Chapter 25
No Fan Of Mine
Hildy
The hospital doors slide open with that mechanical sigh that always feels too calm for what just happened inside.
Anna walks between Kilovac and Lenzin, who has a firm grip on my hand, and Deacon is on my left.
We step into the cold night air, and that’s when we hear him.
Reznik is twenty feet away, phone in his hand, pacing like a caged animal.
And he’s not happy, not polished or media-ready, he’s livid.
“…no fan of mine throws a bottle at a woman because she supports her team. A woman who will now be scarred by something you’ve done. I don’t care what jersey she’s wearing. I don’t care what numbers are on her back.”
His voice is low and sharp.
“We play in America. We play in Canada. If you are using my chirping on the ice or my name to justify hurting someone, you are not my fan.”
Comments are flying. I can see the reflection in his screen.
He doesn’t look at them. “If you think politics belong in the stands, stay home. If you think defending me means attacking her, you don’t fucking know me or how I feel about violence that’s not on the ice or a field being regulated by rules, that both sides follow or pay a penalty.”
“Holy shit.” Anna sighs.
He doesn’t know we’re there. He’s not performing for us. He’s correcting his people.
“If you were the ones who caused a woman to get taken to the hospital, you will be dealt with. If you were in that area tonight and did nothing, you’d better rethink what kind of person you are.”
He exhales through his teeth and runs a hand over his face, and sputters profanities in Ukrainian, and only then does he look up and see us.
Anna is the first to speak. “You didn’t have to —”
“Yes,” he says immediately. “I did.”
Kilovac steps forward slightly, calm but unyielding. “Cancel your ride.”
Reznik blinks. “What?”
“You’re not Uber-ing to the airport after this.”
“I’m fine.”
“That wasn’t a suggestion,” Kilovac replies evenly.
Lenzin nods once. “We’ll get you there.”
Reznik hesitates.
Anna lifts her chin slightly. “He’s not wrong.”
He studies her, and she holds his gaze.
“We’ll be here all night if you think you’ll win a staring contest with her,” I state. “Let’s go.”
He nods once.
“Fine.”
Lenzin has not stopped looking at me since we left the hospital. Every time I look away and glance back, he’s still staring intensely.
Deacon pulls up to the departures curb at JFK and doesn’t cut the engine. I open the door to let him out, and cold air rushes in, and I slide out to embrace it.
Outside, a small cluster of Phoenix’s players waits near the concrete barrier.
Three of them with duffle bags at their feet, hoodies up. When they see Reznik, they straighten.
One of them takes in the stitches on Anna’s temple and swears quietly under his breath.
Reznik doesn’t greet them first; he turns back toward us, toward Kilovac, toward Faulker. The men who play on the other side of him. The men whose friend was injured by residual anger stemming from the game.
He studies them for a second, then nods once. “Picture.”
Faulker exhales through his nose. “You’re kidding.”
“Get over here.”
Kilovac steps up first, no hesitation.
“Means you too, Deacon,” Lenzin says as Faulker joins him.
Deacon slides in at the edge, and Reznik moves among them all, phone up, snaps a picture, and taps the screen.
The Fight Stays On The Ice. No hashtags. No emojis.
One of his teammates steps closer. “You good?”
Reznik nods once. “She’s okay, so yes.”
The teammate’s eyes flick to Anna.
He gives her a short nod. It’s respectful enough I suppose. No apology from them, and they didn’t do this, but they understand what happened.
Reznik slings his bag higher on his shoulder.
He steps closer to the vehicle. “You need anything, DM me.”
She rolls her eyes, but I swear I see heat flare just a touch in her face.
He does too. His jaw tightens as he turns and walks away.
After we all get in, I notice her tapping on her phone, and turn to where they’re walking in, and see him pull his phone from his pocket and shake his head.
I look at Anna and arch a brow, she feigns innocence.
“Hell no,” Lenzin grumbles.
“Never you mind.” She states.
“That’s a double hell no,” Kilovac says from the front passenger seat.
The drive back feels longer than the one to the airport. No one talks much as Deacon drives us all back into the city.
Lenzin is still staring at me like he’s holding something back, and I’m afraid of what that could be. Instead of worrying or wondering, I turn to Anna and watch as she leans back against the leather carefully, one hand near her temple but not touching it.
“Are you okay?” I ask quietly. “Do you need anything?”
“Yes, and no, but thank you.”
I close my eyes and lean back.
When we stop, I open my eyes and realize I’ve dozed off.
I cover my mouth as I yawn, as Lenzin opens the door, holds out his hand, and helps me out.
“Help Anna, I’m good. I —”
“Go check on Lucy,” he nods, knowing where my head is. “We’re right behind you.”
When I walk into the foyer, I hear highlights playing on the TV in the background and a whispered conversation.
Sophie is curled into one end of the couch, Savannah asleep against her chest.
Claudia is cross-legged on the floor with Noelle and Dash. Nalani has a blanket over her legs and is half asleep, half watching Lucy, who is asleep on Hank’s lap.
Lucy stirs when the door shuts, eyes blinking open slowly, and smiles that adorable sleepy smile at me and then beyond me, spotting Anna, and gasps.
“Ouch, you have a boo boo?”
Anna smiles, slow and careful. “It’s all fixed now.”
Lucy slides off Hank’s lap and pads over, barefoot, grabs her hand, and pulls her down to get a better look.
She studies the stitches. “Does it hurt?”
“Only if I touch it,” Anna replies.
Lucy nods gravely. “You shouldn’t do that.”
Anna smiles and kisses the top of her head, “And you should be asleep, it’s late.”
“Hockey nights are late nights.” Lucy sighs and nods.
“They sure are.”
“And you,” Lenzin scoops her up, “have school in two sleeps.”
“And a locker like you.”
“And a locker like me.” He kisses her cheek.
I look over as Deacon lifts Savannah.
“Thank you all for —”
Aleks stops me, “No thanks needed, we’re a team.”
He takes Sophie’s hand and pulls her up, and she smiles, “Family.”
I wake and see it’s eight thirty in the morning, and Lucy is still sound asleep.
I slide out of her bed quietly, not only because we’d talked about her sleeping in her room alone since she’s starting school, but because I missed saying goodbye to Lenzin this morning, and checking on Anna, who has a concussion.
I slide out carefully, so the mattress doesn’t shift, tug the blanket back around her shoulder, and grab the first sweatshirt I see and pull it over my head without thinking.
It’s his.
It hangs loose and warm and smells like him, and I don’t examine why that makes my stomach dip the way it does.
I glance back when I hear her move, and she’s sprawled across her bed, one arm over her head, hair tangled across her cheek, breathing deep and even.
Good.
I round the corner and stop.
He’s at the window.
Just standing there.
Bare feet on hardwood, dark gray sweats sitting low on his hips, broad shoulders squared like he’s deep in thought. The morning light cuts across him, outlining the hard lines of his back, the easy strength in the way he carries himself even when he’s standing unmoving.
I actually forgot why I walked out here.
Women joke about hockey players’ asses, and I used to roll my eyes at that. I thought it was ridiculous. Immature. Objectifying.
Now I’m standing in the hallway staring at my boyfriend in gray sweatpants and thinking maybe there are peer-reviewed journals dedicated to this phenomenon, and I would absolutely volunteer as a research assistant.
“You’re staring,” he says without turning.
“I am not.”
He turns slowly anyway, because of course he does, and that is objectively worse.
His hair is still sleep tousled, curling at the ends.
His eyes are lighter this morning, less guarded and darker than last night.
He takes in the oversized sweatshirt I threw on, the way it swallows me, and something shifts in his expression.
Not lust exactly. Something softer. Possessive in a way that makes my stomach flutter.
“You missed me this morning.”
Not accusing, but confident… perhaps even a little bit cocky.
“And I didn’t check on Anna all night,” I say, because guilt is my default setting.
He walks toward me slowly, unhurried, like he knows I am not going anywhere. “Anna’s fine. She’s flying out this morning. She feels more comfortable seeing her doctor.”
“Is that safe?” I ask immediately.
“We fly with concussions all the time.”
“Wait, what happened? Why does she need a doctor? Did she—”
“I’m vain. Completely and totally.” Anna.
I turn, and there she is, already dressed, sunglasses on inside like a celebrity avoiding paparazzi. “I trust my plastic surgeon.”
“Your plastic surgeon?”
“I cannot have a scar.”
“It wouldn’t matter if you had fifty stitches,” I tell her, and my throat tightens unexpectedly. “You’re beautiful, Anna.”
She softens at that, really softens, the way she only does in private moments. “When I get a call that I need to be here, for you,” she says as she hugs me and whispers. “My friend.”
“Are you better, Aunt Anna?” Lucy’s small voice comes from behind us.
“Come here, my little love.” Anna squats, opening her arms.
Lucy barrels into her like she always does, no hesitation, full trust. Anna holds her tight, sunglasses slipping down her nose. For a second, it looks like she might cry, but she swallows it and presses a kiss into Lucy’s hair.
Lenzin leaves, already running behind schedule, and Anna smiles at us, “If I’m going back to Germany to face my mother and my surgeon, we are doing this properly.”
“Doing what properly?” I ask.
“Restoration,” she says simply. “Come. Both of you.”