Chapter 4
JAY
PRESENT DAY
“This cell is fucking grim.” Dan prodded the bottom of the wall with the toe of his Air Jordan. “I thought I was misremembering how bad they were, but they’re actually worse. Don’t ya think, Banks?”
I sighed heavily. “Still not my name, as I told you the last time you tried to make it work, when we were—what were we? Seventeen or eighteen? Nor is it ‘Coins’ or ‘Moneybags’ or whatever the fuck else you’re trying to make stick this week.”
“I thought Crypto was a good one, but let’s stick with Banks.
It’s been that all summer, and it suits you.
” Before I could respond with a cutting remark, he nudged me, glancing over at Ryker, who was staring down at the bed with a blank expression.
We both grimaced, and Dan cleared his throat.
“Shit, King. I can’t believe your dad made you come back here for another year instead of you moving into the hockey house. ”
Ryker bit down hard on his bottom lip, and I noticed his hands flex at his sides before he gave a deliberately casual shrug. “Someone’s gotta keep control of this place. No one else can do the shit I do. Don’t forget Volkov’s in here too. My dad wants me to keep an eye on him.”
“Yeah, why is Volkov still here? Probably a Bratva thing.” Dan scraped the side of his shoe against a crumbling bit of wall, sending a small shower of dust to the stone floor.
My jaw clenched like it did every time his name was mentioned, but I forced that aside.
He was my teammate, and I’d done well at separating my teammate from Nova’s future fiancé in my head last year.
I couldn’t crack now. “I think so, yeah,” I managed.
From what I’d heard, Volkov’s family believed in the tough-love approach, and honestly, compared to some of the stories I’d heard about growing up in the Bratva in Eastern Europe, he was getting off lightly.
“Meanwhile, we get the Cranham Kings’ hockey house.
” Dan glanced over at Ryker, dropping his playful smile.
He gave me a pointed look as he slung his arm across our friend’s shoulders.
“Hey, mate. We’ve saved you a room, okay?
Volks will be done with his degree after this year, and then there’ll be no reason for you to stay here overnight to keep an eye on him.
You only have to get through two semesters.
You’re our king of Kings, y’know, cos you’re the captain, and that means you can sleep over at ours whenever you want. ”
He muttered something under his breath that I didn’t catch, but eventually, he nodded, and I forced a smile. “Yeah. That room belongs to you. No one else. Everyone knows it.”
“Yeah.” Ryker straightened up, shaking off Dan’s arm. “Leave me to get settled in, and I’ll see you down at the rink, yeah?”
We took the hint, leaving him to it. As we made our way out of North Wing, Dan jabbed his thumb back towards Ryker’s door. “I’m fucking glad to be out of there, but I feel bad about leaving him in there alone.”
“I bet you’re glad. You get to antagonise Lincoln Bellingham whenever you want, now you’re not stuck behind the prison walls.”
He turned to me with an outraged expression. “It’s not antagonising! It’s doing the Lord’s work. My family’s counting on me to make his life as hellish as possible.”
“Which you love to do because you’re a psycho.”
“Says who?”
“Says everyone who knows that you only eat the red gummy bears. That’s a sign.”
“It is not.”
We bickered all the way to our new accommodation, which was just outside the prison grounds.
While the majority of the original prison still remained, and all the parts that did had been repurposed when it had been converted to a university, there had been a number of significant changes.
One of the walls had been partially removed, allowing easier access to the main university campus and a new car park, and, in the other direction, there was a new access point to the student houses outside of the walls—one of which was officially designated as the hockey house.
Despite the conversion, much of the barbed wire still remained around the tops of the fences and the walls, and there were bars covering the windows of all the rooms in the accommodation wings.
It was like they never wanted us to forget that we were in a former prison.
I unlocked the door to the hockey house, ushering Dan inside before I followed him in and closed the door behind us. In here, outside the walls, we could almost pretend we were normal students in an ordinary university.
Almost. When we entered the kitchen, I stopped dead. Volkov was standing at the island, blending a smoothie.
“What are you doing here?” I ground out, instantly wishing I could take the words back when everyone turned to me.
Volkov’s brows rose slowly. “Making a smoothie.” He nodded towards the blender. “Do you have a problem with that?”
I have a problem with you.
Everyone was still looking at me, and I needed to cover my tracks. Shoving my hands into my pockets, I leaned back against the wall, affecting a casual pose. “I mean, shouldn’t you be settling into your room or whatever?”
A smirk tugged at his lips. “Already done.” The bastard knew I didn’t like him, but he was completely unconcerned. In his eyes, he was untouchable, thanks to his Bratva connections and alliance with the Thorpes, while I was someone expendable. I was only here because of my dad, after all.
“Glad to hear it.” I turned on my heel, pushing past Neo Clayton, another of my teammates, and headed straight for the stairs so I could escape to my new bedroom.
As long as Anton Volkov never found out why I disliked him, I’d be okay.
“Get into two lines! Now!” Coach Lazovsky swept his hand out and blew his whistle at the same time, a deafening shriek that echoed around the rink.
We obediently split into two lines as indicated, ready to start our skating drills.
Technically, practice wasn’t supposed to begin until tomorrow when the semester officially started, but Coach wanted the team to get a head start.
A large percentage of the players hadn’t touched ice over the summer, especially those of us with certain family obligations, and we were all rusty.
While I was waiting for my teammates to take their places, I glanced around the rink, taking in the minor changes from last season. A couple of new banners hung from the ceiling, and the scratched, battered plastic around the edges had been replaced with shiny, new tempered glass.
The rink itself was public, but it was located in Whelford, and therefore, Whelford University’s team, the Whelford Flames, had claimed it as their own.
Despite the fact that the Cranham Kings had to share with them.
Despite the fact that the public got to use it too.
Despite the fact that no other UK university had their own private rink, so it wasn’t as if we were at a disadvantage against the other teams.
I shared Dan’s hatred of Whelford. While mine wasn’t personal, I hated the fact that they were not only our local rivals, but they also looked down on us.
Yeah, we were small in numbers compared to them.
Yeah, a large majority of Cranham Uni students were either rich through questionable family means, or they were forced to attend as a punishment for whatever reason.
But who gave a fuck about that? Money was money, no matter how you made it.
“Jay.” Ryker tapped his stick against mine, and I snapped to attention, pushing off.
That first skate felt like coming home, and a smile tugged at my lips.
When I was skating, I forgot about my problems. I forgot my dislike for Volkov, and he became my teammate, my goalie, someone I knew had my back until we left the ice.
My body fell into the familiar rhythm, gliding across the ice like I’d been born to do it, the slap of the puck connecting with the stick seeming to echo around the rink.
We split to do some one-on-one drills before lining up to take practice shots at the net.
That was when everything went wrong. Volkov’s icy gaze met mine, and although his face was obscured by the cage of his goalie mask, I could read the taunt in his eyes.
The smug certainty that I could try my best, but I wasn’t going to be able to score.
Gritting my teeth, I readied my stance, my fingers flexing on my stick. Focus. I skated forwards, swung my stick, and let the puck fly.
Volkov dived for it, catching the puck with ease. He raised his gloved hand, holding the puck, and— Yeah, that was a definite smirk. I wanted to punch him in his smug fucking face.
Coach’s whistle blew. “Again!”
Volkov saved it with ease. Again.
And again.
“Attwood!” Coach shouted. He skated to the goal, beckoning me over with a sharp jerk of his head. When I reached him, he jabbed his finger at me and then at Volkov.
“Attwood. You’re one of our best forwards, and your best isn’t good enough.
You see this net?” He wrenched my stick from my hand, banging it against the metal frame.
“The puck goes inside. Got that? I want you to work with Volkov. Extra drills. I don’t care when or where, I want your shots to be on target, and I want them to fucking get in the net. ”
“Yes, Coach,” I muttered.
“Volkov. Good job.” He clapped Volkov on the back before skating away.
When he was gone, Volkov gave me another smug look. I understood why Dan always said Bellingham had a punchable face. Because this guy did too. It would be so fucking satisfying to rip his mask off and just—
“Extra practice. Hmmm. I have prior arrangements with my in-laws tomorrow to discuss plans for the engagement party, and a suit fitting on Tuesday… I’ll have to consult my calendar and let you know.”
They’re not your fucking in-laws yet. I straightened up, throwing my shoulders back. “You don’t get to decide for me.”
“I have seniority here, Banks. Don’t forget, I was here first.”
The fact that he was using the nickname my closest friend had decided to bestow on me had me seeing red. I launched myself at him, swinging my gloved fist at his jaw, despite the fact that his goalie mask was in the way of my target.
There was a split-second expression of shock on his face before he roared, dropping his stick and flying forwards, sending us crashing to the ice. I was dimly aware of the shouts and blasts of the whistle, and then his heavy weight was gone.
I stood there, panting as Coach screamed at me before sending me off the ice. Alone in the locker room, I dropped my head into my hands, exhaling heavily. Why had I let my temper get the better of me? Why? I wasn’t a fucking hothead like some of my teammates.
What was it about Anton Volkov that made me lose all rationality?