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Seattle Sports News (@SeattleSportsNews)

  Cascades’ Despres (G) out 3-6 months after late-night car accident. Police suspect alcohol may have been involved. More details as we get them.

  IT FELT like Alex had been asleep for only minutes when his phone rang. He jerked awake, heart pounding. The alarm clock said it wasn’t even four o’clock; he’d managed only a couple hours of sleep.

  “Shut it off!” The mumbled command drifted out of the lump of blankets on the other bed, as Alex’s roommate Cory shifted and buried his head beneath his pillow.

  Alex groaned and rolled onto his side, hunting for the phone in the mess of sheets and blankets. He found it a moment later and jabbed the Accept button.

  “’Lo?”

  There was a long silence before a man spoke. “Is this Alexander Fanning?”

  “Yeah.” Alex yawned and closed his eyes. It was too early for a telemarketer, but the number hadn’t been one that he recognized.

  “Mr. Fanning, this is Martin Dubois.”

  What? Alex sat up straight, clutching the phone to his ear. He knew that name. Everyone in the NHL knew that name. Former three-time MVP, two-time Stanley Cup champion, current general manager of the Seattle Cascades… and apparently calling Alex. At 4:00 a.m.

  “Sorry for the late hour,” Dubois continued, seemingly unaware of the shock racing through Alex. “I know you played a game last night, but we need you to come up to Seattle first thing this morning. We’ll be emailing you an e-ticket shortly for a flight in four hours out of San Diego International.”

  It was way too early, and Alex definitely hadn’t had enough sleep. “I’m sorry… what now?”

  Dubois paused again. “Fanning, get your gear and get to the airport. You’re dressing for the Cascades tonight.”

  Alex was vaguely aware that Dubois was still speaking, passing along information that he’d probably need to remember later. But he was too busy trying to process, blinking as Cory appeared from beneath his pillow to send Alex a concerned look.

  He must have responded to Dubois, because the call ended a moment later with a reminder to get moving and get to the airport. Alex let the phone fall to his lap, the light from the screen illuminating his face.

  “What the hell was that?” Cory asked.

  Alex swallowed hard. “I’m playing in the NHL tonight.” The words still didn’t seem real, spoken aloud like that. He’d been dreaming of the NHL since he was a kid, had hoped the day would come when he was called up. And now that day had finally come. Holy shit. He swiped a hand through his hair. “I’ve gotta pack.”

  Chapter Two

  POLICE REPORT

  Defendant: Eduard Despres

  Age: 29

  Date of Birth: 06/02/XXXX

  Date and Time of Arrest: 01/04/XXXX, 12:47 a.m.

  Driver’s License #: DESPREJ11LB

  Observations: Officer responded to a 911 call at 12:05 a.m. for a single-vehicle incident at the intersection of….

  SASHA STUMBLED into his house an hour later, more exhausted than he’d ever been in his life. He’d spoken with the EMTs and explained what he knew about Ed’s previous injuries. He’d spoken with the police, who had informed him firmly but politely that his friend had almost definitely been drinking, and he was going to be charged pending a blood test.

  And then, while he’d navigated his own car through the quiet streets of suburban Seattle, he’d had the honor of waking up his coach and explaining the entire situation to him.

  Coach Henrique had ordered him to go back home instead of heading to the hospital.

  “He’s my best friend,” Sasha had protested. “Like my brother. I need to be there for him.”

  But Coach had stood firm. “He’ll be in testing and possibly surgery for the next several hours, if what you told me is accurate. You won’t do him a damn lick of good sitting in a waiting room. Go home; get some sleep. Play your heart out tonight against Houston. Despres wouldn’t want you missing a game because of this.”

  That last comment had rung true, at least. He’d been assigned as Eddie’s rookie when he had first come over from Russia, even though Sasha was a defenseman and not a goalie. But Eddie was the kind of guy who knew everything about Seattle, and he’d taken Sasha under his wing and helped ease him into life in the States. The goalie had spoken about four words of Russian—and none of them fit for polite company—but that had been four words more than anyone else in the locker room. And even though neither of them spoke English as a first language, they’d realized pretty quickly that they understood each other just fine.

  “There are only two important things you need to know,” Ed had told him. “The first is that team comes before anything else. The second is that you should always keep your head up.”

  They’d become friends almost immediately. At one point Sasha had wondered if they might be more—he’d looked up to Eddie, worshipped him with all the naivety a nineteen-year-old could possess. But Ed was straighter than a goal post, and eventually some of that hero worship had worn off. Now, five and a half seasons later, there were other Russians on the team—including Sasha’s own rookie, Mikhail, who had managed to stay sound asleep in the guest room down the hall through the early-morning phone call and Sasha rushing out the door. That didn’t mean Ed wasn’t his best friend, though.

  And Eddie would be furious if Sasha missed a game for no reason.

  Not ‘no reason,’ he told himself, grumbling as he kicked his shoes off inside the front door. But maybe Coach is right. No point in sitting in a waiting room.

  He had to be at the arena in twelve hours to start getting ready for a game, although his game-day schedule was already a disaster. Sasha had always stuck to a strict routine on days where they were playing at home, but there was no way he was getting up when his alarm went off in a couple of hours.

  “Why don’t you go ahead and skip practice today,” Coach had said. “Come by a little earlier this afternoon and stop by my office to talk. I need to go make some calls now, but you get home safe.”

  Now he was home and eager to face-plant in his bed and sleep until late morning. Sasha lumbered into the bedroom, shedding layers as he went. He crawled into bed, barely remembering to send a text to Mikhail so he wouldn’t be woken up for practice, and threw his phone on the nightstand before collapsing into his pillow. Then he closed his eyes and waited for sleep to come.

  Except his brain wouldn’t stop working.

  Ну, блять. Sasha rolled over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling.

  He didn’t worship Ed anymore, but he did love him, the way he loved his little sister and his parents back in Moscow. He’d been honest when he told Coach that Ed was like his brother. Still, he knew that Ed had his faults: he loved partying a little too much, loved women and expensive things and being one of the faces of the Cascades franchise. But now those faults were catching up to him; this would be Ed’s second drunk-driving charge in the last year. He’d been given a DUI last May after drinking too much when the Cascades were kicked out of the playoffs in the first round. And this time he’d hurt himself pretty badly.

  Broken arm, maybe concussion. Four months, maybe more. That meant the rest of the season, probably even into playoffs—assuming they made it. Sasha tried to imagine playing the rest of the season in front of Hertzog, or whatever complete stranger they found to fill the open spot on the roster.

  Shit, they’re probably gonna give Ed’s stall to the new goalie. The thought rankled him. Thinking about walking into the locker room that afternoon and seeing some new guy sitting where Eddie had sat for the last five seasons? Sasha made a face. No, thank you. There had been illnesses and minor injuries over the years, but this would be the first time since Sasha was a teenager that Ed wouldn’t be on his team.

  The sky outside his window was starting to turn gray when Sasha finally managed to stop tossing and turning and let sleep catch up to him. He closed his eyes, and hoped that when he woke up again this would all just be a ba
d dream.

  @SCartier3 on Instagram: #TBT to when me and this kid won gold at World Juniors. Can’t wait to be wearing the same jersey once again! Welcome to the Cascades, @goaliefanning! #TeamUSA #beauties #goaliesareweird #phantom

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  THE FLIGHT from San Diego to Seattle wasn’t a long one. Alex dozed fitfully with the window shade closed, his hoodie tugged up over his head and baseball hat pulled low. Exhaustion was the only thing keeping him from having a panic attack—and it wasn’t the turbulence at 32,000 feet that was freaking him out. The phone call from Dubois kept replaying in his head, interspersed with the thoughts, I’m playing in the NHL. Tonight. They want me to suit up for an NHL game. Tonight. Even knowing that he was just going to be riding the bench for the full sixty minutes didn’t matter… because he’d be riding the bench in an NHL arena—holy shit.

  It didn’t help that the cabin was too bright, and he could feel the sun against his arm as he slumped back in his seat. Thankfully by the time they landed at Sea-Tac, a thick layer of clouds had rolled through. He slid on his sunglasses anyway and followed his fellow passengers to the baggage claim.

  His duffel, leg pads, and suitcase came out with no problem, but his sticks took longer to appear on the oversized baggage ramp. Alex was relieved when they finally rolled down—undamaged thankfully—and he propped them on top of his luggage cart. Then he turned, ready to find a cab or shuttle to take him to the hotel that the Cascades had booked.

  A shout stopped him.

  “Fanning!”

  Alex turned just in time for a six-foot-six wall of muscle to tackle him in a hug.

  “Dude! I heard the news this morning when I woke up, and told the front office that I’d grab you from the airport.” Shawn Cartier pulled back, flashing a wide grin. He was missing another tooth, and his nose had been broken since the last time they’d seen each other, but right then he looked like the best thing Alex had ever seen.

  Not that Alex was going to admit that. “If the Cascades wanted me to feel welcome, they shouldn’t have sent your ugly mug to greet me.”

  Shawn just laughed and knocked Alex’s hat off to ruffle his hair. “Weak, Phantom. Man, it’s good to see you, though!”

  Hearing his old nickname helped to drain some of the tension in Alex’s shoulders. He pulled Shawn back in for another hug, burying his nose in the other man’s shoulder. Shawn still smelled bright and fresh, like sunshine, the same scent he’d had since Alex had met him. God, I’ve missed this.

  “It’s really good to see you too, Carts. Do I have time to drop my stuff at the hotel and take a nap before I need to be at the arena?” His entire body ached, a combination of the daylight and the sixty minutes he’d played the night before.

  It wasn’t like Alex was short or skinny, but Shawn muscled him out of the way easily, claiming the luggage cart so he could push it toward the parking lot. “You’re not staying in a hotel, Phantom. Coach said you’re here at least three months, maybe longer. That’s probably the rest of the season. No way you’re getting stuck in a hotel for that long.”

  Alex trailed after his friend, bemused and too tired to put up a protest. He’d checked the news while waiting to board his flight that morning, and knew the Cascades’ starting goalie was out for several months. But he hadn’t thought through what that actually meant for him.

  “Uh. Where am I staying, then?”

  The question earned him an eye roll and an exasperated sigh over Shawn’s shoulder. “With me, duh. I got a guest room, a PlayStation, and a housekeeper who comes once a week. Plus we can carpool to the arena until you can get your car up from Portland.”

  Alex was quiet while they walked through the parking garage. Shawn filled the silence, chattering easily about Seattle, the weather, their game that night, and whatever else crossed his mind. It was soothing, in a strange way. But Alex couldn’t help but think about what staying at Shawn’s house would entail. It was hard enough hiding his Para nature living alone in Portland; frequent road trips and hotel roommates meant someone was always at risk of noticing his strange behavior, late-night meetings, and his sometimes-unusual diet. Most of the guys on the Loggers brushed his quirks off as “goalie weirdness,” but Shawn knew him way too well for that.

  And he had no idea if Shawn knew his biggest secret. Just thinking about it sent an icy tendril of fear down his spine.

  Alex had told him the truth, back when they were teenagers. They’d been drunk one night, sharing a bottle of cheap rum that Shawn’s billet brother had smuggled in for them, and Alex had let slip that it sucked how alcohol didn’t affect him the way it did everyone else… and why. Shawn hadn’t said anything at the time, and he’d acted normal the next day, but they’d never talked about it again.

  Whether his best friend remembered that conversation or not could change how Alex’s new living arrangements were going to work. If he forgot, then I need to make sure he never finds out. And if he remembers… well, either he didn’t care or he’ll use it against me some day. It was painful to assume that about his best friend, but Alex had learned over the years that his genetics had to stay secret if he wanted to keep playing hockey.

  Shawn led him to an expensive-looking SUV and loaded the bags into the trunk without allowing Alex to help. Alex waited until they were both in the car, doors closed, and Shawn was navigating to the airport exit before he finally spoke.

  “Carts, hey.” His voice was rough, and he had to clear his throat. “You remember the thing I told you back in Juniors?”

  Shawn glanced over, then had to slam on his brakes when another car cut him off. “Watch it, asshole!” he yelled, his thick Minnesota accent coming through. He cursed under his breath and eased the SUV into an open lane. In a normal tone, he said, “You’re going to have to clarify, man. You told me a lot of things in Juniors.”

  Alex exhaled. “Never mind.” Either Shawn was being purposefully obtuse, or he honestly didn’t remember. If it was the latter, Alex was more than happy not to remind him. Alex could be careful while he was staying at Shawn’s house, and his secret would be safe.

  But Shawn wasn’t ready to let it go yet. “Wait, bro, is this about that time I caught you and Tomàs together at that party, and that talk we had after? Because I can promise you no one here will care about that. We’ve got a good locker room, and I know Coach and Merks would bag skate anyone who gave you shit.”

  Merks was probably Derick Merkley, the Cascades’ captain. Alex filed that information away. “That’s, uh, good to know,” he managed. “But you know I’m not gonna be open about that while I’m up here.”

  Let him think this is about the “gay” thing, not the “Para” thing. It’s safer.

  “Sure, I get that. But you could be, if you wanted. Just sayin’, you wouldn’t be the only one in the room.”

  When Alex didn’t respond, Shawn reached over to pat him on the shoulder, then turned the radio on to fill the silence.

  Chapter Three

  vampnutri:

  Little known fact: vampires, alukah, draugar, and other Para of the undead variety can still consume human food! While a lot of these creatures prefer to feed on blood or human energy, a careful diet of iron-rich foods can be super beneficial. If you’re having a vampire friend over, consider some of the following meal options.

  #vampires #paranormals #paras #nutrition #food

  SHAWN LIVED downtown in a luxury sky-rise building with floor-to-ceiling windows and a view overlooking the water.

  “Damn.” Alex whistled as he stepped inside. “So this is where the NHL gets you in life.”

  Shawn punched him in the arm and led him on a tour of the apartment. “I had the housekeeper come over first thing this morning to make sure the guest room had clean sheets and wasn’t covered in dust,” he said, stopping in front of a plain, undecorated bedroom. “Throw your stuff in here for now. I’ll show you the rest of the place.”
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br />   The kitchen was modern, all sleek chrome and granite countertops. Two large brown paper bags sat on the counter. “Oh, nice. Grocery delivery came too. I called on my way to the airport and asked them to send over some things I thought you might need until you can put your own order together.”

  Alex paused in the doorway. “Carts,” he said, shocked and struggling to process. “You only found out about me coming up a few hours ago. How the hell did you get this much done so fast?”

  His friend shrugged sheepishly. “Made some calls, you know? Like, what’s the point in having millions of dollars if I can’t help a friend out on short notice?”

  “You didn’t have to go through all this trouble for me.” Alex stepped into the kitchen and wrapped an arm around Shawn’s shoulders. “But thank you.”

  Shawn grinned. “Of course, man. I remember how freaked I was when I first made the Show. I was staying with Otter—that’s Luke Oettenger, he wears one of the As—and he and his wife just made me feel so at home, you know? Helped a lot with the nerves.”

  He’d known Shawn for years, since they were skinny teenagers coming up in the US National Team Development Program, and Alex knew his friend wasn’t the big dumb jock that he sometimes came off as. Times like this reminded him of why Shawn was his best friend, though.

  “We should probably put everything in the fridge. I’ll start clearing a shelf off for you.”

  Alex wandered over to the kitchen island and peered into the bags. At the top were bags of peanuts and pistachios, which he pulled out and set aside. They’d been a staple snack of his for years, and it meant a lot that Shawn remembered that. Then, curious, he dove deeper.

  A paper-wrapped package with a label declaring it to be steak. That made sense, given the fact that they were hockey players who both hated cooking if it didn’t involve a barbecue grill. But a twelve-pack of coconut water? Spinach and broccoli? A box of iron-enriched cereal? None of that was what he expected to find.