the new regulations would be discriminatory to any Paranormal players in the league. But NHL team owners claim the testing would stop cheating and remove any unfair advantages that a nonhuman player might have.”
Liquid ice flooded Alex’s veins, and the heated tension that had filled the lobby before evaporated in an instant.
The news anchor continued to speak, but Alex couldn’t hear it over the pounding of blood in his ears.
“Alex,” Sasha said again.
“Petrov—Sasha, sorry.” Alex licked his lips. “We should go. We need to get on the bus.”
He glanced back up to see those stunning blue eyes shutter with disappointment, replaced a split second later by that emotionless wall that Sasha was so good at. “Yes, of course.”
Guilt chewed at Alex’s stomach, but there was relief there too. You’re straight. You’re human. And that’s all you can be.
Chapter Nine
THE BUS ride to practice hadn’t been terrible, if Sasha was being honest. He’d climbed on the bus first and taken his usual seat near the back against the window. It had only been when Fanning—Alex, rather—had paused in the aisle that Sasha had realized his mistake. He’d been about to offer to trade or sit somewhere else when Alex had slid into the other seat silently.
“What’s this?” Mäkelä had called out upon spotting them. “Are you two over your bitter feud now? Is this the start of a beautiful new friendship in the Cascades locker room?”
Sasha had flipped the Finn off while rolling his eyes. “Coach is making us.” They’d gotten teasing from the other guys as well, but things had died down quickly enough.
And through it all, Alex hadn’t said a single word.
Thankfully by the time they’d reached the arena, Alex had thawed out a bit. He was carefully relaxed, talking with the guys around them as the bus pulled into the underground parking garage. He’d even talked to Sasha a little, though with the same guarded reserve that he’d used around everyone else.
Something changed in the hotel lobby.
For a second, he’d thought Alex might kiss him. It was a fool’s thought, of course, but they’d locked eyes for a moment and there had been something in that molten brown gaze that had made Sasha’s heart pound in his chest.
But then it had been gone, leaving Sasha to wonder if he’d imagined it.
They were both greeted by another surprise when they walked into the locker room to change for practice: their stalls had been moved so they were side by side.
“I guess Coach is serious,” Alex said, stopping a few feet away to stare at the nameplates above the lockers. “Damn. Looks like we’re not going to get out of this so easily.”
Sasha glanced over at him. Alex didn’t sound upset; in fact, he sounded amused, and there was a bit of a grin on his face.
“Guess not,” Sasha said. “You think he’s gonna tie our wrists together, like parents do with naughty children who can’t stop fighting?”
Now Alex laughed. “You sound like you’re talking from experience.”
Sasha smiled as well, relaxing slightly. “I have a sister. Natasha. She is three years younger than me. Now, we get along. When we were children? Eh, it’s a miracle my mother does not strangle us both, you know?”
They started changing, ignoring the laughs they got from their teammates as they passed by. Bayer, who normally sat beside Alex, was across the room next to Shawn now and grumbling about it.
“I’m an only child,” Alex said, taping up his socks. “I used to wish I had a sibling, but stories like that make me glad I didn’t.”
They continued to chat during practice and after, on the bus ride back. Gradually, Sasha started to relax.
Maybe he doesn’t hate me after all.
In fact, he was beginning to see why the rest of his friends on the team had dismissed his complaints about Alex so easily. Alex was often quiet, preferring to watch instead of interact, but when he smiled and opened his mouth, he was absolutely charming.
It was more than enough to make Sasha reconsider his initial impression of their new goalie.
Maybe we can be friends after all.
Seattle Sports & Stats (@SeaTacSportsNerd)
CASCADES WIN! Final score: Seattle—4, Buffalo—1. Points spread:
Makela (1 G, 2 A)
Petrov (1 G, 1 A)
Eklund (1 G, 1 A)
Rybar (1 G)
Sjoberg (2 A)
Merkley (1 A)
Bayer (1 A)
“HELL YEAH!” Bayer walked into the room and tossed his gloves into a bin before unsnapping his helmet. He went straight to Alex, who had just set his mask down on the shelf above his bench, and ran a hand through Alex’s sweaty hair. “Look at this beauty, bringing us a sweet W tonight!”
Across the room, Leduc shouted an offer to buy Alex a drink when they went out that night. Soon enough, plans were being thrown around. Alex sat down in his stall, leaned back, and soaked it in while sweat cooled on the back of his neck.
First NHL win. It felt damn good.
Oettenger slid onto the bench beside Bayer and bent over to untie his skates and unwrap the tape from his socks. “Man, that save you made on Richards at the end of the second when he got that breakaway? Helluva save.”
Alex nodded his thanks.
Shawn passed by and threw him a towel, then handed him something else: a puck with a piece of white tape wrapped around the outside edge. “Nice job, Phantom.”
There was writing on the tape, and Alex turned it over to read it. Someone had taken a Sharpie and carefully written out the date and “First NHL Win” in block letters. Alex clenched it in his fist and glanced up to meet Shawn’s eyes in thanks.
“Seriously”—Bayer kept talking, stripping out of his jersey and pads—“the way you snatched that puck out of midair. Fuckin’ sweet, man.”
Merkley walked by, tossing his own sweaty jersey into the laundry bin. “Dammit, Bear, leave the kid alone.”
Part of Alex wanted to protest that he wasn’t a kid, but he knew they wouldn’t listen. Merkley was practically ancient in hockey terms, already having passed the thirty-year-old mark, and Seth Bayer wasn’t far behind him. To the two of them, he was a kid.
Bayer wasn’t done, though. “C’mon, Merks. You saw it, right? That save in the second?” He balled up his sock tape, shot it toward the trash can, and made a swish noise when it went in. “That was some Para-level shit there. Kid moved so fast I couldn’t even see him.”
&n
bsp; Alex’s heart stopped in his chest.
“Hey.” Merkley sounded angry now, voice dropping low. “Shut the fuck up, Seth. I don’t want to hear any of that crap in my locker room, okay? And the kid doesn’t deserve to have you insulting him like that, either.”
He’d spoken quietly enough that his words slid beneath the loud noise of the locker room, but Oettenger, sitting on the other side of Bayer, gave them a sidelong look.
None of them glanced at Alex, who took a deep breath, held it, and didn’t move. He thought about the documentaries he’d seen in hotel rooms sometimes, when Animal Planet was the only thing worth watching on the TV: If I hold perfectly still, they won’t notice me and they’ll forget that I’m here.
“Shit, you’re right.” Bayer laughed, cutting through the tense atmosphere. He did turn to Alex then, but only to pat him on the shoulder. “Sorry, Phantom. Didn’t mean to imply that you’re anything other than pure human.”
Merkley scoffed but nodded as his expression faded back to neutral. “Good. Just remember, I don’t put up with any of that Para crap. Those creatures”—he spit the word like it was offensive—“shouldn’t be allowed to live around normal humans, let alone play hockey. I sure as hell don’t want them in my locker room.”
He finally finished tossing his dirty clothes in the bin and took off. Bayer trailed after him, leaving Alex to finish undressing.
Alex didn’t move for another minute, holding his breath until his lungs burned and he had to exhale shakily. When he worked up the nerve to look around the room, he was almost surprised to find that no one was paying attention. Even Shawn was grabbing a towel and heading to the showers, blissfully unaware of the conversation that had just taken place.
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