Chapter 7 Luka
Chapter seven
Luka
“Dude, you can’t go off on a cap like that,” White says as I strip out of my gear in the locker room.
“I know. I should have just sat there and nodded along. He was right, after all.”
“He was, but it’s more than that,” he says, and he sits beside me. “We’re a team, and the team dynamics shifted the second you stood up. Everyone was instantly on edge; no one knew where that was going.”
“What do you mean? It wasn’t like I was going to hit him or anything.”
“Yeah, well, the way you two faced off on each other, it didn’t look like that was something too far from reality.”
“It was that bad, hey?”
“Yeah, it was.”
“I’ll apologize when he gets back. I meant it when I said I know I was in the wrong out there.”
Someone flicks on the television to the press conference. There he is. Reid Raines, looking all stoic and imposing next to Coach Dennings. White heads into the showers, and I should do the same, but then they ask Raines about me, and it’s like the whole room falls away.
***
My plan to Luka love-bomb the captain is back on track. After hearing his words at the press conference, I knew I needed to earn back his trust and show him that I can follow his orders. So here I am, bright and early, back in the rink.
“We really should be recovering from yesterday’s game,” Reid calls as he steps out onto the ice.
He’s wearing his skates, but he’s still in his street clothes, just like me.
It’s colder without all the extra padding, but a few minutes of skating around will warm us both up nicely.
“Are you going to tell me why we’re back here so early? ”
“Figure skating classes start at eight, and I didn’t particularly want an audience for what comes next,” I say, and his eyebrows rise as one corner of his lips picks up in an adorable smirk.
“Okay, I’m intrigued,” he says, skating closer.
“I know I broke your trust yesterday,” I say as I pull out my blindfold and wrap it tight around my eyes. “So to earn it back, or at least start to, I want to show you that I trust you.”
“By blindfolding yourself in the middle of an ice rink?”
“Yes, and it’ll be your job to lead me to each of the flags I’ve placed around it without crashing me into the rail, of course.”
“You trust me to guide you around the rink?”
“Completely,” I reply, my heart already racing in anticipation.
There’s something about giving up control like this that’s exhilarating, a turn-on even.
Not that I’d tell him that. And that is not why I’m doing this either.
I meant what I said. I need him to know that I trust him so that he can start trusting me again.
“Okay, umm, do I just tell you what way to go?”
“It’s your call. I’m at your mercy.”
“Umm, okay, skate slowly about three lengths to the right,” he says, and I take off toward my right when he stops me.
“No, sorry, my right, your left.”
“Okay, three lengths, hmm, I’m not sure how long that is without being able to see.”
“I’ll tell you when to stop, then. Go slow. I don’t really like the idea of having to explain to the coach how you got injured.”
“I’m counting on that fact,” I say as I skate a little faster.
“Stop,” he calls, his voice so much louder than before. Is he closer, or did he yell on instinct?
“Okay, now where?” I ask, before I let my thoughts wander again.
“Um, turn on the spot to your right until I say stop.”
I follow his direction, and after a slow skate up toward what I’m guessing is the far end of the rink, I have the first flag in my hand. I shove the fabric over my belt, then push off from the edge.
“I didn’t tell you to do that,” Raines says, but his voice isn’t harsh, it’s more playful, light.
“I didn’t want you to just have me skate around the edges to collect the rest,” I reply, and he laughs.
“Am I that obvious?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I’m learning pretty quickly that nothing about you is obvious.”
There’s silence for the longest time, and my pulse quickens with every passing second.
“Turn on the spot again,” he finally says, and I do as instructed. He leads me to the next two flags with ease. My confidence on the ice under his guidance is only building. I’m speeding up the rink now, throwing in turns as I go.
“Be careful,” he tells me, his voice right there beside me every step of the way.
My heart is jackhammering against my rib cage, and Reid’s lemon-ginger scent surrounds me like an intoxicating cloud.
The scent deepens the closer he gets to me, like his body is reaching for me through the cool air, but then, before I can be sure, the feeling is gone again.
“Which way is it now, Cap?” I ask, twirling in place, but then I wobble, and suddenly the darkness doesn’t feel so freeing; terror rips through me as my legs slip out from underneath my body.
“I got you,” Reid says, his large arms wrapping around my chest, lifting me up before I hit the ground and setting me upright. I breathe him in, and my head spins like when you’re at the dentist and they put that mask on you and ask you to “try to relax.”
“Fuck, that was close,” I say through ragged breaths, my fingers clutching his wide biceps as my heart races so hard it’s thumping in my ears.
“I think we can call it quits here,” he goes on to say, and then, before I can protest, his soft fingers slip under the blindfold at my temple, lifting it up.
Bright light obscures my vision for a second, and then there he is, wide brown eyes sparkling under the overhead lights of the ice rink, peering down at me.
I swallow the lump that’s risen to my throat.
“Yeah, umm, the classes will be starting soon.”
“Right, the classes,” he repeats, his gaze moving to my mouth for the briefest of seconds before whatever bubble we were just in pops, and he releases me and skates three paces backward. “I think it’s safe to say you trust me out here. I should get on; I’ve got to meet with the physio today.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah. Just not twenty-five anymore,” he laughs, waving back at me as he turns and leaves. I collect the last of the flags and head out too.
On the way home, I pass a florist called You Grow Girl.
It’s one of those hipster places that looks like it’s been here forever, vines actually growing along the trellis of the upper-floor condo cascading down to frame the door, and out front is always a collection of flowers.
Today, pride of place is an enormous display of sunflowers. They bring an instant smile to my lips.
My father is always getting my mother flowers, not only for special occasions, but just because they make her happy.
Reid could do with a little more happiness.
I wonder if he likes flowers. I was trying to think of a way to say thanks for camp, and now today too. Yeah. I think flowers would be nice.
I duck inside the shop to place the order and realize I have no clue what his address is, so I message White for it.
WHITE: You aren’t going to have like a giant trailer of horse manure delivered to his door, are you?
LUKA: NO! Who would even do that?
WHITE: I’m sure I saw something online about it, somewhere.
LUKA: I can tell you there is zero chance of that. I just want to send him a thank you. You know, something to say sorry too, about the game.
WHITE: Okay, but if he comes to practice telling the guys about someone sending him a box of glitter that exploded when he opened it, I am ratting you out.
LUKA: What sort of shit are you watching online?
White sends Reid’s address, and I place an order with the florist to deliver eight sunflowers to his place. I figure if they make me smile, maybe they can do the same for him.
“If you just want to fill out the card, I’ll go collect your order. Ace will be back soon to collect the last run, so you’re just in time for a same-day delivery,” the sweet girl behind the counter says, handing me a small white card and pen.
Fuck. What should I write? Thanks for the training camp.
No. Maybe thanks for not having me kicked off the team when I was a total dick during the last game?
Again, no. Crap, okay, how about just thanks for everything?
Yep, that’ll be good. Simple enough to not be weird and friendly enough to be real.
I sign off underneath with an L, and slip the card into the small white envelope just as the florist returns.
“So, what do you think?” she asks, holding up the bunch of perfectly yellow sunflowers surrounded by at least half a dozen sheets of white tissue paper.
“Beautiful,” I tell her, and she blushes like it’s a line she’s heard used on her before but never tires of hearing.
Only I really am talking about the flowers.
Sure, I am bi, and I’ve had girlfriends in the past, but being in the NHL is hectic enough without having to try to work in a new relationship.
I don’t know how any of these guys manage to date and get married and have families with everything else going on.
Reid is almost thirty, and I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen anything online about him being in a relationship, so maybe not all of the guys have it figured out.
“Oh, we should probably include one of those vases too. I don’t know if he’ll have one to put them in. Maybe that green glass one you have there,” I say, pointing to the one I want on the shelves behind her.
“He’s one lucky guy,” she replies as she reorganizes the flowers in the vase, and I don’t correct her.
It’s nice having someone think I’m that guy.
The one who sends flowers. I mean, I guess I kind of am.
Only these are totally platonic flowers.
A friendly thank you. Nothing else. No matter how hot his growly face is.