Suckerpunch

by Elyse Springer

  “Minnesota, Canada, basically the same thing, yes?” That was from Rybár, stirring shit up with a grin.

  That comment resulted in an eruption of sound, most of the locker room jumping to their feet. The Americans and Canadians were evenly matched in numbers, but the Americans were definitely louder.

  Alex watched them with a smile on his face, pushing back into his stall to avoid being dragged into the fray. He’d played again tonight, his second start in as many games, and his second win as well. He was tired but triumphant, and content to bask in the victory on his own.

  When the shouting increased, he slipped out of the locker room and into the peace and quiet of the showers.

  That was where Shawn found him a few minutes later, pushing the door open and calling out Alex’s name.

  “Yeah, Carts, in here.” Alex flipped the water off and grabbed his towel.

  “Hey, you vanished there.” Carts was smiling, face flushed from the game and the win. “Living up to your nickname some more?”

  Alex returned the grin. “Just didn’t want to get dragged into another USA versus Canada debate.”

  “Dude, I get ya. Like having gravy on fries and Justin Bieber makes them better than us.”

  His smile widened. “Hey, I saw you singing along to Beebs in the kitchen two days ago.”

  “And I’ll deny it to my dying breath,” Shawn said easily. “So after a peace treaty was reached back in the room, everyone agreed to go out for drinks tonight. You in?”

  Alex was tired, but the thought of going out with the team was tempting.

  Shawn must have caught his hesitation, because he smirked and added, “Sasha’s coming.”

  Dick. Shawn’s eyes said he knew exactly what he was doing, and that he knew Alex wasn’t going to be able to resist that lure.

  “Fine, okay.” Alex threw his wet towel into Shawn’s smug face and grabbed his clothes. “But not because Sasha’s going to be there. I’m just going to celebrate with the team, got it?”

  “Sure, of course.” Shawn’s shit-eating grin said he wasn’t buying it. “I’ll go tell the others.”

  Akseli Mäkelä (@AkseliMakela38)

  Night out with the boys, celebrating a big win over the reigning Cup Champs.

  Mrs. Merkley… a girl can dream! (@MerkleyFan96)

  so apparently most of the cascades are at some bar in Edmonton tonight even though there’s a blizzard. Look what rybar and angel posted on their instas! pic.twitter.com/l5e2Wj….

  THE BAR was loud and crowded, but it had a VIP section big enough to contain most of the team, and deep, dark benches that Alex could sink back into and disappear. Alcohol had stopped being fun for him years ago, when he realized that his body didn’t process it right; instead of getting drunk, he just got a little tipsy, and then spectacularly hungover the next morning.

  But he couldn’t explain that to his teammates, who produced a tray of shots and set them in the middle of the table that Alex was currently trying to hide behind.

  “Got whiskey, tequila, and something that smells like lighter fluid and probably doesn’t taste much better,” Otter said with a flourish. “Pick your poison, but don’t take the vodka or the Russians will be pissed.”

  Alex’s eyes slid to the next table over, where the aforementioned Russians had a bottle of vodka on the table between them and seemed to be engaged in some kind of drinking contest with Rybár and Sjöberg. Sasha looked really good, his dark button-down open at the collar, hair slicked back. Every so often his eyes caught a bit of strobe lighting from the dance floor a few yards away, lighting up electric blue.

  Oettenger was clearly waiting for him to pick up one of the shots, so Alex dragged his gaze away from the other table and back to the tray. With a grimace, he took one that he hoped was whiskey and not lighter fluid, and tossed it back.

  A waitress came by with several trays of bar food, which the hockey players descended on like a pack of ravenous wolves. Alex took the opportunity to slide off the bench and away from the table, putting as much distance as he could between himself and the platters of snacks.

  A hand caught him on his hip, warmth sinking into the skin only a split second before the intense, brilliant scent filled Alex’s nose.

  “You’d better get a plate before they eat it all,” an accented voice whispered into his ear. Alex shivered at the sensation of warm breath on his neck.

  “I think I’m okay to wait a while,” he responded, and was proud that his voice was steady.

  When he glanced over his shoulder, he saw Sasha hovering beside him, intense gaze watching Alex.

  The moment stretched between them, then snapped when Volkov bumped into Sasha, laughing and already a little drunk.

  “Food, Sasha,” he said.

  With a thin smile, Sasha let the rookie push him forward. His fingers brushed once more against Alex’s hip before vanishing.

  Alex leaned back against a wall, shaking a little. The way he was looking at me…. It had been the same look Sasha had given him in the hotel lobby in Buffalo almost two weeks before. He makes me want too much.

  The team dispersed to eat, drink, and dance, and Alex finally reclaimed his spot at one of the tables. He spotted Sasha occasionally, weaving through the tables and accepting drinks when they were offered. Volkov and Rager were definitely past drunk and well on their way to wasted, dancing with a group of equally young women and having a great time.

  It wasn’t Alex’s preferred way to spend an evening. But this is your team now, he told himself. This is what team does. And watching his teammates enjoying themselves, having a great night, was enough to make the evening out much more tolerable.

  So far he’d managed to avoid any further attempts to drink or eat something. Unfortunately, Alex’s luck didn’t hold.

  “Hey! What are you doing, kid?” Merkley swung an arm over Alex’s shoulders, smiling loosely. His usual scent was mixed with the sour smell of beer, and his unfocused gaze told Alex he’d had a few shots of something stronger as well. “No drink, no food, no girl to dance with. Not acceptable, Fanning!”

  Alex tried to protest, but Merks overrode him. He flagged down a waitress and ordered a couple more beers, then pulled a tray of food over. “C’mon, Fanning, eat something.”

  Alex glanced at the platter, which was loaded down with appetizers from the bar. There were more mozzarella sticks, chips and salsa, pretzels, french fries, and onion rings—Alex’s stomach turned just looking at it.

  Alcohol he could manage, even if tomorrow would be hell on his body, but the food on the table in front of him, all of it soaked with grease and not a trace of meat or green vegetable in sight… there was no way his body could handle that.

  “Nah, I’m good, Cap,” he said.

  But Merks was drunk, and he wasn’t going to give up that easily. “C’mon, kid. Tell me you’re not one of those health nuts like Engel is.”

  Engel was infamous in the locker room for his love of kale smoothies and his dairy- and gluten-free diet during the season. But a glance across the bar showed that even he had a plate of snacks in one hand and a bottle of beer in another.

  Alex tried again. “I’m just not hungry, I guess.”

  Merks gave him an unsteady look. “You played sixty minutes tonight, Fanning. Sixty amazing minutes, dammit.” Merkley paused to grin, still clearly riding high on the victory. “Gotta get some calories in you. C’mon, kid.” He grabbed a basket of onion rings and pulled them closer. “Captain’s orders, eat something and then have another beer!”

  If you refuse, he’ll get suspicious, a little voice whispered in the back of Alex’s mind. Humans eat human food.

  With Merkley staring him down, Alex sighed and resigned himself to his fate. The onion rings were delicious, of course, hot and crunchy. It was the kind of food that Alex loved, but which definitely didn’t love him in return. This isn’t going to end well.

  He ate a few onion rings under Merkley’s watchful gaze, while his captain chattered
amicably about the game they’d played and how he was just as excited to beat Calgary in two nights’ time.

  Thankfully Shawn spotted him and rescued him from Merkley a few minutes later.

  “Cap, I need to borrow Phantom here. There are some girls looking for a dance partner, and I can’t keep ’em waiting!”

  “I have a girlfriend,” Alex protested, but it was halfhearted and he let Shawn drag him away from the table without any real resistance.

  As soon as they were clear, Shawn pulled him in close. “Bro, I thought you couldn’t eat that shit?”

  Alex was already feeling queasy. “I can’t. The grease… my body can’t process it. But Merks was insistent, you know?” And after his anti-Para rant just a week and a half prior, Alex couldn’t risk drawing any suspicion, especially not from the captain of the team. “I’m gonna be so sick, though.”

  Shawn glanced around. “Go on, dude, head back to the hotel now. I’ll cover for you if anyone asks. I can say you drank too much or something.”

  “Thanks, Carts.” Alex swallowed around the rising nausea, then ducked around the crowd and started to head for the door.

  He didn’t make it.

  Jonas—in medical school (@futuredocjonas)

  Med school is hard enough, but having to learn human *and* para physiology makes it 10 times harder. Why the hell do I need to know about fae metal allergies or vampire food intolerances? I want to treat PEOPLE not PARAS.

  Paranormal Rights Activist (@pararights)

  @futuredocjonas: Paras are 99% identical to humans when in their human forms. If having to learn about the 1% of anomalies is *so hard* then maybe you should try an easier profession… #ParasArePeople

  SASHA WAS looking for Alex.

  The goalie had spent most of the evening ensconced in one of the club’s large leather benches, watching the team get progressively drunker with a small, amused smile on his face. But now Sasha’d had a few drinks of his own and was feeling good and loose. And what he wanted was to drag Alex from that bench and get him to dance with Sasha.

  But Alex wasn’t at the table any longer. Sasha looked around. The bar was packed, the Friday night bringing people out to drink and party even with the snowstorm building outside. But he found Alex easily enough, drawn to the familiar dark hair without any problems.

  Alex was halfway across the bar, heading toward the front of the building. Sasha watched Alex stumble, knocking into a man who’d been perched on a barstool and laughed when Alex apologized profusely.

  He’s drunk.

  Which, Sasha reasoned, was fair enough. Their goalie had pulled off another spectacular win against Edmonton, putting Hertzog at risk of reclaiming his place on the bench as the team’s backup.

  His smile faded when he saw Alex stumble again, though, barely catching himself on the edge of an empty table.

  Before he could think it through, Sasha had set his own drink down and was pushing his way through the crowd of drunks and dancers, crossing the distance as quickly as possible. He caught up to Alex a few feet from the door and only barely managed to get a hand around Alex’s waist before the goalie collapsed to the ground.

  “You need an ambulance.”

  Alex was conscious at least, and not so out of it that he couldn’t protest. “I don’t. I just need some fresh air.”

  Fresh air Sasha could do, but it was about negative ten outside right now. He spotted a hallway off to the side and helped Alex walk down there. A door at the end opened into a bathroom that was almost certainly for employees only, but Sasha closed the door behind them anyway.

  “Fuck, I’m gonna be sick.” Alex’s voice was thin, weak, and he was white as a sheet. Sasha helped him over to the toilet and lowered him to the tile.

  It wasn’t a second too soon, either, because as soon as Alex’s knees touched the ground he was hunched forward, gripping the side of the toilet bowl and retching. The acrid scent of vomit filled the tiny bathroom.

  Sasha ran a hand through Alex’s hair, holding it back from his face, and rubbed his other one in large circles over the smaller man’s back. “Shh, солнышко. Deep breaths. You will be okay.”

  Alex shuddered and heaved again, then sat panting for a second. His entire body was shaking beneath Sasha’s hands, and pained whimpers escaped him with each exhalation.

  He settled a hand between Alex’s shoulder blades, thumb rubbing the soft skin above the goalie’s T-shirt. He expected Alex to be warm, sweating from the exertion, but instead he was surprised to find the skin ice cold beneath his fingers.

  When it became clear that Alex was done, Sasha helped him sit backward, propping him against a wall. He flushed the vomit, then grabbed a handful of paper towels and ran them under the faucet.

  “You drink too much?” he asked, helping to clean up Alex’s face. This wasn’t the first time that he’d helped a teammate who’d had one too many.

  Alex shivered in his grasp. His entire body was like an icicle. “Just one shot.”

  Sasha frowned. “Sick, then? Flu?”

  There was no answer. He turned his head to find Alex’s eyes were closed. His lashes were dark against his pale cheeks, and there were bruise-like circles beneath the younger man’s eyes.

  “Oh, солнышко,” he murmured. His phone was in his back pocket, and he had to perform some acrobatics to get it out without moving Alex too much. “I’m going to text Carts, okay? And we’ll get you back to the hotel.”

  “What’s that mean? Sol—solshenko?”

  Sasha paused in typing one-handed, pulling Alex closer while he thought. “Solnishko. It means sunshine,” he said eventually. “Like little sunshine. Is… like nickname? But for friends.”

  Alex huffed out a weak laugh. “Funny,” he murmured. “Don’t like the sun.”

  “Yes, I can tell. You are pale like Siberian tundra. Good thing you play hockey, not beach volleyball, hm?”

  “Good thing,” Alex whispered.

  There was a light knock on the door. It cracked open a second later, and Shawn’s head poked in.

  “God damn,” he said. “Is he okay?”

  Sasha glanced up. “I think so now. Ate something bad, perhaps, or maybe the flu. But he has no fever.”

  Shawn slipped in all the way and squatted down in front of Alex. “Hey, Phantom, bud. You still awake?”

  Alex’s nose wrinkled. “Yeah.”

  “Good. Me and Sasha are gonna help you up. There’s a back door out of the bar, and I’ll get a cab to come around and meet us. Then we’ll go back to the hotel, okay.”

  “’Kay.” Alex shifted. “Carts. I need Heather. Can you get Heather?”

  Sasha stiffened.

  “We’re in Edmonton, Phantom, not Seattle. Heather isn’t here.”

  “Need—”

  Shawn nodded even though Alex’s eyes were still closed. “I know, man. I’ve got you. Don’t worry. C’mon, up we go now, okay?”

  Together, he and Sasha managed to get Alex on his feet. Shawn went on ahead to get a taxi, leaving Sasha to carefully lead him toward the back exit, away from the crowds of people and their still-celebrating teammates.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ellen DeSmith (@EllenDeSmithESPN)

  Hearing word that Cascades G Alexander Fanning may be out for tomorrow’s game against Calgary due to stomach flu. He’s the fourth NHL player to go down with the flu this season. If he’s not recovered, an emergency backup will be called in.

  THE DAY after the Edmonton game was a blur of pain, nausea, and stomach cramps for Alex. He spent most of it lying down on whatever flat surface he could find: his hotel room bed, a row of seats as the team flew up to Calgary, a massage table in one of the trainer’s rooms at the arena, and yet another hotel bed.

  The first moment of clarity he had that day was somehow making it downstairs for breakfast, only to have Coach Rico send him right back up to bed again. A trainer had stopped by soon after, smelling medicinal and pressing a warm hand to Alex’s forehead.


  “No fever,” the trainer said, “but this definitely looks like the stomach flu that’s been going around. I’ll send Cartier in to keep an eye on you until the flight, and I want you to stay hydrated as much as possible. If you can’t keep liquids down, tell Shawn to come get me, okay?”

  “Okay,” Alex rasped.

  The trainer passed him a Gatorade. “If you’re not feeling better tomorrow, we’ll call up one of Calgary’s emergency backups to sit on the bench.”

  Alex hummed and closed his eyes as another wave of pain wracked his body. His insides felt like they wanted to claw their way out.

  “You know,” Shawn said, some indeterminable amount of time later. “If you needed to, you could feed from me. If it would make you feel better.”

  “No.” Alex shook his head, then stopped abruptly when the motion made him feel even sicker. “You have to play tomorrow. Don’t want to risk taking too much and making you sick too.”

  And Shawn was at his side when they had to leave for the airport just before lunchtime, helping him onto the plane and covering him with a blanket for the short flight.

  But it was Sasha who filled most of Alex’s moments of awareness throughout the day.

  Sasha, whose scent was the only thing that seemed to help the nausea and whose strong arms wrapped around Alex’s waist as they stepped off the plane.

  And Sasha, who found him after practice, when Alex was curled up in a back room trying to nap while a trainer came in occasionally to check on him.

  “Hey, солнышко.” Sasha’s warm callused fingers caressed down Alex’s jaw and neck.

  Alex opened his eyes slowly, inhaling deeply and feeling some of the stomach cramps fade away. “Hey,” he whispered.

  “Feeling any better?”

  “Yeah.” Alex tilted his head up, finding Sasha’s bright eyes in the dim light of the room. “Time ’s it?”

  Sasha glanced at something on the wall. “Just after two.” His voice was soft, soothing, and the hand on Alex’s neck had moved up to card through the short hairs at the top of his spine. “Came to help you get to the bus so we can go to the hotel. Coach said you gotta sleep more, and maybe tomorrow you’ll be feeling better.”