Chapter 14
Lex
“I need to get my stuff from the locker room,” I mutter, though my voice comes out whiny since I’m still holding gauze up to my nose. It hurts like a bitch, but it’s nothing compared to what that scene I walked in on did to me.
Dad . . . breaking pictures of his achievements.
I didn’t want that. I never wanted it to come to this.
The fight on the ice is still mostly a blur to me, but there’s no way I can deny that I felt a push toward Montreal’s goalie.
I don’t know who pushed me, but I have a pretty good idea.
Does it matter?
It took an embarrassing amount of time for the doc to get to me, and I can’t figure out if that’s because there was just no one calling for him or because he also just doesn’t give two shits about me.
Now, though . . .
“Get everything,” Dad says, his voice still stuck in a growl.
I don’t know how I can apologize to him, how I can possibly find the words to tell him I’m sorry that he now hates his former team.
With a bitch of a headache already half formed, and every thought passing through in a blur without giving me time to process anything fully, all I can do is turn around and go to the locker room.
“I’ll help,” I hear Eli say from behind me, and embarrassment fills me again. He saw firsthand just how much I’ve failed, how far my team is willing to go to punish me for . . . for whatever they think they need to punish me for.
I push the doors open and go right to my cubbie, start dumping stuff in my duffle, and finish getting rid of my gear—half of it’s still in the exam room and I’m sure as shit not packing that up.
“Are there any cameras in here?” Eli’s voice sounds . . . funny. I can’t pinpoint exactly why, but when I turn, I see him looking around with narrowed eyes.
“Uhm . . . no. There aren’t any?” I confirm but it comes out like a question.
“Perfect,” he says with a sudden brightness that has a spark of dread going up my spine. It gets worse when he marches right up to Girard’s cubbie and starts inspecting it.
“What are you doing?” I ask in a whisper, even though I know no one’s coming since the period wasn’t even halfway done when I went down, and though I don’t know exactly how much time has passed, we still probably have at least ten minutes before anyone comes in here.
“Looking for his phone,” Eli says matter-of-factly.
“It’s on the top shelf, just—” Why did I tell him that? Shit.
He jumps on the bench and gives a tiny shout of triumph when he finds it, then he pulls out a cable from his pocket and connects it to his own phone, taps, taps, taps on it, and connects it to Ewing’s phone too.
“Eli! What are you doing?”
He turns with a smile I’ve never seen on him before, one that promises nothing good.
“It can’t hurt to see if there’s anything I can find in here to make sure he pays for pushing you, right?”
“Fuck, Eli. That’s not—”
He waves me away and looks back down at his phone, nods to himself, then places Ewing’s phone right back where he found it.
As if he hadn’t just broken the law—probably a few, actually—he jumps back down and strolls over to me, and nods at my duffel.
“Is that all?”
“What? What?” I repeat. I can’t fucking think.
“Let me help.” He goes right in and pulls out all the contents of my cubbie so they fall in, then zips it closed and shoulders it.
“I can carry it,” I protest, but he’s already walking out.
Dad nods at Eli like he’s just completed some important task when we walk back to him, then throws his keys at him after Eli passes my bag to Austin.
“Take this all to his place then meet us at Cedars-Sinai—”
“I don’t need to go to the hospital, Dad,” I interrupt, knowing damn well the security guards a few steps away will report back to the GM and probably anyone else who asks about what we talk about.
Dad spares me a look that tells me to shut up, and I just don’t have any energy left.
My shoulders droop in defeat and I just let him take care of all of it now.
What’s the point in resisting?
It’s not like I didn’t earn this with every stupid decision I’ve made since I joined this godforsaken team.
“Here you go, sir.”
The door to the private room opens and Patrick walks in, his face transforming from the smile he offered the nurse into that quiet focus that always gives me peace of mind.
It’s the kind of determination he goes into boardrooms with, the one that made me want to sign on with him, and that is one thing I’ll never regret.
“What did the doctor say?”
I appreciate the fact that he asks me, even though it was Dad who called him from my car.
“We’re just waiting for them to get a look at the X-rays,” I tell him, my voice coming out robotic and still sounding ridiculous despite that.
“Good.” He pauses and takes a deep breath. It’s quick, but it’s enough time to have me bracing for the worst. I don’t know why, but I just know he doesn’t have good news. “The Empire accepted a trade from the Demons. The league has been notified and as soon as they accept it, it’ll be announced.”
I . . .
What?
“Fuck,” Dad spits, and I don’t think I have anything better to say, even if I could get my mouth to work again, or even the connection between my brain and my mouth to function properly. “That was fucking fast.”
“It was,” Patrick says, voice measured even as he sucks in another deep breath and crosses his arms. “I wasn’t aware they were in talks, and I don’t know if that’s because they weren’t and this just worked out exceedingly fast, or because they didn’t want me to know, but since New York wasn’t on your fuck-no list, they told me this was the only trade they would accept for you, and I .
. .” He looks at me then, his eyes softening around the corners.
“You can still say no, and I sure as shit wouldn’t blame you even with what happened today, but I don’t think they’re bluffing. ”
“They’d keep me for another two seasons here or send me down to the AHL before giving me anything they think I want,” I surmise and Dad spits a few more colorful curses.
“I’m sorry,” he says, regret painting his words.
“For what?” I demand, though I’m still unable to say it back. I should . . . I want to say it back.
“Maybe they wouldn’t have sent you to the fucking Demons if I hadn’t trashed their fucking hallway.”
His voice waivers with emotion, his accent—the one he doesn’t really have anymore—suddenly front and centre.
“They’ve been assholes the whole time,” I tell him, my voice as weak as my argument, but thankfully Patrick is here.
“I don’t think they would’ve given Lex a choice regardless of tonight’s events, Ruko.” He makes a slashing motion with one hand and keeps his gaze steady on Dad. “The offer from the Demons is just too good for them to pass it up.”
“What are they getting anyway?” I ask, grasping at the topic change eagerly. God, I wish Eli was here, he’d probably find the perfect way to keep Dad and me from spiraling any further.
“They’re getting Charlot and Boulanger.”
I let that sink in, and after considering it, I decide that’s not embarrassing. Not at all.
“Their second line center and first line defenseman,” Dad muses, all traces of his brimming emotions gone.
“And I’m going to fucking New York,” I mumble, and it finally sinks in. “They’re going to fucking murder me,” I whisper, and the pressure that’s not even real yet becomes a crushing weight on my chest.
“Look.” Patrick speaks faster now, obviously seeing I’m about to panic.
“Is it the biggest market in American sports? Yes. Will there be scrutiny? Also yes. But you are Alexei Jankowski, the fans will be fucking ecstatic that you’re becoming a Demon.
They’re probably going to sell it as you are finally playing for your hometown. ”
This is my hometown, I think, but I keep it quiet because . . .
Well, I don’t really have one.
Yes, I was born here and lived the first twelve years of my life here, but Mom is in New York, Eli is there . . .
“Not putting it on my fuck-no list was fucking stupid,” I mumble, and have to look up when neither of them have anything to say to that.
Dad’s green eyes—same as mine—bore into me with that perceptive gaze that’s always seen too much.
“Why didn’t you?” he asks quietly.
I might hate him just a little bit for that.
He knows why, but he wants me to say it.
“Own up to your decisions, Alexei.”
His words from so long ago are painfully relevant now.
Back then he said it when he took me to Richester, right after I broke Eli’s heart, and Dad obviously didn’t know the details, but he knew enough. He saw right through me back then and he still does.
So he’s just asking to make me face it. To own it.
“Because even playing for the world’s oldest homophobe couldn’t stop me from wanting to be close to Eli.”
That . . . snaps something inside me.
Into place.
I do want to be close to Eli, and now I’ll have that chance.
“Okay then.” The finality in Dad’s tone closes out more than just the conversation. It shifts the tone, the emotional toll, and the temperature inside the room.
Dad sits on the armchair next to the bed and Patrick pats my shoulder before muttering something about making a call and exiting quietly.
When I turn back around, Dad’s putting his phone to his ear.
I listen to his side of the call, and I wonder briefly why I didn’t even think about how long it was taking him to call Uncle Paul.
“Paul, you need to call your—fuck, I don’t even know.
Your lawyer? Yeah. Did you see it? Fucking assholes.
I went all Hulk on their asses. Yeah, broke a few frames of our wins.
No. No, I know. I don’t want them to use me to say they’re some kind of—yes, exactly.
Fuck, how the hell should I know if they had a clause in our contracts about using our likenesses, Paul?
I’m at the hospital with Lex. We’re waiting to see if he needs surgery or not.
I can’t tell you yet. You know damn well why, Paul.
” By the end he sounds tired and I feel infinitely worse.
“You’ll find out what’s happening soon enough.
In the meantime, please get someone who can read through those damn contracts and see if we can make them take all the pictures of us down, yeah? ”
I can’t look away when he puts his phone away, and though I still don’t know how to tell him how much I wish things were different, I can at least start a conversation about this shitshow.
“You okay?”
“What?” he snaps at me, with a sudden fury in his eyes that I haven’t seen since I first told him about what playing for the Empire has been really like. “What do you mean, am I okay, are you? Is your nose still bleeding?”
I like him being all worried over me, so I don’t protest when he puts a finger on my chin and lifts my face up to examine it.
“Da-ad.” The crack in my voice is enough to have his face softening.
“What is it?” he asks softly.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, the words so low that I’m not sure he heard them.
“Lex,” he starts sharply, but I need to get this out.
“If I’d told you sooner,” I say louder. “Then maybe I could’ve found a way to fix this. Maybe I would’ve been able to do what you and Uncle Paul did. I’m sorry that you hate them now.” My voice loses all its power gradually.
“Listen to me, Alexei.” The use of my full name puts me on alert as he shifts to the edge of his chair so he’s as close as possible and grips my hand tight.
His gaze is wide open, willing me to see everything there.
“The stupid love and loyalty I had for them is the reason why you didn’t feel like you could tell me, so believe me when I tell you that I don’t mind losing them, all right?
I don’t care about them, not at all, and I never want to put you in a position again where you think something—anything—is more important than you, okay? So I’m the one who’s sorry, son.”
The door opens quietly before I can blubber anything back—which is as good as that was going to go.
Eli steps in, sunlight coming through behind him making him look like the angel he’s always been.
“I’m going to New York,” I blurt, and it comes without me even having to think about it.
I don’t know if Dad and I will continue this conversation anytime soon, I’ll probably need ten to fifteen business days to digest it, and probably that therapy he’s been telling me I should get.
And honestly, Eli’s answering smile is worth interrupting something that’s been such a long time coming.
It’s worth more than knowing I’m going to play for a team whose owner—and management from what I hear—are as bigoted as anyone can be in New York.
I don’t think any of the players are especially nasty, though, at least not from my experience, so maybe it won’t be so bad.
It can’t be, because I’ll be with Eli.
The doctor walks in before he can react beyond that blindingly perfect smile, with the news that I’ll be needing surgery because there’s danger of the bone shifting enough to damage my eye socket and affect my breathing.
I groan at the thought, and groan yet again when he informs me I won’t even be able to train for two weeks, and if—if everything in my recovery goes perfectly, then maybe I’ll be back on the ice again in a month.
“They’ll bring you down for surgery in just over an hour,” she finishes, and then takes her leave after Dad’s done asking questions.
“Let’s hope the Demons don’t back out when they hear about it,” I mumble.
“Let me tell Patrick so he can call anyone who needs to know,” Dad says as he stands. But he turns before he leaves. “Call your mother now,” he commands, with that tone that makes me automatically do whatever he says.
It’s a talent.
There’s also maybe the possibility that I might do anything he asks of me for the foreseeable future after the way he just cut off his old team for how they’ve been treating me.
Sure, I knew he was angry at them ever since I went to his house weeks ago and finally told him everything that had been going on, but for some reason I never truly expected him to just decide he’s done with them.
I could hear the fans booing and indiscernible shouts of outrage when I went down, but I couldn’t really tell if it was all aimed at me.
Bleeding on the ice and in pain, I did have a moment where the sharpest pain came from the thought that now I’d also lost the support of the fans.
I still don’t know if what Patrick said is true, if the Demons’ fans will welcome me with open arms, but right now, with Eli walking slowly toward me looking like he just won the lottery, it doesn’t really matter.