Chapter 5 #2
Elias looks over from the couch, his sharp eyes catching the shift in my tone immediately. Luca tilts his head, still smiling but with a hint of confusion now.
“You sure?” Luca asks. “We just got here. Stay a little longer.”
I force a grin, the same one I’ve perfected over years. “Nah, man. Long night. Game took it out of me. Rain check?”
The words feel hollow even as I say them.
Luca is hot. Attentive. Fun. And yet here I am, pulling away again.
Because no matter how loud the bar was, no matter how many shots I threw back, I still can’t drown out the memory of Viktor’s quiet voice in the dark.
Or the way his hand felt on my wrist. Or the fact that even when he’s pushing me away, he’s still the only person who makes me feel truly seen.
Elias stands up without question, clapping Julien on the shoulder. “Yeah, we should bounce. Early practice tomorrow.”
Luca walks us to the door, still charming, still easygoing, but I can tell he’s a little disappointed. We say our goodbyes, and Elias and I stumble back into the night air to find another cab.
The second we’re alone in the back seat, Elias bumps my shoulder. “You good?”
I lean my head against the cool window and close my eyes. “Yeah. Just… tired.”
The city lights blur past us on the way back to the hotel. I should feel relieved. Instead, all I feel is the same ache that’s been living in my chest for too long.
The cab ride back to the hotel is quieter than the chaos we left behind. The city lights streak past the windows in blurry streaks of neon and rain. I’m slumped against the seat, the alcohol buzzing warmly in my veins but not quite enough to quiet the mess in my head.
Elias doesn’t buy my half-assed “I’m fine” for a single second.
He reaches over and takes my hand without asking, lacing our fingers together like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
His grip is warm and steady, best-friend solid in a way that makes my chest ache harder.
I don’t pull away. I never do with Elias.
“I can get you another room if you want,” he says quietly enough that the driver can’t hear. “Just say the word. I’ll text the front desk right now.”
I turn my head and bury my face in his curls for a second, breathing in the familiar scent of his shampoo mixed with arena sweat and whatever cologne Damian makes him wear. It’s grounding. Safe. For a moment I just stay there with my eyes closed, letting myself lean on him.
“Nah…” I say against his hair. “It’ll be fine.”
The words come out automatically, even though the thought hadn’t even crossed my mind until he said it.
Of course I could get another room. This is a big hotel in a big city — they’d have something available.
I could sleep alone. Stretch out. Not spend another night hyper-aware of every breath Viktor takes two feet away from me.
But I don’t want that.
What a fucking masochist I am.
I want the torture of lying next to him. I want the heavy silence and the way his voice sounds in the dark. I want the stupid hope that maybe tonight he’ll reach across the bed again like he did when he grabbed my wrist. Even if it hurts. Even if he pulls away again tomorrow.
Elias squeezes my hand, not saying anything. Then he huffs a soft laugh. “You’re an idiot, Hollywood.”
“Yeah,” I mumble, still half-buried in his hair. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
The cab pulls up to the hotel. Elias doesn’t let go of my hand until we’re stepping out into the cool night air. I sway a little on the sidewalk, the exhaustion and alcohol hitting me all at once now that the adrenaline of the night is fading.
We head inside together, the lobby quiet at this hour. My heart starts beating faster the closer we get to the elevators. Somewhere up there, Viktor is probably still awake. Or pretending to be asleep. Either way, I’m walking back into that room like the hopeless idiot I am.
Elias bumps my shoulder as we wait for the elevator. “You sure you don’t want me to cause a scene and demand a new room assignment? I’m very good at causing scenes.”
I laugh tiredly and shake my head. “I’m good, Curls. Promise.” I’m not good. But I’m going back anyway.
Elias walks me all the way to the door, giving my shoulder one last squeeze before he heads down the hall to his own room with Damian.
I wait until he’s gone, then swipe the keycard with unsteady fingers.
It’s past midnight. The hallway is dead quiet.
I push the door open slowly, expecting the room to be dark and Viktor to be asleep like any normal person after a game and a sleepless night.
He’s not. The nightstand light on his side of the bed is on, casting a soft golden glow across the room.
Viktor is sitting up against the headboard, his massive frame taking up way too much space, with a book resting in his lap.
His dark hair is slightly messy, and he’s wearing a plain black t-shirt that stretches across his chest. He looks up the second I step inside.
We stare at each other for a long second. Neither of us says anything. The air feels thick, charged with everything we didn’t say last night and everything I drank tonight.
I break first, looking away and closing the door behind me a little too hard. “Hey.”
I don’t wait for a reply. I head straight into the bathroom, brush my teeth aggressively, splash water on my face, and change into a pair of loose basketball shorts.
My head is spinning — from the alcohol, from Luca’s easy flirting, from the way none of it felt right.
I come back out, kill the main lights, and faceplant straight into my side of the bed, burying my face in the pillow.
The words slip out before I can stop them, muffled against the fabric. “I can’t even kiss someone else because of you.”
The silence that follows is deafening. I don’t lift my head. I don’t want to see his face. My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my teeth. I’m drunk and exhausted and so fucking tired of pretending.
I hear the soft sound of Viktor lowering his book. Then a long, heavy sigh escapes him — the kind he only makes when he’s wrestling with something big.
I stay buried in the pillow, waiting. The mattress shifts slightly as he moves, but he doesn’t say anything right away. The tension stretches between us again, tighter than it’s been in years.
I’m such an idiot for coming back to this room.
“He’s hot too, you know,” I mumble, half-giggling, half-crying into the pillow. My voice cracks embarrassingly in the middle. “Tall, dark, and French. Luca. He was all over me tonight. Arm around my shoulders, buying shots, telling me I look good flying up the wing…”
I let out a wet, pathetic sound that’s supposed to be a laugh. It isn’t.
Viktor is quiet for so long I almost think he’s going to ignore me completely. Then his voice comes, low and dangerously even in the dark. “That so…”
The words are calm. Too calm. But something in his tone shifts — just enough for my drunk, exhausted brain to latch onto it like a challenge. Fuck it. If he’s going to sit there pretending he doesn’t care, I’m going to make him feel it.
I turn my head just enough to peek at him, one eye cracked open. He’s still sitting up, book forgotten in his lap, staring straight ahead like the wall is the most interesting thing in the room. Good.
“Yeah,” I continue, voice thick but gaining momentum.
“He was smooth about it too. Not all… weird and silent and pulling away every time things get real. He actually touched me like he wanted to. Told me I was prettier up close. Had his hand on my back the whole time at the bar. Felt kinda nice, honestly.”
I’m poking the bear. I know I am. But the alcohol has burned away whatever filter I had left, and the hurt from last night is still sitting fresh under my skin.
I roll onto my side, facing him fully now, cheek still smushed against the pillow. “He invited us back to his place. Was flirting hard. Could’ve kissed him. Probably could’ve done more. He made it really fucking easy, Vik.”
Viktor’s hand tightens on the edge of his book so hard his knuckles go white. He still won’t look at me, but I can see the tension radiating off him — the way his shoulders have gone rigid, the way his breathing has changed.
I should stop, but I don’t. “Wonder what would’ve happened if I’d stayed,” I whisper, the words coming out softer but sharper at the same time. “Maybe I wouldn’t be lying here drunk and pathetic, wondering why the one person I actually want can barely stand sharing a bed with me.”
“He kept touching me, you know,” I continue, voice muffled but relentless. “Hand on my back. Arm around my shoulders. Leaning in close like he couldn’t get enough. Said he liked watching me fly up the wing. He made it so fucking easy, Vik. No mixed signals. No pulling away. Just… wanting me.”
I lift my head from the pillow just enough to look at him. Viktor is staring straight ahead, his jaw locked so tight I can see the muscle jumping. His book is still in his lap, but his knuckles are white around the spine.
I keep going.
“Could’ve kissed him. Could’ve let him fuck the memory of you out of my head for one night. He was right there, ready, and I—”
In one fluid, terrifying movement, he turns toward me. His hand shoots out and wraps around my throat. Before I can even gasp, he drags me across the bed, hauling me half on top of him until I’m sprawled across his lap, chest to chest, my legs tangled with his.
I gasp sharply, my eyes flying wide open.
The room spins for a second from the sudden movement and the alcohol, but then everything narrows to him.
Viktor’s face is inches from mine, his eyes burning with an intensity I’ve never seen before.
His grip on my throat is warm and steady, thumb pressed against my racing pulse.
“Did he touch you, soroka?” he growls.