11. January 31, Monday
Chapter eleven
Ilya
Ilya’s fork froze halfway to his mouth when the cafeteria door swung shut behind Zoey. His cheek still tingled where she’d kissed him, like his body had drawn a neon circle around the spot and was standing there with a bullhorn, yelling, Something happened here!
He set the fork down before he dropped it.
“For the record,” Ty said, solemn as a courtroom witness, “I did not know she was going to full-body tackle you.”
Ian snorted. “That was not a tackle. That was a Disney hug.”
“More like a mating ritual,” Tommy countered. “Planet Earth doesn’t lie.”
Laughter rippled around the table. Ilya picked up his fork again. “You all need to go home and get laid,” he said dryly, stabbing a piece of now-cold chicken.
Pavel nodded. “In my village, if a woman hugs you like that, it’s a contract.”
“Good thing we’re not in your village,” Ilya grumbled.
“Don’t disrespect village laws, man,” Tommy added. “We’ll need them for the wedding ceremony.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Bobby muttered, but his mouth twitched.
Ty’s voice dropped into a terrible announcer impression. “At center ice, the Springfield Cyclones presents: A Very Special Wedding, sponsored by Dunkin’.”
“Zoey would never agree to Dunkin’,” Ian cut in. “Some local donut place. Ugly chairs, good coffee.”
The image hit him too vividly: Zoey in white at center ice, cheeks flushed, eyes bright, a donut tower instead of a cake behind them. He shut it down fast, surprised the lights didn’t flicker.
“This is stupid,” he said bluntly. “We’re talking about a hockey camp.”
The laughter died, and the mood shifted.
“Pretty sure we’re talking about how you volunteered us for an extra commitment a few weeks before the trade deadline,” Ian said, his teasing edge went up with his fake question. “And yet somehow none of us rioted. Why didn’t we riot?”
“Because we’re good teammates,” Pavel ventured, then squinted. “And… we like kids?”
Christian leaned on the table, mischief in his eyes. “Nah. We’re in this for our fearless leader: Captain ‘Anything For Zoey’ Sergechev.”
Ilya’s back teeth clicked together. “We’re doing this because it’s a good idea. Team dynamics. Community outreach. It’s what we’re supposed to do.”
“Sure,” Ty teased, dragging the word out. “And love.”
Christian nodded. “Come on, Cap. You think we’re blind? We knew if Zoey came in like a baby deer on espresso, pitched the camp, and we all acted like grumpy assholes, then you could stroll in, say ‘We’ll do it,’ and be the hero. Movie magic.”
“I did not stroll,” Ilya argued.
“That’s what you took exception to?” Ian asked.
“I came in, heard the idea, and made a leadership decision,” Ilya insisted, though the words felt hollow.
Bobby closed his book with a soft snap. “Mhm.”
“It was the right thing to do,” Ilya reiterated.
“Because it was Zoey,” Bobby countered.
A prickly heat slid under Ilya’s skin. “She is outreach. This is her job. Not special treatment.”
Ty snorted. “So, if Evan asked nicely, you’d volunteer us?”
“Yes,” Ilya claimed, flat. Every man at the table stared back.
“Terrible example,” Tommy said. “But let’s be real, you don’t look at Evan like you want to whittle him a tiny throne and set him somewhere safe forever.”
Ty choked on his water. “What the—?”
Pavel brightened. “Yes! The… soul-notes look!”
“Is not a thing,” Ilya growled.
“It is now.” Tommy grinned. “We gave it a name.”
Bobby pinched the bridge of his nose. “Christ.”
But his point was made.
Ilya had walked in. Seen her there—small, bright, trying so damn hard not to look crushed.
Heard that thin edge in her voice as she tried to make herself smaller, to erase the ask so they wouldn’t feel burdened.
It hooked into something old and familiar, a muscle memory of inadequacy he’d spent his life trying to overpower.
Existing as an apology. He’d built an entire life out of the vow to never let anyone he loved feel that way again.
So, when Zoey looked at him with that brave, about-to-retreat expression, it hadn’t felt like a PR decision. It felt personal. I choose you. Over the schedule. Over Coach. Over comfort.
Now, looking at his team, he saw they knew it, too. And worse, they’d counted on it. They expected him to not choose them.
“You’ve said it yourself a million times—playoffs come first,” Ian said, his voice more serious now. “No extra bullshit. The idea’s great, but scheduling-wise, it’s a…complication.”
Jason, who hadn’t said a word, cleared his throat. “I heard Evan talking with another staffer earlier this week. They were taking bets on how fast you’d squash Zoey’s pitch.”
Oh. The wind went out of Ilya’s sails.
Tommy shrugged. “She needed a win. And you’re stubborn. So, we played the bad guys. We knew you’d bend into a pretzel if she asked directly, so we sat back and let you save the day.”
Bobby shook his head, a small frown tugging at his mouth. “It still sucks that she had to feel shitty before you could be the hero though. Wish we could have found a way to do without that part.”
Pavel made a face. “I did not like it. She looked… small. Like a scared rabbit.”
“Yeah,” Ty agreed quietly. “Felt gross letting her twist in the wind like that. I was about to cave right before you walked in.”
Okay…so they’d manipulated the situation but felt bad about the collateral damage. That should have comforted him. Instead, it twisted everything tighter. If his team was already making decisions based on managing his feelings for Zoey, the lines were blurring in ways that made his skin itch.
Ilya’s stomach rolled.
He rubbed his face, the rasp of his stubble a harsh reality check. “Right before the trade deadline and playoffs, on top of being in a slump, is not the time to be signing up for new commitments. Most of you have families. I was stupid. I shouldn’t have—”
“Stop.” Ty’s smile softened at Ilya’s choice of words, accidentally mimicking Zoey’s from earlier. “We don’t think you’re stupid. Just stubborn.”
“Dude. Relax. I’m in because you said, ‘We’ll do it,’ and we trust you. And this would make you happy, Ilya. Why wouldn’t we do it?” Christian asked softly, cutting through the tension.
Pavel nodded hard enough for his curls to bounce. “Yes. You say do, I do. Simple.”
Something knotted in Ilya’s gut. He didn’t want this kind of loyalty, not tied to his… weakness. He was supposed to be the steady one, the captain who didn’t let personal shit bleed into the locker room. He was not Mitch.
“I don’t need you…protecting me,” he objected quietly. That wasn’t the right word but it was the best he could think of.
“Too late.” Bobby grinned. “You’re stuck with us.”
“Yeah, man,” Ian added. “That ship sailed the second you started carving the team personalized wooden lookalikes. You can’t over-function that hard and then be surprised when we function back at you.”
“I do not over-function,” Ilya objected.
They all chimed in, “Yes, you do,” in perfect, horrifying unison.
“Anyway,” Ty said, stretching with a groan. “We’re all gonna die in a pile of kids’ hockey gear and orange slices, but at least it’ll be for love, right?”
“It’s not love.” Ilya protested automatically. “And a lot of people rely on the success of our team, so whatever you guys think you’re…doing…it’s not worth risking…that.”
The table quieted again. It wasn’t the words but the flat certainty, the well-worn place inside him they came from.
Ty lowered his arms slowly. “You really believe that?”
“Yes.” The word was out before he could think. “People depend on us. On me. We have responsibilities. You don’t throw that away because you feel something. Especially on something that won’t go anywhere.”
“Dude,” Tommy said softly. “That’s… bleak.”
“We’re not saying throw anything away,” Bobby added quietly. “We’re saying… maybe they don’t have to be one or the other. You’re allowed to want things off the ice, Ilya. It’s not a betrayal of the team. It’s––”
“It’s a distraction,” Ilya finished for him.
“It probably wouldn’t feel so weird,” Ian added, a grin returning, “but you had to go and fall for your best friend’s ex. So, yeah, that ups the complexity. But it’s not like he’s here.”
The mention of Mitch slid into the room like a cold wave and the guys went still.
Ian’s grin faltered as he caught the look on Ilya’s face.
Ilya could almost see him—easy grin, loud laugh, oblivious trust. Even the imaginary version twisted his stomach. He shoved the thought away, hard.
“This is not a love story,” he said, his voice flat and cold. “This is a hockey clinic for kids. End of story.”
The silence stretched, wanting to choke him.
Ilya stood, the scrape of his chair against the tile cutting through the quiet. He forced his shoulders to ease, smoothed his expression into neutral. Captain mode.
“Eat. Stretch. Film in twenty.”
Normally, there would be grumbling, jokes.
This time…silence.
Awful, damning silence.
Ilya picked up his tray and dumped the uneaten chicken. His hand was steady. His heart was not.
On his way out, he felt all their eyes on his back but he didn’t turn.
If any other staffer had pitched the proposal, he would have reviewed the facts, gone over logistics, asked for more fucking details at least!
He would have reviewed commitments, upcoming events, ice time, discussed with Bobby, and maybe Coach, and talked with the guys.
He never would have just immediately agreed like that.
He was not impulsive with team responsibilities and performance. He was dutiful. Trustworthy. Reliable.
Usually.
His decision hadn’t come from duty. It came from the moment he saw Zoey’s face and thought, No. You will not be put on the back burner again.
His skin prickled.
If he started making team decisions based on her feelings, where did it stop?
And his whole team had noticed his distraction for her. If they started trying to meddle in that… How would he know if the choices were for the team or for her?
A leader who chose his own interests, or someone else’s, over the team was a liability. And the Cyclones, the entire organization, would inevitably pay the price.
He had to make sure the cost was only a couple of hours at a rink. He, and his team, needed him too.