Chapter 16
August
Bodies collided into the boards with enough force to make them buckle, and August let out a hoot of excitement.
“You motherfucker!” Niko shouted, chasing him down the ice as August darted around the net to make a quick backhanded shot over the goalie’s shoulder.
Their rookie goalie, Nollan Haas, wasn’t quick enough to stop the shot, but his glove tapped the puck, sending it off course to strike the side bar. A loud clang echoed through the practice rink, and some of the guys let out appreciative shouts for the save.
August glided toward the bench, laughing when Niko trailed him, playfully whacking him on the back with his stick.
“You almost flattened me!” he hissed, driving his elbow into August’s side and manhandling him off the ice. “And you fucking did it on purpose, too!”
“Sure did,” August sang, knowing it would anger his friend even more. “You’re a big boy, Neeks. You can take a little hit like that.”
“A little—”
August grabbed his water bottle, but he didn’t get a chance to take a drink from it before Niko had him in a chokehold. They tussled, giggling like a couple of weirdos and knocking helmets off heads until the assistant coach stopped to raise his eyebrows at them, and they halted.
Like scolded children, they picked up their helmets and returned their attention to the ice.
“Prick,” Niko muttered.
“Baby-face,” August shot back.
The sound of skates cutting through ice interrupted their bickering, and August put on a practiced smile when his captain stopped to talk to them.
“You’re looking good, Snow,” said Callahan, flashing him that handsome boy-next-door grin. “Feeling in better spirits since that almost double hat trick?”
August gave his captain a nod, making sure to avoid Niko’s stare. “Feeling great, Cap. Thanks for checking in.”
Callahan beamed and smacked August’s arm hard enough to make it instantly throb. “No problem. You had me worried for a minute there, but I’m glad you pulled through.”
One of the assistants caught Callahan’s attention, and he waved goodbye and skated off.
“You good?” Niko asked once their captain was out of sight.
August was good. He was so good. Everything was perfect, he was living the dream, and nothing was wrong.
“Dude, you don’t have to wear a mask around me,” Niko said, keeping his tone hushed. “Please—I know you’re not okay—”
“I’m fine.” August checked his tape, distracting himself before he did something stupid, like cry.
The mood took a nosedive from playful to sullen, and this time when Niko patted him on the back, it was gentle and sympathetic.
August fixed his tape as the practice game and drills came to an end, and everyone started leaving the rink for cool-down and showers. Niko didn’t move from his side, waiting silently for August to finish his task and get off the bench, but the storm was brewing.
“Snow.”
August flinched when Coach Fedorov skated into the spot Callahan had just vacated, leering at him and Niko like they were ants he was contemplating stepping on.
“Coach?” August managed, forcing a smile that felt stiff on his face.
Coach slotted his fingers together and took a deep breath. “You like playing defence?”
August glanced at Niko, but he looked just as confused by the random question.
“I do,” August replied.
“You play forward well,” Coach stated.
August tightened his grip on his stick. “I try my best to fill in where the team needs me.”
There was no one around to overhear their conversation, but August still felt exposed, and he knew where this was going.
“From today, I would like you to be forward,” said Coach Fedorov, frowning like he was already regretting his choice. “Callahan’s line—and first line power play. I know we like your height for defence, but after game against Toronto, you turned heads.”
Yeah, because August had lost his head.
“If…that’s what you need,” said August. “I’m comfortable in both positions. Even during today’s practice game, when you put me on the line, I didn’t slow things down.”
“No.” Coach straightened, and the frown that had been angry only seconds before, softened into a serious but impressed glower.
“The switch will be good, yes? I think it’s what you need.
Chemistry is great between you and Cote, even when on opposite sides.
We will try it for tonight, and mind your goddamn hits to avoid stupid penalties, but this could be improvement for all. ”
August gave his head coach a respectful nod, flinching again when his arm was smacked in the same place Callahan had hit him.
“Good talk,” said Coach. “Cool down and take break before tonight. I pushed you harder than I should have today, but I found answers I was looking for.”
“Will do, Coach,” said August. He held his breath until Fedorov skated away, leaving him alone with Niko.
“Shit,” said Niko, whistling in disbelief. “I can’t believe he switched you. Will you be okay playing right wing?”
August shrugged because it didn’t matter; he had to adapt no matter what position he was in. Hell, they could put him in net, and he would still do his goddamn best. Hockey was all he had right now, and the desperation to do better was starting to drive him mad.
“Are you going to text him?”
Pain bloomed behind his eyes, and August snapped them shut, groaning quietly. “No—I can’t.”
“He gave you his number,” said Niko. “I know it’s fucked up because of the history between you guys, but Quinn seems nice. He took you home and watched you until I got back, so I don’t think he hates you as much as you think he does.”
August wasn’t sure he believed that. He agreed that Quinn was kind, but he was too kind. Spotty memories aside, he recalled how easy it had been to…win his heart just by showing simple affection.
Quinn had been Esme’s dark shadow, always verbally berating anyone who he thought deserved the treatment, but it was the vicious, standoffish ones who were always touch-starved. Always eager to do anything to get the tiniest amount of praise for their hard work.
August couldn’t do that to him. He was a fucking mess, and if Quinn got tangled in his drama, he would get dragged down alongside him.
The apology had been enough. It would be better for both parties if a respectful distance remained between them. But fuck, sometimes it felt like it had only been yesterday that he’d held Quinn in his arms, and the feelings that surged to the surface when that happened were—
“Let it go,” said August. He stood, trying to look intimidating by scowling and leaning on his stick. “This isn’t a romance novel, Neeks. We’re not going to end up together because I suddenly got my memories back and realized I still love him.”
Niko’s expression was eerily blank as he looked up at him. “Are you? In love with him, I mean.”
Instead of answering, August turned and walked away. The shower was calling his name, and he had a massage appointment booked before he went back to the hotel.
The hotel where he shared a room with Niko, who was hell-bent on pushing the fact that Quinn Harlow had left his phone number and a cryptic message for August to find after that bizarre night.
“Text me if you need me.”
Those six words written in pretty cursive had fucked him up for the following week. August didn’t know what Quinn was saying because he liked to talk in riddles—always had—but he assumed it meant if you need a shoulder to cry on.
August didn’t need a shoulder; he was crying on his own just fine, thank you.
He took his time gearing down to avoid being cornered in the shower by Niko.
He also took his time because now that he was being switched to a forward, he had to change out some of his gear.
New sticks were meticulously taped and cut shorter for more puck control, and he had to make sure they were curved correctly.
His shoulder pads needed to be changed, which meant he had to triple-check everything before he was free to enjoy the rest of his day.
And because Niko was a persistent, insufferable bastard, he’d taken exactly the same amount of time needed to perfectly sync his shower with August’s.
“You’re a leech,” said August.
Niko didn’t look offended in the slightest. “I’m not giving you the chance to push me away, asshole.”
August grunted and turned the water on. He made a mental note to text Jett later and ask him if Niko had been this clingy while he was on the Sunbursts. He had no idea that the silent, stoic kid he faced several times during the last season had this level of domesticated cat vibes.
A grumpy black cat, that’s what Niko was; following him to every room and meowing constantly to get his attention.
“Your nose is bleeding again,” said Niko.
August cursed and wiped his arm across his face, smearing bright red blood over his tattoos. “I thought I grew out of this shit.”
Niko was watching him again—studying him.
“It’s not a big deal, Cote.” August scrubbed his face and blew his nose, unsurprised when more blood hit the white tile of the shower floor. “It happens when I’m stressed.”
And when his head was pounding. And when he didn’t feel like a solid person. And when he thought about bright green eyes and a cunning smirk.
“What, can’t handle the thought of being a tool at my disposal?”
August growled and finished washing as quickly as he could, determined to get away from Niko’s knowing gaze and the voices echoing in his head.
After the massage, physio, and a third check by the medical team to confirm the nosebleeds were nothing to worry about, August hit the locker room to dress and get the fuck out of there.
Many of the guys were wrapping up their treatments and post-practice routines, drifting lazily through the locker room while they chatted and goofed around. They were in New York for a game against the Barbarians, and the team was already buzzing about exploring the city before puck drop.