Chapter 15 - Karter
Most guys would at least first ask what you were doing on a Friday night.
It was Friday night. The team had the weekend off before finals week.
Sitting on the edge of my bed, I stared at my phone screen.
Over the past few days, we had kept our distance at the rink.
Aleksey barely looked at me. And now, out of nowhere, later tonight, he wanted me to drive an hour out of town.
I checked his follow-up message: Sick of these thin attic walls. We need to finish what we started.
He had a point. Our study sessions lately consisted of locking the door, getting half undressed, and holding our breath every time Matt shifted on his side of the room.
I knew exactly what finishing meant. Or at least, what I wanted it to mean. We had never gone all the way, but I had spent the last few weeks thinking about it constantly.
So, sitting on the edge of my bed, I opened my phone browser and did what any clueless guy would do. I searched how to bottom. Scrolling through anonymous forums felt a bit awkward, but my nerves were totally overshadowed by how badly I wanted this.
Thirty minutes later, I grabbed my shower caddy, and locked myself in the communal bathroom for the next forty-five minutes to prep and clean myself out. I wanted to be ready for Aleksey. Only then did I put on my winter coat and grab my keys.
I pushed through the dorm’s thick front door.
The freezing night air hit my face like a wall.
I shoved my hands deep into my coat pockets as I kept my head down, trudging across the snow-packed campus toward the legacy frat house parking lot.
I hit the unlock button on my fob when I reached the back corner.
The headlights flashed over the dark SUV.
The thing mostly just sat here gathering snow. I hardly ever drove it, but tonight I needed it.
Twenty minutes later, my car heater blasted hot air against my shins. Gripping the leather steering wheel, I watched the snowy, unlit roads stretch out past the headlights.
All week I played my part. I nodded along to Coach Corby’s lectures, kept my head down in the locker room, and smiled whenever Trenton made one of his jokes. It was always easier to just agree and keep the peace.
But out here in the dark, I pressed my foot harder on the gas.
If my brother or anyone else caught me sneaking off to meet Aleksey, it would blow the team apart.
It would screw up the locker room dynamics and probably scare off the scouts.
Turner had told Aleksey they would dig into everything.
One wrong photograph, one teammate talking, and the offer vanished.
My fingers squeezed the leather wheel.
The tires crunched loud and crisp on the plowed asphalt as I pulled onto the shoulder. I shifted into park and let the engine idle.
A frozen lake spread out for miles. There was nothing around but empty wilderness and stars. A single battery-powered lantern sat on the ice, casting a yellow circle in the dark.
Standing by the edge of the ice, Aleksey waited with a pair of skates slung over his shoulder.
He wore that same faded winter coat that was two sizes too big, his hands shoved deep into the pockets.
The lantern light threw shadows over his face, making his deep-set eyes look black as they tracked my car pulling in.
He stood perfectly still in the freezing wind, watching me with that quiet, guarded focus he carried everywhere.
I stepped out of the heated SUV. The winter wind whipped at my cheeks, and I watched my breath fog in the freezing air.
“How did you get out here?” I asked, walking over to him. I knew he didn’t own a car.
He gave an unapologetic shrug. “I caught the county bus.”
“The bus doesn’t come out this far. Does it?”
“It goes to the highway turnoff.”
I looked back at the main road, then back at him. “That’s over a mile away.”
“So,” he shrugged, “I walked.” He brushed some stray snow off his jacket sleeve. His lips and cheeks were raw and red from the biting wind.
I knew how Aleksey operated. He saved his cash and never wasted energy. The fact that he dealt with crappy regional transit and hiked through the snow just to get us alone threw me for a second.
I stared at him. “You rode a bus and walked a mile in the dark.”
“Not a big deal,” Aleksey muttered. He looked away, tracking a spot out on the ice.
“It is a big deal. You spent half your night getting out here to stand in the freezing cold.”
“Are you going to complain, or are we going to skate?”
I stopped staring at him and took a proper look around. The lake was massive and untouched, framed by a thick tree line that kept us hidden from the highway. The ice looked smooth under the moonlight.
No roommates, no noise, and nobody watching.
“It is a great spot,” I admitted. “How did you even find this place?”
“Satellite view on my phone,” he said flatly. “I just looked for a place past the city limits.” Closing the distance, Aleksey stepped into my personal space. “I wanted a place nobody can see us,” he said, “and where we don’t have to be quiet.”
I shook my head and walked around to the back of the SUV to pop the liftgate. It swung up with a mechanical hum, and we sat side by side on the edge of the trunk to pull on our skates.
Pulling my laces tight, I took a deep breath of the freezing air. It was completely silent. There were no buzzing fluorescent rink lights, no guys shouting across the locker room, and no need to panic if someone walked past the door.
We left our boots in the trunk and hobbled over the snowbank, and didn’t bother with helmets or pads.
Stepping onto the pristine ice, I pushed off.
The sharp scrape of my steel blades echoed across the massive space.
I took a few hard strides to get a feel for the surface, then carved a quick turn so I was gliding backward.
Aleksey stepped onto the ice, looking a lot bigger and sturdier without his standard gear.
“Try to keep up,” I called over my shoulder, digging my edges in and launching forward.
Aleksey’s flat voice carried across the ice. “You think you’re faster than me?”
“I know I am.” I carved a tight turn, skating backward so I could watch him. “Saw your forty-yard dash times from tryouts. Not impressed.”
He barked out a short laugh, the sound swallowed by the open air. “You looked up my stats?”
“They’re public record.” I shrugged mid-glide. “Figured I should know what I’m dealing with.”
“Stalker.” He pushed off harder, his stride opening up, eating the distance between us. “You want a race, Johnston?”
“It’s not a race if you can’t catch me.” I pivoted and took off, the cold wind sharp against my teeth.
The wide-open ice made me feel lighter than I had in weeks. Back at the university rink, I kept my playing style strictly textbook so I wouldn’t catch any crap from Elliot or the older guys. But out here, I didn’t have to be the perfect hockey forward.
I picked up my backward speed. Finding my rhythm, I pulled my arms in, executed a flawless figure skating spin, and landed perfectly on one edge.
The scrape of steel halted as Aleksey stopped skating. He raised a thick eyebrow. “Show-off.”
“My mom wanted me to be a figure skater,” I told him. I skated backward in a slow circle around him.
“Figure skater?” Aleksey asked, tracking me with his eyes. “Seriously? Your dad went for that?”
“Not at all. They had to split the difference. Dad only allowed the private figure skating lessons because he claimed it would perfect my edge work for hockey.”
“Did it?”
“Yeah, and then it pushed me right into the sport full-time,” I said. “Which sucked at first. I actually preferred figure skating back then. It was different. For once, I was doing something that wasn’t just the standard Johnston men’s hockey legacy.”
Aleksey watched me for a second, absorbing that. “But the edge work stuck.”
“Obviously,” I glided closer and grabbed his large, calloused hands. “Come here. I’m going to teach you a waltz turn.”
Digging his edges in, Aleksey planted his skates firmly. He looked down at our joined hands, then up at me. “Absolutely not.” His hands stayed locked at his sides, shoulders squared like he was bracing for a check.
“It’s a basic ice-dance move.” I tugged at his stiff fingers. “Don’t be a coward.”
A low string of Russian rumbled through his chest. “Don’t you dare tell anyone about this.”
“Noted.” I positioned his left hand on my shoulder and laced my fingers through his right. “I don’t bend that way.”
“You bend plenty of ways. I’ve watched you contort to block slap shots.”
“That’s different.”
“Different how?”
“Hockey doesn’t require me to look graceful.” His grip on my hand remained firm.
I laughed and pulled him forward a step. “You look ridiculous standing there frozen. At least try.”
He grunted, but his feet shuffled forward. Stiff and reluctant, like I was leading him off a cliff.
I pulled him a couple of inches closer. The night air was freezing, but I could feel the actual body heat radiating through his jacket. His eyes dropped to my mouth for a second before snapping back up to meet my gaze.
“You need to relax into it a little,” I said, my voice coming out quieter than I meant it to.
“I hit guys into walls,” he grunted. “I do not waltz.”
“Just relax.”
He muttered something else under his breath, but he didn’t let go. His rough fingers shifted, lacing through mine. The sharp line of his shoulders finally dropped. And he stopped bracing his stance, leaving his hands in my grip and trusting my backward pull.
“Cross your left foot over your right,” I instructed.
When he attempted the crossover, his skates tangled almost instantly. He stumbled with a low, breathless laugh before his hockey instincts took over entirely. Dropping his hands, he lunged forward.
“Hey!” I yelled, skating backward as fast as I could to get away.