Chapter 25 - Karter
The hardwood floor was hurting my back, but I refused to move a single inch. Aleksey kept me pinned against the attic floor with a firm grip around my waist.
Sunlight slanted through the dusty window, highlighting the thick white scar running along Aleksey’s jaw. But now, a fresh, ugly cut split the skin across his cheekbone, bordered by dark purple bruising. He definitely didn’t have that when he went back to Detroit.
Before I could ask how he’d got it, Aleksey shifted against my side, reaching up to trace the permanent bite mark he’d left on my shoulder.
Aleksey’s voice broke the comfortable quiet, sounding rough with sleep. “You’re staring, Karter.”
Propping my chin on his bare chest, I watched him breathe. “I’m just making sure you didn’t climb back out the window.”
He opened his eyes, pinning me in place. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Good.” Shifting closer, I let my weight settle against his side. “Also, I’m thinking about how great it is to have you back on the team and back on the ice.”
He tilted his head, studying me. The cut on his cheekbone stretched as his jaw worked. “Fair enough.”
Knocking my knee against his thigh, I held his gaze. “So, we stick to the plan. Behind closed doors, we do whatever we want. In public, I ignore you. Simple.”
“Sounds miserable.”
“It will be.” A short laugh escaped me before I could trap it. “But watching you lose that roster spot was worse.”
His smirk grew a little wider. “Do you want me on that roster, or do you want me in your bed?”
“I want you on that roster.” I shifted up onto my elbow, close enough to count the flecks of brown in his dark irises. “The bed is just a bonus.”
Aleksey hooked an arm around my waist and hauled me back against his chest. “Generous of you.”
“I’m a generous guy.”
The drafty air bit at my bare shoulders, a sharp reminder that morning skate was coming and that surviving the team fallout would be just as brutal as surviving my dad’s conditional checks.
“The locker room is going to be ugly,” I said, my grin shifting into a frown. “Trenton getting expelled means some of the legacy guys are going to be hunting for a target.”
Aleksey tightened his grip on my waist. “Let them try. I earned my jersey.”
I shifted, then captured his lower lip between my teeth and gave it a quick tug. “Just promise me you won’t drop your gloves and get into a fight before breakfast.”
Aleksey rolled me onto my back, pressing his body over me against the floorboards. “I make no promises.”
I knew he didn’t like the idea of backing down at all. Neither did I. But keeping him on the team was the most important thing.
Goosebumps broke out on my arms as I pushed myself up off the floor.
“We need to get up.”
Aleksey let go of my waist and sat up. “Yeah.”
Forty minutes later, the biting wind from the mile walk to the arena still stung my cheeks. To keep the fragile truce with my father intact, Aleksey and I split up at the loading dock. I swiped my keycard and walked the concrete tunnels alone.
The sharp scent of stale sweat hit hard the second the locker room doors swung shut behind me. And as soon as they did, half the room went quiet.
Over by the premium stalls, Clay stopped taping his shin guards and stared openly at me, a slight sneer fixed on his mouth. A few other legacy guys mirrored the look. Trenton’s expulsion had turned my side of the bench into a quarantine zone.
Dropping my canvas bag onto the wood, I dug a roll of tape out of the side pocket. Two stalls down, I noticed Perez rip a strip of black friction tape off his own roll.
“Surprised you showed your face,” Perez muttered over at me. He didn’t look directly my way as he smoothed the tape flat against his stick blade, keeping his focus down.
“Got a practice to skate,” I shrugged.
Perez paused his wrapping. He pointed his chin toward the hallway. “Is he actually coming?”
“He’s giving it five minutes. He’ll be in.”
Leaning his hockey stick against the wall, Perez shifted his weight. “Well, you might want to text him to take ten. Clay has been riling up the legacy side. They are treating Trenton like a martyr.”
Gripping my tape roll tighter, I scanned the room. “What exactly are they planning?”
“God knows,” Perez answered flatly. “But be ready to pull your boy back if anything kicks off.”
The locker room doors groaned on their hinges before I could ask what that meant.
Aleksey walked through the door.
Every remaining conversation all of a sudden cut off, leaving only the low humming sound of the overhead vents to fill the dead air. Aleksey hoisted his battered duffel bag higher on his shoulder.
Ignoring the glares, I watched the legacy guys track his path while Aleksey walked a straight line toward the scholarship side of the room.
Clay stepped into the center aisle. With his perfectly styled blonde hair and custom-fitted warmup jacket, he looked like a walking billboard for Ridge Cross donors. He raised his composite stick and took a vicious baseball swing right at Aleksey’s head.
Aleksey ducked just in time. The carbon blade sliced empty air before landing hard against the wet floor tile.
“Oops,” Clay smirked. Lifting his skate, he kicked Aleksey’s battered duffel bag. The canvas slid across the slick floor and landed straight in a puddle of dirty water near the showers.
Glancing back at his friends, Clay kept the smirk. “Guess the trash is stinking up the place again.”
Aleksey stopped moving. He dropped his brow low over his dark eyes, and a muscle jumped in his cheek... then he lunged without a single warning.
Grabbing the front of Clay’s pristine jacket, Aleksey shoved him hard into the metal lockers. The steel doors bowed inward with a deafening bang.
The next thing I knew, total chaos broke out.
Guys shouted and flooded the narrow aisle.
A massive, legacy defenseman rushed forward and threw a wild punch.
His fist caught Aleksey right between the shoulder blades.
Stumbling forward, Aleksey spun around and drove a hard right hook into the big guy’s ribcage.
Perez dropped his tape a moment later. He froze for a split second, his eyes darting toward the closed door of the coaches’ office. Knowing how hard he worked to keep his own scholarship, I knew exactly what that hesitation meant.
But then Perez let out a furious curse and threw himself into the mess. But he didn’t throw a punch. Going straight for damage control, Perez bypassed the legacy players entirely. He grabbed a fistful of the back of Aleksey’s jersey and yanked him backward with his entire body weight.
“Stop, bro! You are going to lose your ride!” Perez shouted.
“Get off me,” Aleksey yelled. He ripped the fabric out of Perez’s grip and braced his feet on the tile, ready to go after the big defenseman again.
Moving before thinking, I pushed past two guys and dove into the center of the shoving match. Dropping my center of gravity, I drove my shoulder straight into the massive defenseman’s chest. Catching him off balance, my forward momentum forced him a step backward and away from Aleksey.
The impact jarred my bones. Facing down a teammate I had spent months trying to please meant absolutely nothing right now. Keeping him away from Aleksey was the only thing I cared about.
“Back off!” I yelled.
The big guy shoved me back, knocking me off balance for a second. “You’re taking his side, Karter? After what he did to Trenton?”
“Enough!”
The shout cut straight through the chaos. Shoving his way into the tight circle, Elliot stepped directly into the gap between the two sides. He planted his feet wide on the slick tile and drove a hard shove into Clay’s chest, forcing the winger backward.
“I said, knock it off,” Elliot ordered.
Clay backed up a half step but kept his chin raised. He jabbed a finger in Aleksey’s direction. “You saw him swing first, El. Trenton gets expelled over some bullshit, and this guy just strolls right back to his stall?”
Elliot did not blink. He closed the remaining space between them. “Trenton dug his own grave. He is done.” The quiet edge in my brother’s voice carried over the hum of the overhead vents and low background chatter. “So we all move on.”
Clay scoffed, shooting a disgusted look my way before squaring up with the captain. “Are you serious right now? You’re tanking the roster just to protect your brother’s favorite goon?”
Aleksey dropped his shoulder, ready to launch himself at Clay again. Perez instantly blocked his path. Grabbing a fistful of Aleksey’s jersey, Perez shoved him backward against the metal lockers, issuing a low, harsh warning I couldn’t quite pick up.
Elliot did not give anyone time to throw another punch.
He stepped straight up to Clay’s face, using his broader frame to box the winger in.
“I’m backing the guys who actually want to win a ring this season.
” He dropped his voice to a dead, flat threat.
“The quartet is in two weeks. Two weeks! So, if looking at Zotov hurts your feelings, the door is right behind you. Go strip your gear, Clay. I will carry your bag out myself.”
Nobody moved. A long beat later, the legacy crew finally muttered a few curses, but they backed down.
Drawing a full breath burned my throat as adrenaline rushed through me. A moment later, I caught Aleksey’s gaze. He hadn’t moved, but he looked ready to attack, even though the immediate fight was over.
Perez walked over to the showers, grabbed Aleksey’s dripping canvas duffel out of the dirty puddle, and tossed it onto the wooden bench.
An awkward silence followed and filled the room as everyone returned to strapping on their pads and pulling their laces tight. Once dressed, Aleksey yanked his stick from the rack. Grabbing my own, I followed his lead and pushed through the double doors.