Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
MICAH
Vanya: There’s a reporter here asking terrible questions. If you see him, just ignore. He’s very pretty. Purple color on eyes. Cute sweater.
Me: You know I can’t actually sea that, rite
Vanya: Ask friend just in case. He is dickhead.
Me: Fine, if I sea a very pretty reporter with purple eyes and a cute sweater I will run away
Vanya: Good boy. Love you.
I didn’t answer back, but I shivered hearing the words Vanya left in the text. The “good boy” got me. The “love you” threatened to end me, just like it did every single time he’d said it over the last week.
Leaning against Tiago, I sighed. “I appreciate you being here, but also why? Shouldn’t you be at home icing your elbow or something?”
He groaned softly. “If I have to stay home one more fucking day, I’m going to lose it. Literally. I’m going to build a giant ladder and fling myself into the sun.”
“Drama,” I said, but I didn’t really mean it. I appreciated the company. Tiago had lost his driving privileges not that long ago, and he was mourning the loss of that independence—something I had never experienced myself, but it was easy to imagine how hard it was.
On top of that, he’d taken a bad check and was thrown right into Jonah’s stick, which hit him in the single, vulnerable spot over his elbow and had torn a few tendons.
He was out for the season and on strict orders to jerk off with his right hand, and no using his cane unless he absolutely had to.
Which was kind of ridiculous to say to a blind man, even one with usable sight.
Shifting the hockey pad on my lap, my fingers found the little bump for the puck, and I followed it as it bounced around the ice. NHL games were a little more enthusiastic than ours, and the crowd was louder while the guys on the ice were quieter.
It lacked people shouting which team had the puck, or which way the shot had gone, and I wondered what it would be like to play without that kind of a guide. I wasn’t sure I trusted myself to follow the puck and nothing else.
But I was also kind of tired of thinking about hockey.
I was tired of a lot of things—mostly of being in some rental away from my home, not that I had a home anymore. Vanya found a company that was going to fix the damage done to each of our places, and we both agreed it wasn’t worth keeping them.
The repairs were being done, and we were projected to have our all clear to put them on the market by the time he got back from his roadie.
“So,” Tiago said. “A stalker.”
I groaned and flopped my head backward. “Who told you?”
“Come on, bud. You really think anyone here can keep a secret? Not one single person has ever kept gossip to themselves.”
He wasn’t wrong, but it was annoying. “Tell Jonah I owe him a stick to the balls.”
“Will that go for the whole you and Maxy thing too?”
I lifted my middle finger and put it right in his face. “Can you see this?”
“Yes, fucker.”
“Good.” I dropped my hand back to the hockey pad and found the puck right before someone sank it into Seattle’s net.
The crowd erupted, and the horn blared, and I gritted my teeth until it was over.
“Anyway, to save you the trouble, yes, I have a stalker. He fucked with my house and Vanya’s.
And yes, Vanya and I are a…thing. I guess. ”
“A thing. A boyfriend thing, a sex thing? Is he going to be a notch on your belt, or—”
I flinched. I hadn’t meant to, and unfortunately, it was bright enough for Tiago to see me do it because he sucked in a breath.
“Shit, Micah. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be a dick.”
Clearly, that part of the gossip hadn’t gotten to him yet. Maybe Jonah did care enough about me to keep that one to himself.
“It’s fine. Uh…I’m not really like that, you know? I mean, I know what people think, and it’s easier not to correct them. But that—ah. That’s not me. And it’s definitely not me and Vanya. I like him.”
He was quiet for a long, long time. Then he grabbed my wrist and squeezed. “I’m really happy for you. It’s been obvious to the whole fucking universe that guy is obsessed with you. I’m glad you’re obsessed back.”
It was a little bit of obsession and a lot of love, but Tiago didn’t need those gory details.
“So, about this stalker…” Tiago started.
“I will pay you one million dollars if you never bring that up to me again,” I begged.
“I really don’t want to think about him right now.
” It had been well past the forty-eight hours Vanya’s brother had asked for, but we were trying to be patient.
Hunter didn’t know where we were as far as either of us knew, and Ben had arranged to beef up security at both our practice arenas and our game ones.
I still didn’t feel safe, but it was something.
“People know though, right?” His voice was softer this time. Concerned. “Ben knows?”
I sighed, but I knew he was just looking out for me as a friend. “Ben knows. And apparently so does Vanya’s very scary older brother, who works in Vegas and, like, knows people.”
“What kind of people? Murder people?”
I shuddered and put my hands back on the game. “Trust me, it’s probably better if we don’t ask.”
The Glaciers won, which meant it was going to be a hundred years before Vanya was going to be able to get out of the arena. There would be press and lingering fans, and considering their new coach had started today, they’d probably be having a long post-game meeting with him.
Me: I’m tired. I’m going to catch a ride back to the house. Sea you when you get their. And don’t panic, I’m with Tiago.
I knew he wasn’t going to get the text immediately, but that was fine. He’d find it before he went looking for me, and I knew he’d understand why.
“Who’s picking you up?” I asked Tiago as we made our way toward the player tunnels to take the quick way out that avoided most people.
“Will, Bolanos,” he added. “From Bodie’s team. He lives down the street from me and runs me to the store on Thursdays.”
“Ah. Shit. Okay, well, let me make a quick call before you abandon me, and—”
“No, bud. He’ll drive you. I basically pay his kid’s college tuition with how much cash I throw at him to drive me around town.”
I froze as we reached the end of the hall and turned to face him. “Are you two—”
“No. Tabarnak,” he said with a laugh. “He’s married, and I don’t fuck married guys.”
“Most hockey players wouldn’t boast about that,” came a voice from behind us that I didn’t recognize.
Tiago stiffened, and I felt him turn, his grip on my arm going tighter. “Can I fuckin’ help you?”
“Actually, you can. I recognize you both. Jonah Adams and Tiago Nadeau?”
“Why can’t sighted people ever tell the difference between me and my brother?” I complained. “Pro tip, he’s got eyes. I don’t.”
There was a slightly uncomfortable silence, and then the guy said, “Noted. Can I steal a moment of your time…Micah, yes? With the Fury. Goalie, would be team captain if they got rid of that arbitrary rule that goalies can’t be captains?”
I had no fucking idea what to say to that. “Who are you?”
“Aravind Gulshan—I’m with ESPN PPHL—”
“Online,” Tiago finished for him. “You emailed me asking me some really goddamn weird questions about how much I could see.”
“Were they weird?” Aravind asked. “It’s my job as a reporter to get all the facts, and since I’m not blind and since you don’t appear to be—”
“Nope.” Tiago took a step closer to me, knocking into my hip. “I’m not doing this with you.”
“But you don’t use a cane. You don’t use a dog. Your friend here, I get it. But I’m trying to understand how someone who can’t see can walk around with no aids and can play the kind of hockey you do.”
“Are they paying you to be an ableist twat waffle or is that for free?” I asked.
Tiago choked on a laugh. “I bet he gets a bonus for it. I’ve read their articles, and they’re all fucking garbage. So, if you don’t mind…” He didn’t finish his sentence. Tiago turned, all but dragging me through the doors and into the back parking lot.
The parking lot was silent since this was where the players, WAGs, and staff parked, and they would be busy for a while, though someone’s engine was running a few feet from where we were standing.
I felt a tiny pang of anxiety, though I knew it would be impossible for Hunter to get into any arena with the notification Ben was supposed to send around.
All the same, I was freaked.
“Can you see the car that’s running at the curb?” I asked Tiago.
He hummed, then sighed. “No, not really. It’s too dark.”
“I can see it,” Aravind said.
“Great, you’re still here?” I turned my head to face him. “Fine. Is it a black Cadillac SUV?”
“No. Grey pickup truck. One of those overcompensating monstrosities.”
Tiago snorted, then went silent. He was probably horrified the guy had made him laugh. “Okay, thanks for your help. Bye now.” He paused. “And in case you need a little extra dismissal, au revoir. Ciao. Shab bakhair. Adios…”
Aravind said something rapidly in a language I didn’t recognize, but before I could ask him if he was insulting either of us, I heard my name across the parking lot in a very familiar voice. My insides warmed, and I couldn’t help a smile as I listened to him call after me.
“Micah! Wait there. I have important thing to tell you!”
“Jesus, Vanya,” I called back. I could hear him running. “Aren’t you supposed to be inside?”
“He’s still in his sweater and what looks like spandex,” Aravind said helpfully.
“He’s so fucking lucky I love him. I swear to god, I—”
I didn’t get a chance to finish my sentence. The world suddenly narrowed down to the sound of squealing tires on pavement, of Vanya’s sharp cry, and Ara shouting for Vanya to look out.
Then there was a thud against metal.
And then the sound of a body hitting asphalt.
A scream lodged in my throat, and then panic took over, and everything was fuzzy after that for a good, long while.
“Mr. Adams?”