Chapter 5
August
“Why are you being a bitch, Snow?”
August looked up, his eyes locking onto a furious Sébastien Blanchard. He had no fucking clue what the jackass was talking about. He couldn’t remember exchanging more than five words with him throughout a whole season, and now he was initiating a conversation?
Couldn’t a guy do warm-up stretches in peace?
“Don’t give me that slack-jawed look.” Blanchard went low to the ice, staying dangerously close to the redline while he worked through his own series of stretches. “You know why I’m pissed at you.”
No, he really fucking didn’t.
“You mind explaining it to me?” August snapped, shoving his stick over the line to knock against Blanchard’s knee. “Did I sleep with your sister or something?”
Blanchard wasn’t well-liked by his team, so it was no surprise when no one came to back him up despite August pushing over the redline. He would have laughed, but it wasn’t like anyone was joining August for backup either.
“Niko,” said Blanchard. “You’re being an assclown. That kid is the nicest and sweetest brat, and you’re ignoring him and making him feel like he’s an annoyance.”
The longer Blanchard talked, the more his Québécois accent came out.
“Do you think you’re better than him? Or is it because you’re so fucking tall you forget there are people down here on the ground?”
Anger flared, not because Blanchard was wrong since, damn him, he wasn’t, but because Niko was his teammate. It was insulting to have a guy from a different team get in his face over an issue that had nothing to do with him.
“I’m pissing you off, eh?” Blanchard gave him a wicked grin, and August could see how the arrogant ass pulled women so easily. “You fuck with my boy, and I’ll fuck with you, connard.”
August shoved himself onto his skates and levelled a glare on Blanchard that would spook a veteran. “He’s not your boy. How do you even know—”
A wave of cheers from the Calgary crowd saved him from looking like an idiot when he came to an abrupt stop. The only way Blanchard would be so close to Niko, close enough to know what was going on, would be because he was part of the group chat.
Blanchard was part of the group? Did they accept applications from straight guys, or was Blanchard…gay?
No, it wasn’t possible. Every person who knew hockey had heard of the scandal involving Blanchard having public sex with a woman and getting caught. There was photo evidence, so he wasn’t gay, but being bisexual wasn’t out of the equation.
Huh.
Neat.
“Tabarnak,” Blanchard stood and squared up, posturing to fight. “You going to answer me? Or are you just going to stand there and jerk yourself off?”
“Mind your goddamn business,” said August, and then he pushed away from the redline before Blanchard could start a fight.
Curses followed him to the net, barely audible over the amped-up fans. August went through the paces of shooting a couple of warm-up pucks, managing to sink two past their goalie, whatever his name was, before he retreated to the locker room.
Cote would take all the time he could to warm up, which gave August a chance to think about what the fuck he was going to say.
He sat on his spot in the bench and quickly hydrated, nearly choking on his water when Niko strode into the room with a determined and somehow fearful expression merged into one.
No one was sitting beside August, which left plenty of room for Niko to throw himself next to him.
The kid’s green eyes were very expressive, and they made him seem more innocent when they were wide with concern.
The frown he gave August tugged at the white line of scars that crossed over both his lips, a gift given to him by some dickhead on the Florida team.
“What did he say to you?” Niko demanded, like he was scared Blanchard had tattled on him.
Which, he kind of did.
“He said I’m being a dick to you,” said August. There was no point in sugarcoating it, and hashing things out five minutes before a game wasn’t a great idea, but Blanchard had forced his hand.
Niko’s tanned skin flushed, and the expression he wore earned them a few side-eyed glances from their nosy teammates.
“That’s not—”
“He’s right,” said August. He raked his hand through his hair and sighed. “I don’t mean to, but if you can’t tell, I don’t make friends easily.”
Niko didn’t say anything at first. They looked at each other, but for once, it wasn’t an uncomfortable pause. Something in Niko’s body language was telling him that he understood and wasn’t judging him.
“I want to be on friendly terms with you,” August admitted. “I just…don’t know how.”
And there it was, the cold, hard, frustratingly accurate truth.
August had never had anything real, not once in his goddamn life.
Everything, no matter what it was or who it was, had always been taken from him or left him.
What was the point of building a relationship with Niko if he would disappear too?
The energy in the room had shifted, just by an inch. August grimaced and kept his eyes on Niko, not wanting to look up and see all the pitiful faces of his teammates watching.
“We worked well during training camp,” said Niko, nudging August with his elbow. “Come play hockey with me, buddy. Do you know how fun it is to knock the smirk off Sébastien’s sexy face? He’ll hate it.”
August grinned through the awkwardness because, yeah, that sounded fun. It sounded more fun than his mopey inner monologue that never left him alone for more than five seconds.
“I’ll get you the puck,” August promised. “And you put it in the net.”
Niko grinned and held his fist up, bumping it with August’s. “And you need to use your giant self to block tiny Rocket Blanchard. He’s getting old now, so it should be easy to cut him off.”
August scoffed. “That guy was old ten years ago. I’m surprised his knees haven’t given out.”
When Niko laughed, August felt like an idiot. Had he known that chirping Blanchard was the key to relieving the tension between them, he would have done it the second Niko stepped off the plane.
A gloved hand slapped onto his head, knocking a surprised cry from him. August shot a glare at his attacker, who happened to be his captain.
“I knew you had it in you, Gusty.” Callahan roughly shook August’s head, nearly knocking his water bottle off the bench when the roughhousing made him sway suddenly. “Let’s go play a good game, fellas!”
The room erupted into cheers, and although August still felt on the outs with the men sitting around him, he felt more tethered to his purpose than he had that morning.
While excited conversations carried on, August leaned toward Niko so he could speak without being overheard. “Are the Sunburst guys all as nice as you, or is that just the rumour?”
Niko tensed, and August could tell there was a lot of homesickness around the topic.
“If you showed up in the Sunburst’s locker room with that scowl on your face, Wolfy would have put you in a headlock until you promised to make friendship bracelets with him, and Bracken would have assigned Jett to you to take care of the rest. One smile from him and you would be a goner.”
August hummed, stopping to shove Callahan away before he moved too close again. “He’s really that nice?”
Now it was Niko’s turn to scoff.
“Have you seen Harrison Killinger? Does he strike you as someone who smiles often?”
August thought about the Sunburst’s coach, who had the worst case of resting bitch face he had ever seen. He didn’t think the guy was capable of smiling until Fraser hoisted the cup in the air and looked for him on the bench.
“Point taken.”
Niko gave a curt nod. “Right?”
Coach came into the room looking grim, and all the chatter died.
“We shoot puck. We win game, yes?”
It wasn’t winning any awards as far as motivational speeches were concerned, but the Bigfoots were a simple team with a simple group of guys. They cheered and made quick final gear checks before they lined up in the halls for the puck drop.
Calgary fans were loud and angry. They didn’t appreciate the Vancouver team during any part of the season, even in these early games.
In August’s opinion, they would have less to complain about if anyone on their roster were hard to play against, other than Blanchard. For the Bigfoots, the Colts were an easy team to beat and an excellent opportunity to refine some of their new players.
Was he being mean? Yes, he was being mean.
August stuck close to Niko while their teammates went through their pregame rituals. Some knocked shoulders, others did tape checks, and some kissed chains and whispered encouraging words.
August had never been a superstitious player, but he did miss having the green tape on his blade that he used last year. Maybe if he…
No, he couldn’t fall into the hole of superstition. If he did, he would end up like Bradshaw, who had a meltdown if anyone placed his stick against the wall the wrong way.
The horns sounded, and the Bigfoots moved forward, hitting the ice to jeers and shouts from Calgary fans. August stopped before he left the chute, turning to one of the male staff, who quickly leaned in to see what he needed.
“The green tape in my bag. I want it on the bench.”
The man nodded, and August scowled all the way through the exit tunnel and onto the ice. He bumped fists with any Bigfoot fans he could reach, and then he was on the ice, skating after Niko.
When it was time for the lineup and the national anthem, August made sure to stand beside Niko, which just happened to be right across from Blanchard. He didn’t think he was being obviously hostile, but when Niko nudged him, August looked away from Blanchard to stare at the space behind him.
Blanchard was shaking his head, as if the sight of August offended him, but then it was time to go.