Chapter 34 Théo #2
Bradley laughed, nearly sloshing wine onto the very couch I was trying to protect. “God, no. Hana taught me about hockey and Russian swear words.”
“And how to make a mean tagliatelle!” Hana added, not taking her eyes off the screen.
“Not as good as yours.”
“You’re just buttering me up so I come over to make you dinner again.”
“Is it working?”
“Maybe.” She grinned, then immediately started shouting again as the play resumed. “Davai, davai! Move your feet, Sully!”
I watched him streak down the ice, somehow keeping possession despite two defenders on him. He passed to Kenzo, who one timed it toward the net—
The goalie caught it.
“Suka,” Hana muttered.
“Language,” Bradley said primly, then immediately added, “Also, what she said.”
I found myself relaxing into the couch, the earlier awkwardness about Nico fading. There was something easy about this—watching the game with people who cared about the outcome, eating good food, being included without having to explain myself.
“So,” Bradley said casually, swirling his wine. “Derek Sullivan is cute. Kenzo said he’s single.”
I nearly choked on my bite of pasta.
Hana shrugged, her eyes glued to the movement of the puck on the screen. “Wasn’t he engaged?”
“Was he? Kenzo’s not the best about asking these types of questions.” Bradley tapped a manicured nail against his glass. “I’ll have to grill him the next time I see him.”
“Please don’t.” Hana wrinkled her nose. “I’m not interested in Sully.”
“Why not? He’s tall, dark, and handsome.” Bradley’s gaze slid to me, his expression clearly looking for backup. “Don’t you think so, Théo?”
I kept my expression neutral. “Uhm, yeah. I guess.”
“You guess?” Bradley raised an eyebrow. “Honey, I’m in a committed relationship and even I get a little flustered when he walks in here.”
“Bradley,” Hana’s tone was warning.
“What? I’m just making an observation.”
On screen, Derek checked someone into the boards and I forced myself not to react.
“Are you still dogsitting for him?” Hana asked, trying to change the subject.
“Yes. His regular dogsitter is still out of commission, so I’ve been staying over there while they’re away.”
“What’s his apartment like?” Bradley’s eyes lit up. “I bet he has a lot of leather.” He paused, then grinned wickedly. “Tell me—how big is it?”
I choked on my wine.
“His TV,” Bradley added innocently. “What did you think I meant?”
“I hate you,” Hana said flatly.
“You love me. Answer the question, Théo. Flat screen? Projector? I need to know if I should be jealous.”
“He lives in the building across from the Walsh & Wilde on Van Buren,” I said, dodging the question entirely.
Bradley hummed. “Oh, I know that area. Very nice pre-war buildings.”
Hana nodded like this meant something to her.
“He does have a leather couch,” I admitted. “But it’s surprisingly comfy.”
“And the dog? Spoiled rotten?”
“The sweetest. Aussie mix named Aspen.”
“Aspen.” Bradley pressed a hand to his chest, expression going dreamy. “A single dog dad with an Aussie mix in a pre-war building. Oh my God, marry me.”
Hana snorted. “Excuse me, you’re supposed to marry my brother.”
“Do you see a ring on this finger?” Bradley held up his left hand and pointed his ring finger in the air. “Until Kenzo puts a ring on it, I am a free agent. Theoretically.”
“I’m telling him you said that.”
“Please do. Maybe it’ll light a fire under his ass.” Bradley sighed dramatically, then turned his attention back to me. “So, Théo. What’s the deal? Is Derek dating anyone? Any photos on his nightstand? Does he have a sex swing in his bedroom? I need details.”
I took a very long sip of my wine. “I really wouldn’t know.”
“You’re staying in his apartment.”
“I’m watching his dog. There’s a difference.”
Hana suddenly swore, sloshing wine over the lip of her glass and onto her leggings. She didn’t care. On screen, Derek scored on a breakaway, the puck sailing past the goalie’s glove into the top corner, and she yelled again.
“Yes!” Bradley pumped his fist. “That’s my future brother-in-law!”
Hana shoved Bradley back into his seat, making his wine slosh onto his jersey.
“What? You’re clearly obsessed with him.” Bradley grinned, undeterred. “Unless—wait.” His eyes darted between Hana and me. “Or maybe it’s Théo who’s going to be your future brother-in-law. Hana and Avery, sitting in a tree—”
She smacked him with a pillow. On the screen, Kenzo clapped Derek on the back as the team swarmed him and I watched Derek’s face split into that boyish grin I was becoming dangerously addicted to.
“For what it’s worth,” I said, not looking away from the screen, “my brother is kind of an idiot about these things. So if you are into him, you might have to spell it out.”
“We’re just friends,” Hana said, a little too quickly.
Bradley and I exchanged a look.
“Shut up,” she muttered, settling back onto the couch as the game resumed.
Winnipeg pushed back hard in the second period, tying it up with a power play goal that had Hana throwing a pillow at the screen. Bradley calmly retrieved it and poured her more wine.
Midway through the third, Derek got the puck again, breaking away from the pack with that deceptive speed of his. He was past the first defender, then the second, nothing but open ice between him and the goalie—
A Winnipeg player caught up to him. Number 47, a hulking defenseman who’d been playing dirty all night.
It happened fast.
The end of a stick came up hard, catching Derek square in the mouth. A spray of blood arced across the ice, vivid red against white.
I was on my feet before I realized I’d moved.
“What the fuck—” Bradley was standing too, wine forgotten.
Derek didn’t hesitate. He spat blood onto the ice—and a tooth, Jesus Christ—and then his gloves were off, his helmet ripped free, and he was on 47 before the refs could blow their whistles.
His fist connected with a crack that echoed through the arena.
47 went down hard but came up swinging, catching Derek in the ribs, shoving at his chest to create space.
Derek absorbed the hit like it was nothing and drove him back down, fists landing with a cold precision that was almost more frightening than blind rage.
47 got an elbow up, clipped Derek’s jaw, and Derek just kept coming—relentless, methodical.
This wasn’t losing control. This was a man making a point.
You don’t get to do that and skate away.
The refs were shouting, scrambling across the ice, but Derek got in three more solid hits before they reached him. By the time they hauled him off, 47’s helmet was gone and he wasn’t getting up quickly.
“Holy shit,” Bradley breathed. “Why is that so hot?”
Derek let the refs pull him back. He didn’t fight them—the moment they had hands on him, he stopped swinging. Controlled even now. He’d made his point. He was done.
“That’s a match penalty for Kowalczyk,” Hana said, watching the officials swarm. “Butt-ending. Automatic ejection. He’ll be lucky if he doesn’t get suspended for the rest of the season.”
“Good,” I said flatly. “That was assault. Derek lost a fucking tooth.”
“Butt-ending,” Bradley repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Now there’s a term.”
“Don’t,” Hana warned.
“I’m just saying, the name really undersells the violence.”
On screen, they showed the replay in slow motion. The deliberate thrust of the stick. The impact. Derek’s head snapping back. The spray of blood. And then the immediate, explosive response—gloves dropping, helmet flying, Derek launching himself at the guy who’d just tried to end his career.
The camera cut to Derek in the penalty box, pressing a towel to his mouth. The commentators were praising his reaction—how he’d stood up for himself, how he’d stopped the moment the refs intervened. A clean response to a dirty hit.
“That’s the thing about Sully,” Hana said quietly. “He’s the nicest guy in the league. But you come at him dirty? He won’t just take it.”
I watched Derek spit blood into the towel, his jaw set, his eyes hard.
No. He definitely wouldn’t just take it.
“Théo?” Hana’s voice was gentle. “You okay?”
I hadn’t noticed how close I had gotten to the screen, like I could physically climb through it and be there next to him. “Fine,” I said automatically, even though my heart was still lodged in my throat. “I’m fine.”
I forced myself to sit back down on the couch and drained the rest of my wineglass.
I wanted to kill the guy who’d hurt him.
The intensity of that feeling scared me more than the blood.