Chapter 12 - Aleksey
Three minutes passed while I stared up at the ceiling tiles. I kept waiting for the instinct to bolt to hit, but it didn’t come. Instead, my back stuck flat against the matte-black floor of the varsity recovery room.
Usually, I checked out after sex. Fucking was just fucking. You get off, you zip up, you leave. Letting it mean something was how you got stupid, and stupid meant losing the scholarship.
So, lying here next to Karter should have set off every alarm in my head. Instead, it was just... silence.
I turned my head. Karter had his hands resting lightly on his stomach. He was watching me.
“Aleks?” Karter said.
“Hey.” My throat was dry.
He shifted on the matte-black floor. Opened his mouth. Closed it. “This is all new to me.”
I frowned. “New how? Sneaking into the recovery room at night?”
“Any of it. All of it.” Karter didn’t look away. “You’re my first.”
“Huh?” My lungs stalled out. I pushed up on my elbow and looked down at him. “First guy you’ve been with?”
“First anyone, really.”
He said it like it was nothing, just a fact. My fingers curled into fists against the rubber mat. Karter could have his pick of girls at Ridge Cross. Girls with the same trust fund and the same pedigree.
“Bullshit.”
Karter frowned. “Why would I joke about that?”
“Look at you.” I waved a hand at him. “Thought all you Johnston’s could get girls lining up for you.”
He shrugged as he lay on the floor. “That was always Elliot’s thing. He gets the attention. I just coast.”
“Bullshit.”
“It’s true.” Karter turned his head to face me. “Nobody really paid attention to me like that. Not until you.” He paused, studying me. “What about you?”
I dropped my head back against the floor and looked at the ceiling again. “I’ve slept around.”
Karter went dead still.
“Mostly girls,” I said. “And a couple of guys. Nothing that ever got talked about again.”
“Oh.” The word was clipped.
A dull flush crept up his neck. He shifted away from me, crossing his arms tight over his chest like a shield, his eyes glued to the far wall.
“Random hookups?” he asked.
“Yeah. Cheap, fast, and no damn talking.”
I wanted to push him away. That was the instinct. Give him the ugly truth so he’d get up and walk. But watching him pout over my history of cheap hookups caught me off guard.
A genuine laugh scraped out of my throat. He looked ridiculous and weirdly cute.
I rolled onto my side, and my arm brushed his. “Hey.”
He ignored me.
“Hey. Look at me.”
He finally turned his head. His mouth was pulled tight, annoyed.
“I work the night shift stocking boxes,” I told him, keeping my voice level. “I’m on the ice six days a week. When I have a few hours, I sleep. I don’t have the time or the cash for anyone else right now. Just you.”
The tension bled out of him. A slow breath escaped his chest, and he dropped his arms back to the mat.
I stayed right there on the floor for a few more minutes. Karter shifted closer, his shoulder brushing mine. I closed my eyes and let my muscles ache, fully aware that the quiet wouldn’t survive the daylight. But we couldn’t stay any longer.
So, I forced myself to sit up and fix my clothes, telling him it was time to head back to the Ice House.
Four days passed before reality caught up with me.
Trading study notes with Karter became easy, too easy.
He’d knock on my door with his color-coded flashcards, and we’d sit on the floor with textbooks spread between us.
I told myself that was all it was—just keeping my GPA alive.
The lie inside my head had stretched, thin and false, until I almost believed it could stay that way.
Now, as I sat squinting into the sunlight knifing its way through the cheap blinds of my academic advisor’s cramped office, I should have known better.
Mr. Morris slid a single piece of paper across his desk.
“Two-point-six,” Morris said. “You pulled it off, Aleksey. You’re officially off academic probation. Barely.”
A breath left my lungs. Karter’s color-coded notes had worked. “So I’m cleared to play this weekend?”
“You’re academically cleared for the ice. Yes.” Morris picked up a pen and tapped the plastic against the wood.
Tap. Tap.
Growing up in Detroit taught me one thing: nothing comes for free.
I stared at him. “But?”
Morris stopped tapping. “Why do you assume there’s a ‘but’?”
“Because there always is. What’s the catch?”
He turned to his computer monitor and clicked his mouse a few times. His brow furrowed. “The Athletic Compliance Office flagged your file this morning.”
Every muscle in my back locked. “For grades? You just said I passed.”
“Not for grades.” Morris turned his screen slightly. “Coach Corby submitted a behavioral note. He requested a full report on your focus and any off-ice distractions.”
“Off-ice distractions?”
“After your fight at the tournament,” Morris said, his tone flat. “The administration wants to make sure your head is in the game. They’re monitoring you.”
I gripped the cheap plastic armrests of my chair. Morris made it sound like standard procedure. It wasn’t.
Of course they were looking for a reason. One major penalty and the administration was already trying to find an excuse to cut me loose. A suspension would kill the AHC contract Gavin Phillips offered in the tunnel, the one real shot I had to pull my mother out of double shifts.
“Bullshit,” I said. “They want a reason to pull my money.”
“Aleksey, don’t jump to conclusions.”
“Like they did with Pearson?” I pushed, my voice getting louder. “Two years ago. They dug into his private life until they found something they didn’t like, and they cut him.”
The school called it a conduct violation on paper. But the whole locker room knew what really happened. Pearson actually got his scholarship pulled because some legacy alumni forced him out for sleeping with a guy.
Morris looked over his glasses, shifting in his seat. “Pearson violated the student code of conduct. That’s public record. This is simply a warning to stay focused.”
Coach Corby didn’t know about Karter. There was no way. But my stomach still hit the floor. The back of my neck went cold.
Off-ice distractions. They were digging. And if they found out someone like me was ‘corrupting’ a legacy freshman? I was done. They’d practically pack my bags for me.
I pictured my mother working extra shifts at the nursing home just to keep me in skates. My home city was right there, waiting to swallow me back up. Getting sloppy over Karter was a mistake that would cost me everything.
“Go to class,” Morris told me. “Play hockey. And don’t give them a reason to look closer.”
“Sure,” I muttered. I grabbed my duffel bag and stood up.
I had to back off and cut ties with Karter before everything I had worked for got ripped away. The scholarship, the contract, the chance to pull my mother out of double shifts: it all hinged on keeping my head down.
Practice was a blur of checks and sprints. I threw my weight into every hit, kept my eyes off Karter’s number, and skated until my lungs burned. Perez studied me from the far boards, his gum clicking, cataloging evidence I was too exhausted to hide.
Later that afternoon, I focused on the sharp ripping sound of my athletic tape as I sat in the locker room. I jammed my shoulder pads into my open duffel bag, pushing down hard to make room before tearing off another strip of tape to wrap a loose strap.
Slamming the metal door shut of my locker with enough force to make it rattle, I ignored the loud laughter from a couple of guys across the room.
I locked my jaw and tried to square my shoulders to take up more space on the bench, aiming for the cold smirk that usually kept everyone out of my way. But I couldn’t find the energy to keep the act going.
Across the locker room, Karter was standing near the showers and talking to Elliot, and I caught myself staring at him for way too long.
Angel Perez stepped into my line of sight and leaned against my locker to block my view. He tossed a roll of white tape up and caught it, the smack of it hitting his palm cutting through the noise.
“You’re staring at him again,” he muttered.
I gripped the thick canvas of my duffel bag and dropped my eyes to my gear. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah, you do.” Perez didn’t look at me, just knelt down to work on untying his skates. “You’ve been doing it all week. Like you’re tracking a puck with your whole head.”
“Maybe I’m studying his skating form.”
A short laugh barked out of him. “Yeah, his skating form. That’s what you’re studying.” He yanked a lace loose. “Bro, you skated across two lines at the tournament to take out a guy who breathed on him wrong. I’ve seen you play for two years. You don’t do that for just anyone.”
“You said it, not me.”
“Sure,” Perez shook his head. “Shit, man... I don’t care what you do outside the rink. But you’ve gotta be smart.”
“Angel—”
“Wait, let me finish.” He pulled his other lace loose, slower this time, like he was choosing his words. “If Elliot or Trenton catches you staring at him like that? It’s over, bro. For all of us.”
“Nothing’s over.”
“You think these people play fair?” Perez dropped a skate onto the rubber floor. The hollow clatter echoed off the metal lockers. “The administration is already looking for a reason to dump you.”
My hands stopped. “How do you know that?”
Perez checked over his shoulder before leaning in a fraction.
“I pay attention. And I know how this school operates.” He let the silence sit for a beat.
“Look, I don’t care what kind of extra arrangement you have going on with the captain’s little brother.
But if people start putting pieces together, the fallout won’t land on him. ”
“We’re just studying.”
“Don’t bullshit me. I see how you track him. And I see the way he watches you back.” He scratched the side of his chin. “If whatever this is blows up, the Johnston kid gets a transfer to another rich school. But you get a one-way bus ticket back home.”
Cold sweat broke across the back of my neck.
“Just keep your eyes in your own zone,” Perez murmured. At that, he grabbed his towel and stood up, heading for the showers without looking back.
I dug my fingers into the canvas straps of my duffel, hauled it over my shoulder, and walked out.
I had to cut this thing with Karter off tonight before my entire life caved in.
The attic hallway was freezing. A harsh draft leaked through the old window, making me glad I still had my coat on while I hung back in the unlit corner near the stairs.
Karter came up the steps five minutes later. As soon as he neared his room, I stepped directly into his path and used my size to box him into the narrow space. Locking my knees, I fell back on being a prick.
“We’re done,” I told him.
Karter stopped and pressed a hand flat against the plaster wall. “Done with what?”
“All of it.” I waved a hand at the empty space between us. “The recovery room. The parties. Don’t even look at me at the rink. We just stop.”
He worried his lower lip with his teeth. “Nobody knows anything, Aleksey.”
“Angel knows.”
Karter dropped his hand. “Perez?”
“He practically spelled it out for me in the locker room.” I crowded a step closer. “And Morris pulled me in this morning to tell me the administration is looking into my distractions off the ice. They are actively hunting for a reason to cut me.”
“They don’t know about us,” Karter argued, shaking his head. “They’re just monitoring your probation.”
“You don’t get it. If this blows up, you walk away fine. But I don’t have a safety net.”
Karter’s face went completely hard. “Right. I forgot. I’m just the rich kid playing around.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It’s what you meant.” He stepped up to me, refusing to shrink away from my size. “You think I don’t know what I’m risking? My dad would pull me from the roster before the rumor even hit the internet. Elliot would probably never speak to me again.”
“That is not the same thing as losing your only way out.”
“My dad made me do a post-graduate year at some prep school after I already had my diploma. Said I needed more development. What he really meant was he didn’t want me on the same ice as Elliot, dragging down the family name.
” Karter’s words came out hard and fast. “He’s been waiting for me to fail since I stepped onto the ice.
You think he’d protect me from a scandal?
He’d use it as proof he was right about me all along. ”
The air in the hallway grew still.
“So don’t stand there and tell me I walk away fine.” He stepped closer. “Stop acting like you know what my family is.”
I opened my mouth. Nothing came.
Karter planted both hands on my chest and shoved me back a step.
“Stop acting like you’re the only one taking a hit,” he said, his voice carrying in the quiet hall.
I said nothing as I looked down at him. His hazel eyes were narrowed and furious, and he was absolutely refusing to back down.
Every instinct I had told me to grab the front of his shirt, shove him back against the opposite wall, and take whatever he was offering. But if I let myself touch him right now, I wouldn’t be able to walk away.
So instead, I pushed past him and walked away down the hall before I could change my mind, leaving him standing there.
I took both flights of stairs fast and didn’t stop until I shoved through the front door. The freezing wind hit my face the second I got outside, but my chest still burned where he’d pushed me.