Chapter 14 - Aleksey #2
“He mentioned their background checks.” I turned away, rubbing the back of my neck again. “They dig into everything. Personal lives. Social media. Who you spend your time with.”
“So don’t hang out with me. Publicly, I mean.”
A short breath punched out of my nose. “You make that sound simple. I’ve been trying to get rid of you for weeks. Your track record is terrible.”
Karter stepped closer. “Elliot thinks you’re hazing me. The coaches think we’re studying. Your bad reputation is finally working in your favor.”
I caught his wrist before his thumb found my jaw. “Background checks aren’t a joke.”
“Neither am I.” He held my gaze. “Nobody knows. We’re invisible up here.”
His body heat cut through the draft seeping from the window. I wanted to believe him. Wanted it badly enough that the wanting itself felt like a trap.
“Something else is wrong,” Karter said.
“It’s nothing.” I waved him away.
“It’s not nothing. You’re wound tighter than I’ve ever seen you before.”
The radiator clanked. The cold leaked through the glass. The number fifty-seven sat in my brain like a splinter.
“Fine,” the word scraped out. “My mom’s heating bill. Landlord wants two hundred by tomorrow or she’s pawning her silver.”
“Two hundred?”
“Yeah.”
“Let me cover it.”
The moment he said those words, it felt like he’d slapped me so hard that my teeth ached.
“No,” I took a step back.
“Why not?”
“Because I said no.” I rounded on him, my voice dropping low.
“That silver tea set is the only thing she kept from her grandmother. She’s been holding onto it through eviction notices and my father’s bullshit for twenty years.
You think I’m going to let some rich kid buy it back for me like it’s a fucking library fine? ”
Karter didn’t flinch. “It’s two hundred bucks.”
“And then I owe you.” I stepped into his space. “That’s the deal, right? You cover the bill, and I spend the next six months knowing I couldn’t handle my own shit.”
“That’s not why I offered.”
“Then don’t offer.” My voice dropped. “I’m not your project.”
The silence stretched. Karter’s jaw worked, but he didn’t argue. He understood, or at least he understood enough to quit pushing. His hand found the collar of my hoodie anyway, knuckles pressing into my collarbone.
“Then stop shutting me out,” he said quietly.
I should have pushed him back. Instead, my hands locked onto his waist. The memory of a few nights ago, when Karter brought me food, pressed at the base of my skull: the weight of his shoulder, the quiet, the way I’d stopped bracing for disaster for ten whole minutes.
It terrified me more than any scout or background check ever could.
Grabbing him by the hips, I drove him backward and followed his weight down onto the mattress. Our mouths crashed together. He rocked forward, grinding denim against denim until we were both straining. A rough noise tore out of my throat as he slid a knee between my legs.
Right next door, a metallic squeak vibrated through the cheap drywall.
Every muscle in my body turned to stone as a thought sprang to my mind: Matt shifting in his chair, maybe? Just three feet away.
“I told Matt we had to prep for the midterms,” Karter murmured, his breath hot against my mouth. “I said we needed a quiet study session.”
With a groan, I buried my face into Karter’s neck and bit down on the collar of his shirt to muffle my breathing.
Karter’s laugh ghosted against my ear, low and warm. He pulled back, sliding a hand down my arm.
“I think we may need to actually open a book.”
I didn’t move. “You brought one?”
“Three.”
“Of course you did.”
His teeth caught his lower lip, fighting another laugh. “Let’s start before Matt gets suspicious,” he whispered, nodding toward the wall.
“He probably thinks we’re grinding through chemistry.”
“Then let’s give him a convincing performance.” Karter was already reaching for his notes. “Try to sound as if you’re suffering.”
I scoffed. “I’m always suffering when you’re around.”
“Perfect. Method acting.”
I shoved myself off the mattress and stood, taking a harsh breath as I adjusted my cock inside my jeans.
Trying to study while I was half-hard wasn’t going to happen.
“Give me a minute,” I muttered, keeping my voice rough and low so it wouldn’t carry through the wall. “I need to hit the bathroom.”
Karter just gave a tight nod. Gripping the doorknob, I eased the bedroom door open to keep the hinges quiet and stepped out into the drafty hallway.
I walked down to the cramped shared bathroom, locked the door, and gripped the edges of the sink. After splashing freezing water on my face, I looked up at my own reflection in the spotted mirror.
Grimacing, I felt pissed off at how fragile this whole setup was. One wrong noise through that cheap drywall and my professional career was dead before it even got started. And my mom’s sacrifices would be for nothing.
I gripped the porcelain sink hard enough to make my knuckles pop, forcing the adrenaline out of my system and locking my head back onto the game plan.
When I walked back into the bedroom a few minutes later, the sexual tension was boxed away. Karter and I sat on the floor and spent the next hour going through study notes in hushed voices.
Karter packed up his bag and slipped out sixty minutes later, leaving me alone in the dark. A dull ache settled deep in my back muscles. Between the ticking clock on my mom’s pawn shop visit and the massive risk of keeping Karter around, I spent most of the night wide awake, staring at the ceiling.
Sitting on the edge of my bed the next morning, the cold air bit right through my t-shirt. I grabbed the textbook off the floor to shove into my bag, but the front cover flopped open.
A bright yellow sticky note drifted down and landed on my thigh. I picked it up. Black ink was scrawled across the paper in a rushed, slanted print I instantly recognized as Karter’s.
I’ll keep my distance while the scouts are looking. Go get ‘em. K.
I stared at the yellow paper, then looked down at my dark phone screen. I had spent my entire life handling my own problems. But my ego was currently screwing over the only two people I actually gave a shit about.
Karter was backing off to protect my draft stock, and my mom was about to pawn her family silver just to keep the heat on. Trying to handle all this bullshit entirely alone wasn’t working anymore.
It was time to swallow my pride and do the one thing I hated most.
I folded the small piece of paper in half and shoved it deep into the side pocket of my gear bag. Snatching up my hockey sticks, I walked out into the fresh morning and headed straight to the rink.
The locker room was already loud. Equipment bags hit the wooden benches with heavy thuds, and a couple of guys were yelling over a rap track blasting from the corner speakers.
I stopped at the edge of the scuffed rubber floor mats, my fists clenched so tight that my palms hurt.
Asking anyone for cash was a massive blow to my ego.
Asking another broke scholarship guy like me felt like chewing on gravel.
I forced my boots to move forward before my pride could talk me out of it.
I found Perez sitting at his stall. He was bouncing slightly on his toes, compulsively rolling his shoulders as he taped up the blade of his stick.
“Hey.” Keeping the tone flat took serious effort. “I need a favor.”
Perez looked up, his sharp eyes clocking my rigid posture instantly. His hands kept wrapping the tape. “Yeah? What’s up?”
“I need a loan.” The words tasted bitter as I swallowed. “A hundred and fifty bucks.”
The taping stopped. His hands rested on the stick. “Wait, are you serious?”
“Yeah. I am.”
Perez tilted his head, pointing at me with his chin. “Your mom’s landlord threatening shit again?”
“Heating bill this time,” I told him, keeping my eyes fixed on the floor. “My mom is going to pawn her family silver today if I don’t send the cash.”
Perez went totally quiet. He didn’t ask another question.
He just dug his phone out of his pocket and tapped the screen, and frowned.
I knew the kind of math he was doing. Perez was surviving on dining hall food and minimum-wage side-gigs just like me.
Spotting me a hundred and fifty bucks was a big hit to whatever bank balance he had left.
“You don’t have to if you’re broke, man,” I mumbled, cracking my knuckles out of habit.
“Shut up, Zotov,” Perez replied, tapping the screen again. The phone vibrated in my pocket. “I mean... we Ice House guys look out for each other, right?”
“I’ll pay you back.”
“Just pay me back out of your first massive signing bonus.” Perez looked up from his phone, a quick smirk breaking the tension. He held up a hand.
I bumped my fist against his, sealing the agreement as my phone buzzed with the transfer notification.
“Thanks, Angel.”
I walked over to my own stall and dropped heavily onto the wooden bench. Opening my banking app, I transferred two hundred bucks straight to my mom’s account. Ten seconds later, the green confirmation screen lit up.
The heat would stay on. And she could keep her silver.
I stared blankly at the scratched gray metal of my locker. I wanted to be a guy who didn’t need bailouts, but that wasn’t my reality today.
So instead, I grabbed my taped stick, stood up, and walked out to the rink to do exactly what Karter asked.