“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 thecoaches’ 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 youseriousright 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.
