Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
VANYA
Waking up alone was unexpected only in the fact that Micah had managed to sneak away without disturbing me. I had always been a light sleeper, so I drifted off, convinced that I would feel it if he so much as twitched in his sleep.
I’d already created a plan where I’d told myself if he tried to sneak away, I would let him.
I wanted him to have the freedom to come and go, especially after everything he’d been through.
He was doing his best to act like his stalker hadn’t already created fear and anxiety, but just like his brother, he wore his heart on his sleeve.
The way he sobbed against me, the way he’d let go, the way he’d come heavy, fat ropes all over my hand. It was telling how much he’d been keeping inside.
He shook apart in my arms after it was all over, then drifted off with his face pressed against my chest.
I managed to get up, clean us both off, and curl up around him without waking him up, so the fact that he’d pulled one over on me was probably deserved.
But it made my stomach hurt.
And the fact that he didn’t call or text all day was painful.
Luckily, for him, I would refill my well of patience to the fucking brim for as long as he needed me to. He needed time to realize what he wanted. He needed time to realize that what he wanted was me.
And I really, truly didn’t mean that in a creepy way. Like I was some guy going after a man entirely disinterested and hoping to convince him otherwise.
I could tell by the way Micah clung to me, like a man starved of affection. He kissed like he was new to having lips and tongue—and he was eager to prove that it didn’t matter he was inexperienced.
He was the exact opposite of what everyone believed, and I was hoarding that information to myself. It allowed me to have a piece of him that no one else did.
And eventually, I would want the world to know who he really was. For them to stop assuming everything about him because I knew it hurt him.
But I was going to be selfish for this little while.
I didn’t have a lot of time to think on it though. We had a game early in the evening, which meant a morning practice. I showered, choked down a giant protein shake, then stuffed several pieces of fruit into my bag before heading out the door.
I gave the neighborhood a quick glance—a sorry spark of hope in my chest that I might see Micah waiting for the bus—but of course, that was ridiculous.
He lived in Salem, and they also had a game tonight, which meant he was long gone in some fancy car he had ordered.
I put it out of my head as I made my way to the arena, but the ghost of him was still with me. The scent of him clung to my skin, in spite of the shower.
And every time I breathed, I felt the weight of him on my chest.
I would make it right later. Our game was over before his. When it was through, I would skip press, head down to Salem, and find out if he’d fled because of something I did or if he was once again running from how he felt.
“Alright, swap! I want Reddy to have at least half an hour stopping pucks before we call it!”
Noah was being uncharacteristically nice this morning. Though his version of nice was nothing more than not telling us what pathetic pieces of shit we all were on the ice.
It probably had everything to do with the fact that he was taking a new job with the AHL, and while everyone was pretending it was his choice, we all knew the truth.
The Glaciers’ ownership was changing hands, though no one had any idea who was taking over, and the new owner wanted a regime change. Noah was the first to go, and I knew there were also going to be some trades, though I felt secure in my position.
As our newest rookie skated toward me, I gave his mask a tap with my stick. “You good, new friend?”
Ferris’s eyes met mine through the cage in front of his face. “Anything I should know?”
I glanced over at the guys who were lined up to take shots against him. “Zeki always feint to the right. He has strong slapshot, especially this year. He will go for throat.”
“Literally?” Ferris asked.
I laughed softly. “No. But is…” I searched for the word. “Initiation.” This wasn’t Ferris’s first practice with us, but this would be his first game where he was on the bench, waiting to get called in.
Caddy was out for the rest of the season after fucking up his ACL on a hike gone wrong. There was a very good chance his name would be up when one of the West Coast teams came calling, but no one would be sad about it.
We would miss him, but it was his time to shine, and I wasn’t ready to leave yet.
“They’ll give bruises. They’re mark of honor, okay? Don’t let them get to you.”
“I won’t,” he said. From what I could tell, he took everything very seriously.
I liked that about him. I also liked that he was sweet. He showed up his first day with a small grocery bag full of tiny, crocheted stuffed animals. He let me pick four, so I had a chicken in a cowboy hat, an alligator, a penguin, and a panda on the shelf in my stall.
I liked that he was Pakistani, just like me, though I was jealous he still had his mother and a connection to his culture that I had lost when mine passed and my dad remarried. But I felt a little kindred with him in ways I didn’t feel with anyone else on the team.
He was going to be a good fit here if he didn’t let the pressure fuck him up.
“Do good hockey!” I called as I skated toward the bench.
I plopped down next to Monty, who was pulling a thread off the A on his sweater, and leaned against him.
“Find your own fuckin’ pillow,” he snarled.
“No. So comfy here.” I nuzzled against him, and he sighed, rolling his eyes, though he didn’t move. “Wake me when is my turn again.”
Monty said nothing for a while, and then he shifted to lean back, taking me with him. “So. You heard anything about who’s taking over for Noah?”
“No. I’m more curious about new owner.”
“Yeah. It’s kind of a dick move to come in here and do a fucking sweep, you know?”
I shrugged. “Not going to miss Noah.”
No one was, and the way Monty laughed told me he agreed. “I just don’t want some dickhead who has no idea what he’s doing. Noah had no fuckin’ business as a coach.”
He’d never played before. He and his brother had been in juniors, but his brother was drafted. He was not. Noah took it personally and coached like his sole purpose was to make sure every single player he came into contact with lost all faith in themselves.
But he wasn’t universally hated until he started going after the blind coaches in the PPHL. It was like he had a vendetta against something that hadn’t been his business at all, and he’d almost succeeded.
Getting to know Ben a little better last season, now Noah had an enemy for life.
“If he ever has no hater,” I said, my voice thick with half sleep, “is because I am dead.”
Monty snorted. “You’re so fuckin’ weird, Vanny.”
“Mm.” I was drifting now, into the memory of Micah. I could still feel his hands on me, his legs wrapped around me, his hole tight as I fucked it hard and fast—just the way he wanted.
I was lost to visions of him frustrated and angry and desperate and needy as I made him work himself into a frantic sweat, chasing his orgasm. And fuck, as much as he’d cussed me out, he’d loved it.
He’d come so hard he almost passed out, and he’d been so boneless and relaxed once he’d let go.
I wanted to give that to him every night.
My dick thickened behind my cup, and I let out a slow breath, trying to hide the way it trembled. The last thing I needed was for my teammates to know I was entirely gone on someone.
Micah was right about one thing: if anyone knew, we would never be left alone.
I didn’t put up a fight in the third period when Noah pulled me out of the crease. I passed Ferris on my way to the bench and knocked my mask against his.
“Do good hockey.”
And he did. He didn’t let a single puck slip by him, which meant we won 2-1, which wasn’t the best game we’d ever played, but it was his first on NHL ice, and that was a victory he was going to take with him.
I felt a little bit like an asshole for slipping out while everyone was celebrating, but I planned to make it up to him later. Ferris was a good guy and fit in with the team well, so he wasn’t going to be alone.
And I could shower, throw on clothes, and slip out before anyone noticed me.
The drive to Salem felt a thousand hours longer than normal, so I put Micah’s game on my satellite radio and listened to the very end. They were losing, and there wasn’t a chance in hell they were going to catch up.
I knew it was probably fucking with Micah’s head, and there was a damn good chance he was going to blame me. That was what we did as hockey players. Anything new—it could ruin us, or it could define a new streak of luck in our game.
I didn’t want to become a bad omen, and my stomach was twisted into knots by the time I was swiping my badge at the security gate and pulling in.
The game had been over for nearly an hour as I found a spot, and I could see several of the WAGs walking their partners out to their cars. They all looked upset, and I understood it.
The last season had been rough, but they’d been rebuilding, so the losses were expected.
This year was supposed to be better. And it was. Mostly.
But nights like tonight were bound to happen, and Micah was off his game. There was too much on his shoulders, and god help me if I became part of that burden.
The moment I put my car in park, I opened the door and turned to look over my shoulder. And shit. There he was. He was alone, his bag slung over his arm, cane in one hand, phone in the other. He was probably calling for some sort of ride, and I moved without really thinking.
I didn’t even bother shutting the car door.
My feet rushed over the pavement and came to a skidding halt a few feet from him. “Micah.”
He froze, a deer in headlights. Then he swallowed. “Vanya?”
“Yes, sorry.”
“You didn’t text.” His voice was tight. Almost angry.