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  Ed wrinkled his nose. “Better, and worse. I think they’re going to let me out in a couple of days. Friday afternoon or Saturday morning.”

  Sasha pulled up his mental calendar. “We have a game Friday and Saturday. San Jose, then Anaheim. We fly down tomorrow morning and won’t be back until Sunday.”

  “Yeah, I figured. Good division rivalry matchups, you all should have no problem winning either.” Ed sounded pleased. “But I want to talk about that game last night.”

  “You saw?”

  “Nah, listened again.” Ed waved his hand at the speaker he had set up. “I can do short periods with a screen, but the doctor won’t clear me for more yet. But look, Sasha, I wanted to say congrats.”

  Sasha blinked in confusion, feeling like he was missing something. “Congrats? But we didn’t win.”

  That fact didn’t seem to matter to Ed. If anything, his smile widened and he sat up straighter in his hospital bed. “Exactly.”

  What? Okay, Sasha realized, he was definitely missing something. Maybe a translation issue somewhere? Or maybe something more alarming—like that concussion or one of Ed’s other injuries leaving him confused.

  “Eddie,” he said slowly, “the team does not get congratulations when we lose.”

  Ed rolled his eyes. “The team doesn’t, but you do. Picking that fight with Bilovsky at the end of the game and screening the new guy so he let in that goal? Absolutely perfect.”

  The look on Ed’s face was like the phrase the North Americans used sometimes about cats eating canaries. Smug, Sasha settled on, but in a mean way. It made Sasha frown uncomfortably.

  “I didn’t want a goal to happen,” he explained.

  “But it did. An experienced goalie could have stopped that. Rico will see that, and he’ll know that they can’t just throw me away.”

  “Throw you aw—Eddie, what are you saying?” Sasha put one hand on his friend’s arm, worried. “You’re talking nonsense.”

  And now that he looked closely, he could see that Ed didn’t look so great. His pupils were enlarged even in the bright room, and there was a thin line of sweat on his forehead.

  But Ed didn’t seem to be in any pain. If anything, he looked like he was more than comfortable, despite the obvious injuries that had to be hurting.

  “Sasha, we’re best friends. I can trust you, right?”

  “Of course.” The answer was immediate, no hesitation.

  Ed leaned forward. “The cops came by once I was moved to a regular room. They’re gonna charge me with drunk driving, but you and I know that’s ridiculous. I had, like, one beer. Maybe two. But the roads were slippery and I spun out.”

  Sasha sat back in his chair. “But the police would know if you were drunk.”

  “The cops don’t know anything. They ran a blood test when I got to the hospital, but my lawyer said the results were close enough to the legal limit that we could fight it.”

  He cut off when a nurse came in. She smiled at Ed while checking the levels on his IV. Ed returned the smile with a flirtatious wink, and she blushed as she wrote something down in his chart before leaving without a word.

  Once he was sure she gone, Ed continued. “My lawyer says it will look better if you’ll come to the hearing and tell them what you saw. You know, explain that I wasn’t drunk when you saw me, that you couldn’t see any signs I’d been drinking. And maybe be a character witness. You could tell them I never have more than one drink when the team goes out.”

  Sasha’s mouth parted, but he couldn’t even begin to form a reply…. Because nothing he just said is true. He might have been tired and afraid for his friend when he arrived at the accident scene that night, but Sasha knew he’d smelled alcohol on Ed’s breath. Maybe the glazed eyes could have been from the concussion or pain, but it had been more than obvious that Ed had been drinking.

  And the other part—

  Ed loved to go out with the team, any chance he could find. Making playoffs, of course, but also getting a shutout, winning a game against a rival, a teammates’ birthday, whatever; any excuse Ed could find to throw a party, he’d be the first one proposing it. He would get spectacularly drunk each time, with the dedicated focus of a man who knew exactly how to go from sober to wasted in the most efficient way possible. Of course they were hockey players, so going out after a game wasn’t exactly uncommon. But in the last few months, he’d noticed Ed going out other times too, often alone. And every time Sasha went by his house, there was always a drink on the table and a fully stocked bar on offer.

  And this isn’t the first time he’s driven drunk.

  Each thing on its own wasn’t concerning. But putting it all together, with the accident as well, made Sasha frown with concern. There was something that he wasn’t sure he wanted to examine too closely.

  Ed was looking at him expectantly, so Sasha quickly searched for some way to stall on an answer. “You talked to the team lawyers and management about this?”

  A scoff. “Management wants to throw me under the bus. I could tell when Dubois and Henrique were here, the way they were looking at me. It’s why I’m glad that kid lost the game for you last night—shows them all that they’d be fools to get rid of me.”

  “Fanning,” Sasha said.

  “What?”

  Sasha exhaled. “The kid, the goalie they called up. His name is Fanning.”

  Ed scowled. “I know, whatever. Point is, as soon as I’m healed up, I’ll be back and he’ll be gone. Until then we just need to keep showing the coach that the Fanning kid is useless, right? You can help with that, like you did last night. And I’ll be back sooner if we can get these fuckin’ charges to go away. So, what’d you say, mon ami?”

  The question lingered in the air between them. Sasha would be the first to admit that he wasn’t a fan of Alexander Fanning. The guy was cold, too quiet and too emotionless—except when he got close to Sasha, and then he’d wrinkle his nose in obvious dislike. He was untested at the NHL level, and Hertzog wasn’t going to be able to hold the fort down by himself. They needed a starting goaltender, and that guy had to be Ed. If Ed was in prison, the team was screwed.

  But….

  But Ed was drunk that night. And it had only been pure luck and the late hour that resulted in the car hitting a telephone pole, instead of another driver.

  “You know what, Ed? Let me get with your lawyer when we get back from California, and we’ll talk then. Okay?”

  Ed grinned as though he’d won something. Sasha tried to match it, but something inside him felt awful.

  I would do anything for Eddie. He’s been there for me since I got here. He’s my brother in all but blood. But this…. Sasha swallowed. What Ed was asking him was something else entirely. To not only cheat his team and one of his teammates—because Fanning was a teammate, even if Sasha didn’t like him—out of victories just to make Ed look more valuable… but also to cheat the legal system and lie for Ed.

  I don’t know if I can do this.

  Seattle Sports News (@SeattleSportsNews)

  Cascades goaltender Eduard Despres will appear in court today for an arraignment hearing on charges of aggravated DUI following his late-night accident on January 4. He’s expected to plead not guilty. Follow us for the latest updates.

  Emma (@Cascadiac)

  I’ve been hearing rumors of Despres for years, not surprised that he was drunk driving and crashed his car. Glad he didn’t permanently hurt himself or hit anyone else, but maybe this will force him to stop with the stupid behavior.

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

  @Cascadiac: I’ve honestly never liked Despres much, either on or off the ice. Maybe the Cascades will finally trade him!

  Emma (@Cascadiac)

  @MerkleyFan96: ha, doubtful. All we’ve got as a backup is Hertzog and the new baby!goalie from Portland. I may not like Despres either, but fact is he’s a good goalie and the Cascades need him right now.

  SIX GAMES into his NHL call-up, Alex was fin
ally starting to feel comfortable about his place on the team, even though he’d sat on the bench for five of them. Hockey guys were hockey guys, no matter what league they played in, and it was easy enough to slide into the comfortable familiarity of the Cascades locker room. Most of his teammates treated him like he belonged, like he’d always been there, inviting him for lunch after practices or to join in a round of two-touch before a game.

  The younger guys were immediately friendly. Rager was nineteen, a typical Dub kid with more energy than everyone else in the room combined, while Bayer was sarcastic and witty. Even Volkov, the team’s youngest rookie, was polite enough—though he kept his distance more than the others, which Alex understood once he learned that the eighteen-year-old Russian was living with Petrov.

  The older guys were welcoming too, offering advice and helping Alex navigate life in Seattle. Merkley had only been captain for a year, but he was always available to suggest restaurants or dry cleaners, or just stay late after practice to shoot pucks at Alex.

  And now that he had a regular blood source, Alex was feeling a hell of a lot better about life in general.

  The only thing he wasn’t feeling good about was Petrov.

  The guy was still glaring at him every time they were in the same room together.

  “He’s just upset that Despres is hurt,” Shawn tried to explain.

  But it was more than that. There was something else in Petrov’s glare, a heat that Alex wasn’t sure he wanted to examine too closely.

  He’s Russian, and possibly anti-Para, he reminded himself. And Volkov too, even though the rookie seemed cheerful enough. Alex kept his distance, trying to maintain a careful wall between them. I don’t want to be friends with guys like that, who would hate me if they knew what I was. The fact that Petrov hated him regardless only made it easier.

  Alex came in early the day before their home game against New York, planning to work out a little before they were due for on-ice practice. He expected to have the gym to himself, given the early hour and the fact that even Shawn had still been dozing into a cup of coffee when he left. Instead, he walked into the arena gym—and almost right back out again upon getting slammed with a wall of familiar, earthy scent. It took him only a second to spot Petrov lifting weights.

  He stopped himself right inside the doorway, taking a moment before Petrov noticed him. It was obvious the defenseman had been working out for a while; his T-shirt clung to his body with sweat, and the water bottle at his side was almost empty.

  I could leave and come back later. Alex immediately dismissed the idea, though. No, I’m not going to let him push me out of a space that I’m allowed to be in, just because he’s a dick.

  Head up and shoulders straight, Alex stepped into the gym and made his way to the treadmills against the wall. It was obvious when Petrov noticed him; his steady reps on the machine stuttered, and weights hit the ground with a dull clank.

  The plan was to put his music on, ignore Petrov, and focus on his own workout. But as Alex started his machine up, he realized he’d overlooked one very simple fact: the treadmills directly faced the weight machines. He was going to spend his entire run staring directly at Petrov and his stupid, angry face, and his hot, sweat-covered body. And every time he inhaled, Petrov’s damn scent was impossible to escape.

  Shit.

  He tried to pay attention to the display screen on the treadmill. He forced himself to watch the ESPN highlights scrolling across one of the televisions. Alex even tried cranking his music up, as though jamming out to fast-paced rock would somehow erase the distraction in front of him. Nothing worked. Instead, his gaze kept drifting to Petrov as he moved from machine to machine, keeping his back to Alex whenever possible.

  It’s a damn nice back too. With the wet shirt clinging to his torso, Alex could make out every muscle of Petrov’s shoulders. God damn. He may be an asshole, but he’s probably the most attractive asshole I’ve ever seen. It’s not fair.

  The beeping of the treadmill a while later came as a relief, signaling that his run was over. Alex set the machine to cool down and wiped sweat off his face, spraying himself down with water like he would during a game.

  When he opened his eyes and blinked the droplets away, it was to find Petrov watching him.

  Petrov spun around and resumed his workout as soon as he realized Alex had spotted him, but the expression on his face lingered in Alex’s mind. He was looking at me the same way I had been looking at him before.

  It was that realization that made Alex turn the treadmill off, wipe his face off with a towel, and carry himself across the gym to where Petrov was now sitting on the edge of the bench press.

  “You need a spotter if you want to lift.”

  Petrov gave him a withering glare. And because the universe had it out for Alex, the way Petrov’s icy blue eyes narrowed only made him even sexier. “Yes. I know,” he bit out.

  Alex held both hands up defensively. “Okay, whatever. I was just saying, if you need a spotter, I could help.”

  “Waiting for Volkov” came the terse reply.

  Alex had only chatted with Mikhail Volkov a couple of times since joining the Cascades. The rookie spoke English just fine, but he seemed more inclined to hang around Petrov and chatter in Russian when he could. But from what little he’d seen so far, Alex would be surprised if Volkov rolled out of bed a minute before he had to, let alone came to the gym early for an extra workout.

  But Petrov had a stick up his ass, and he wasn’t going to push it. “Cool. But I’ll be here for another half hour or so. Let me know if I can help.”

  He turned to walk over to one of the thigh machines, bending over to set the weight. A movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention—Petrov, standing up suddenly and turning to walk away.

  Was he staring at my ass?

  Alex shook his head. Petrov could watch all he wanted, but he’d have to get a personality transplant before Alex would give him the time of day.

  Except the anger and resentment he’d felt toward Petrov from the start had mellowed out since Alex had met Heather. He was getting regular feedings now, and Heather was always more than happy to listen to him when he started ranting about Petrov.

  Of course, she would laugh while she did so, and tell him how delicious his sexual tension was… but she still listened.

  But the point was, Alex was well-fed. He was going to get another chance to start in goal on their upcoming East Coast road trip, and he’d get to prove himself there. So when Petrov glared at him or acted like an asshole, Alex was surprised to realize how little it bothered him.

  And if Petrov had been staring at him earlier, then maybe there was something else to the hatred, other than Alex taking over for Despres.

  It’s worth watching him more closely, Alex reasoned. If Petrov was attracted to him, then it was definitely worth exploring. And if Petrov wasn’t? At the very least, I’ll get something nice to fantasize about in my hotel room on this upcoming road trip.

  It was the first time he’d have a hotel room to himself since he started playing hockey on a traveling team… and with Petrov’s glaring blue eyes fixed in his mind, he decided he was going to enjoy every second of it.

  Chapter Seven

  @SCartier3 on Instagram: bff time, just me & phantom & a truck named betsy. portland —> seattle. #roadtrip #movingday #butseriously #henamedhistruck http://bit.ly/2Iqn4VX

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  JANUARY WAS scheduled to end with a ten-day, six-game trip to the East Coast. Alex was both excited and nervous, especially because he’d get his second start in one of the two back-to-back games they had to play.

  But first they had two blessed days off, and that meant one thing:

  “Road trip!”

  Shawn kicked his shoes off and propped his feet up on the dashboard of Alex’s pickup truck.

  “No one needs those stinky things sitting right next to the
air vents,” Alex said, reaching over to shove them off.

  The truck had been one of the first things he’d bought when he’d signed a pro contract, a vintage ’68 Chevy in bright blue that he’d promptly named Betsy. He’d taken good care of it over the last three years, slowly replacing the old worn-out parts. It was a relief to have a chance to pick it up, along with more of his belongings from his apartment in Portland.

  He’d woken up early that morning and hopped a quick flight from Seattle to Portland with Shawn in tow. They’d loaded up the truck bed with suitcases, more of Alex’s gear, and whatever else he thought he might need for the next few months, and now they were heading north.

  The drive wasn’t a long one, and he had a feeling it would pass quickly enough with him and Shawn trading stories and chatting easily. They still saw each other every day, but with games, practices, workouts, and team events always going on, it felt like they didn’t get a lot of time with just the two of them. Alex said as much.

  “Yeah, that’s one of the reasons I made you bring me along.”

  “What’s the other reason?”

  Shawn leaned forward and glanced up at the sky. It was gray and overcast, which Alex had hoped for. “Well, I know you checked the forecast carefully. But, y’know, if the sun does come out, I figured I could take over driving so you can get under some cover.”

  Alex glanced over, surprised by the admission. “I don’t deserve you as a friend.”

  “Damn right you don’t. But you could start by finding a drive-through and getting me a latte.”

  Laughing, Alex did so.

  “So, we should talk about you and Sasha,” Shawn said once they were on the road again and he had a coffee in hand.

  “Uh, we definitely should not.”

  Shawn laughed. “Man, the look on your face when I said his name. You really like him, don’t you?”