18. Levi
A late-night text message disrupted my evening, forcing me to work until two in the morning.
The unexpected request demanded my immediate attention, and I found myself hunched over my laptop, responding to emails and sorting out the issue long after midnight.
When I finally finished and crawled into bed, I was tempted to wake Dover, who was sleeping soundly beside me, just to share the frustration and exhaustion I felt.
However, I decided against disturbing him, recognizing that he needed his rest. Instead, I allowed myself to relax, and I drifted off to sleep within seconds of making that decision, the fatigue from the long night quickly overtaking me.
The next morning, Dover was still asleep as I moved quietly around the kitchen.
I brewed a fresh pot of coffee and poured some into my favorite travel mug, savoring the rich aroma as I prepared for the day ahead.
Anticipating company, I poured a second cup for Weston, who arrived just as I was finishing up.
Weston made himself comfortable, choosing to babysit Dover, who remained oblivious to the world.
I had a long list of tasks to accomplish and didn’t have the patience or time to explain every detail to Weston, especially after such a late night.
One of my top priorities for the morning was to have a conversation with Levenski.
I planned to catch him for a quick chat before he left, as he was already on his way to the airport.
The recent grounding of the team plane had caused a lot of delays, but this morning the plane was cleared for departure.
Today, I feel significantly better than I have in recent days.
The discomfort that had plagued me has almost entirely faded, leaving behind only the faintest twinge in my side when I bent down this morning to put on my shoes.
Even that minor ache was barely noticeable, and it reassured me that I am truly on the mend.
When I step outside, I’m greeted by a fresh day after the violent storm that had raged through the night.
The oppressive heat that had lingered for days seemed to have been swept away by the wind and rain, making the prospect of a warm day ahead much more pleasant and bearable.
I’ve always appreciated storms for this very reason; they have a way of clearing the air, both literally and figuratively, and bringing a sense of renewal to everything they touch.
As I stand there, enjoying the freshness of the morning, a familiar SUV pulls up to the curb.
The window opens, and there is Rosie’s face lit up with a mischievous grin.
“Let’s go, partner.” Her enthusiasm was infectious, and I smile as I recall the excitement and anticipation that always accompanied our adventures together.
“He’s expecting us,” I say to Rosie, fastening my seatbelt securely as she seamlessly merges our car into the steady flow of traffic.
The city lights flicker across her face as I continue, “He wouldn’t talk over the phone, and from the way the conversation played out, I got the distinct impression that there were other people nearby, probably listening in on every word.
” I let out a small, frustrated shrug, feeling the weight of uncertainty.
“I just can’t figure the guy out. Because of him, we’ve started scrutinizing the support staff more closely, which, honestly, is something we should have done right from the start instead of waiting until now.
” I wince, the realization stinging a bit more than I expected. “However, he’s—”
“Hiding behind a mask,” Rosie interjects, her voice calm but edged with a note of understanding, finishing my thought for me as the car glides forward under the city’s watchful early morning glow.
The Lion’s plane sits on the tarmac, its sleek, silver fuselage gleaming under the afternoon sun, reflecting the light in a way that makes it look almost brand new.
The engines are silent for now, but there’s an air of anticipation as people begin to gather at the base of the stairs, slowly making their way up and onto the aircraft.
Each person seems to pause for a moment, perhaps taking in the impressive sight of the plane before climbing aboard.
As I watch the steady flow of passengers, I can’t help but wonder aloud, “I wonder if it’s as nice inside as the Vikings’ jet.” The Vikings’ plane has always been the gold standard—luxurious, spacious, and equipped with every amenity imaginable.
Rosie, standing beside me, gives a noncommittal shrug and mutters, “Probably,” her tone suggesting she isn’t particularly interested in comparing the two.
She gestures with a nod toward the big defenseman waiting near the bottom of the stairs, his imposing figure unmistakable even from a distance.
“Let’s get this over with,” she adds, her voice tinged with impatience.
At the entrance to the plane, Levenski, the team’s formidable defenseman, acknowledges our approach with a curt nod.
His expression is serious, as usual. “I don’t know who it is,” he begins, his voice low and gravelly, “but I did notice someone wearing a Viking’s T-shirt—one of those shirts that are only given to staff—slipping out from the locker room the night we played there. ”
I try to make sense of this. “Staff go in there,” I point out, thinking it might not be unusual.
Levenski rubs his jaw thoughtfully, clearly unconvinced. “I noticed because it was a woman,” he explains, his eyes narrowing slightly. “And I know for a fact that women aren’t allowed inside the locker room. That’s the rule.”
His words catch me off guard, and I glance quickly at Rosie, who is already looking at me, her brow furrowed in concern. I turn my attention back to Drago, wanting to be sure. “You’re sure?” I ask, searching his face for any sign of uncertainty.
He lets out a short, amused chuckle. “Unless you have a guy working for you with boobs and curves,” he says, his tone dry but not unkind. “I was surprised.”
Rosie rolls her eyes at his remark, clearly unimpressed by his attempt at humor, but the underlying tension remains.
Rosie climbs back into the car, closing the door softly behind her, while I remain standing outside with Levenski.
The air between us feels heavy with unspoken words.
I finally break the silence, my curiosity getting the better of me.
“Why are you willing to help us?” I ask, searching his face for any hint of his true intentions.
Levenski exhales deeply, the sound almost a sigh of resignation.
He looks away for a moment, as if weighing how much to reveal, then meets my eyes again.
“I’m not who you think I am,” he says quietly, his voice tinged with vulnerability.
He gives a small, almost helpless shrug.
“It’s not easy being who I am in the league,” he continues, and I can sense the years of struggle behind his words.
There’s a raw honesty in his gaze, and suddenly, understanding dawns on me.
The shock of realization hits me—Drago Levenski is gay.
I feel a surge of empathy and solidarity. Without hesitation, I extend my hand toward him. “As long as you promise not to take Dover out, you can count on me as a friend,” I say sincerely, wanting him to know he’s not alone.
A mischievous smirk appears on Levenski’s face as he reaches out and clasps my hand firmly. “Dover’s hot,” he admits with a playful glint in his eye. He gives my hand a reassuring squeeze before shaking it. “Just make sure you keep an eye on him,” he adds, his tone half-joking, half-serious.
“I will,” I promise, nodding in agreement, my voice steady and resolute as I meet Levenski’s gaze.
He studies me for a long moment, his eyes searching my face as if trying to read the sincerity behind my words.
There is a knowing look in his eyes, a subtle glint that suggests he understands more than he lets on.
“Hmm. I’m sure you will,” he finally says, his tone laced with a hint of amusement.
The corners of his mouth twitch upward, betraying a small, almost imperceptible smile.
With that, Levenski turns away from me, his posture relaxed and confident, and begins to stride purposefully toward the waiting plane, the sound of his footsteps echoing on the tarmac.
He leaves me standing there, watching his retreating figure.
After a moment, I gather myself and make my way to the car.
As I settle into the seat, I immediately sense that something is off.
The atmosphere inside the car feels tense, almost electric.
Rosie sits beside me, gripping her phone tightly in one hand, her knuckles white with frustration.
Her brows are furrowed, and she looks genuinely pissed off, her lips pressed into a thin line.
I glance at her, concern rising in my chest, and ask quietly, “What?” My question hangs in the air, filled with apprehension, as I brace myself for whatever news or revelation has caused her obvious distress.
“The equipment staff entered the locker room but quickly exited, unable to stay inside for more than a moment.
According to them, an overpowering, nauseating odor filled the entire room, making it nearly impossible to breathe.
They suspect that the source of the stench is a dead animal, though they have not investigated further to confirm this.
Now, the staff are waiting outside the locker room for us to arrive and deal with the situation.
“Can’t someone else take care of the mess? Why do we have to be the ones to remove whatever’s in there?” I ask, hoping there might be another solution.