Chapter 22 #2
Mats glares at me hard enough to melt steel. I just smirk wider, knowing exactly the kind of trouble I just pushed him into. Viktor’s mother is right there. Lena is hovering near that side of the room. This is going to be glorious.
Mats groans, but he stands up anyway, muttering curses under his breath as he starts walking over in the sneakiest way possible. I watch with pure delight, expecting him to try something ridiculous. Instead, he goes straight for Lena.
He leans in close to her, saying something low that makes her actually blush — Lena, my sister, who doesn't blush easily.
From this distance it doesn't even look like he's pretending.
Mats leans even closer, one arm snaking smoothly around her waist as he reaches behind her for the vodka bottle.
Then, bold as brass, he kisses her on the cheek, grabs the bottle, and turns back toward the table with the smuggest grin I have ever seen on his face.
Lena is left standing there staring after him, cheeks pink, looking equal parts surprised and something else I do not want to examine too closely.
“You absolute traitor!” I shout across the room as Mats saunters back, holding the bottle like a trophy. The team explodes into laughter and cheers. Elias is howling. Shane is slapping the table. Even some of the rookies are losing it.
Mats just winks at me as he sits down, setting the vodka in the middle of the table. “Your dare, Hollywood. I delivered.”
I flip him off, still glaring, but I can't stop the laugh that bubbles up despite myself.
“Rivera!” Viktor’s voice booms across the room like thunder, deep and commanding. Mats freezes mid-step, bottle still in hand, looking like he just got caught stealing from the principal’s office. I smirk triumphantly, leaning back in my chair with pure satisfaction.
“Turn your ass back around and put that bottle where you found it before I come get it myself,” Viktor says.
Mats actually chokes on his own spit, coughing hard as he spins around.
Before he can even react further, I am up out of my chair, snatching the bottle from his hand with a victorious grin.
I twist the cap off and start drinking straight from it — one burning shot, two, three — the vodka hitting my throat like liquid fire.
The team is losing it, cheering and laughing as I tilt the bottle back like an idiot who has not learned his lesson from the first two times.
Viktor is there in seconds. His big hand closes around the bottle, taking it from me. I cough hard, my eyes watering, chest burning as I look up at him. He is towering over me as he stares down at my flushed, teary face.
The whole room has gone quieter, waiting to see what happens.
I am still trying to catch my breath, but I can't stop the stupid little grin that tugs at my lips even through the burn.
Viktor looks like he is two seconds away from throwing me over his shoulder again, and part of me really, really wants him to.
But Viktor just turns around without another word and heads straight for the kitchen.
Roman tries to protest, saying something in Russian that sounds concerned, but Viktor ignores him completely.
I watch, dizzy and already regretting every life choice that led me to this moment, as Viktor pours the vodka down the drain like it personally ruined his life.
The entire bottle. Glug glug glug. Gone.
I slump back down in my chair, the room spinning in slow, nauseating circles.
The alcohol hit me harder than I expected, and now everything feels too bright, too loud, too much.
I notice Damian staring after Viktor with a furrowed brow — because Viktor has never thrown away his precious Russian vodka before.
Not once. Not even when Shane almost drank the whole flask last season.
Great. This day is juuuust great.
I push my chair back and stand up, swaying a little as I head after Viktor.
My legs feel like jelly, but I need to check on him.
Need to make sure he is not spiraling the same way I was earlier.
The kitchen is quieter, the noise of the party muffled behind me as I step inside and see Viktor standing at the sink, hands braced on the counter, with his head slightly bowed.
“Vik…” I start, my voice softer than I mean for it to be. “Vik… I’m sorry,” I slur as I lean against the kitchen counter for support.
Viktor turns and looks down at me with a sad smile that makes my chest hurt even more. “It’s okay, Vance,” he says.
I frown at the name. He never calls me Vance like that. Not anymore. It feels wrong.
When Damian enters the kitchen a moment later, Viktor turns without another word and walks back toward the living room, slamming the empty vodka bottle into Damian’s chest as he passes. Damian catches it easily, eyebrows raised, but says nothing as Viktor disappears back into the noise.
Damian looks at me. “What happened, Hollywood?”
“His dad happened,” I say, the words tasting bitter. “I’m gonna go home.”
“Good luck getting past Elias,” Damian raises an eyebrow at me, the corner of his mouth twitching like he already knows how this is going to go.
I rub my face with both hands. “Coach…”
Damian throws the empty bottle in the trash and turns to me again. “He’s so scared of hurting you it’s annoying. Give him some time.”
I snort. A sad, tired snort, because I have already lost four years waiting for him to stop being scared. “Sure… time.”
I push off the counter and walk out of the kitchen before I can say anything else that might make this night even worse. The living room is still loud and bright and full of laughter, but it feels farther away than it should.
I make my way over to Marina first, because leaving without saying goodbye to her feels wrong on every level.
She looks up at me with those kind eyes that remind me so much of Viktor’s when he lets his guard down, and I lean down to kiss her cheek gently.
“It was nice meeting you, ma’am,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “Hope to see you again soon.”
“Are you leaving? So early?” Marina asks, concern flickering across her face as she searches mine.
“I’m not feeling well,” I say, forcing a small smile down at her worried expression. It is not entirely a lie — my head is spinning and my chest hurts in ways I don't know how to explain. She nods, still looking a little concerned, but she squeezes my hand gently before letting me go.
I turn to find Lena for a hug, but she is deep in conversation with Mats, laughing at something he said with a blush on her cheeks. I roll my eyes and decide not to interrupt whatever that is. Instead, I head for the hallway to grab my jacket and I walk straight into a glaring Elias.
“Nope,” he says, arms crossed, blocking my path like a very determined bouncer.
“Curls… I’m hammered,” I half-lie, swaying a little for effect. I am drunk, yes, but that's not why I need to leave. I just can't sit here and pretend everything is fine when Viktor is pulling away again and I feel like I am one wrong word away from losing him for good.
Elias studies me for a long second. “Bullshit. You’re running. Talk to me, Hollywood.”
I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck, the noise of the party feeling too loud behind me. “Not tonight, Curls. Please. I just… need some air.”
He doesn't move right away, but something in my face must convince him because he steps aside, though not without one last worried look. “Text me when you get home. And Cole?”
I pause, looking back at him.
“I’m here. Always.”
I nod and head for the door before I can change my mind. The cold night air hits me like a slap as I step outside, but it doesn't clear the ache in my chest.
I've barely made it ten steps away from the house when I hear Elias’s shriek from inside, loud and dramatic enough to carry through the closed door. “VIKTOR PETROV!!”
It's that specific scolding tone he uses — the one that never actually works on Viktor but makes the rest of us straighten up anyway.
I yelp myself, heart jumping into my throat, and immediately start walking faster down the snowy driveway.
I am one hundred percent sure Elias is in there making Viktor follow me.
Of course he is. The meddling little shit saw me slip out and probably decided to play matchmaker whether I wanted it or not.
My boots crunch against the snow as I pick up the pace, breath fogging in the cold night air.
Part of me wants Viktor to follow. The bigger part — the scared, spiraling part — is terrified of what he will say if he does.
I don't know how to fix whatever is breaking between us.
I only know I can't stand here and watch him pull away anymore tonight.