“The team’s fractured, kid,” he said. “And you and Zotov are at the center of it. I don’t blame you. You’re new, and this division in the team has been going on a long while. But,” Coach paused to pinch the bridge of his nose with a sigh, “there was nearly a team brawl on my ice, and now my locker room’s split down the middle.” He popped the cap off his pen and clicked it back on. “I’ve got academic advisors champing at the bit to suspend Zotov. The admin is looking for an excuse to clean house, but we need Zotov on this team. So here’s how this works: you tutor him. You get his grades up. You fix whatever this thing is between you two, because I’m not losing my senior enforcer, you, or any one of my players to a goddamn pissing match.”
The chair I sat on creaked under me. “And if he fails?”
“Then I bench you right alongside him.” Corby leveled his gaze. “This way, you’re both accountable to each other. He needs your help to stay on the team. And it gives you a reason to actually give a shit if he passes.”
He hadn’t phrased it as a request.
“If you tank the quiz tomorrow, we both get benched,” I said now across the library table. “I don’t need your guilt. I need you to pass.”
Aleksey finally looked down at the paper. He didn’t argue. He stared at the page, his hands resting flat on the table.
Seeing him try threw me off. The guy was huge, built to break people on the ice. But right now, the deep line between his eyebrows showed how hard he was struggling to focus.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” Aleksey muttered. “Where did the two come from?”
“You have to balance the equation.” I leaned forward, pointing at the numbers. “Since hydrogen is diatomic, you need a coefficient of two on the other side.”
“So I add it?”
“You multiply.”
Aleksey let out a long breath. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Right. Multiply.”
He looked a wreck. Dark circles hung beneath his eyes. I knew he worked nights—most of the scholarship guys had to—and between that and hockey, his aggressive enforcer act had worn down to nothing.
“You’re falling asleep,” I told him.
“I don’t sleep,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “I keep moving.”
“That’s a terrible strategy.”
“It’s worked out for me so far.”
“Barely,” I pointed at the next problem. “Try this one.”
Aleksey stared at the equation for a long moment. Then he dragged the notebook closer with two fingers, like it might bite.
“For someone who body-checks guys into the middle of next week for fun,” I said, “you’re surprisingly scared of a little math.”
He didn’t look up. “Hitting people has rules I understand.”
“So does chemistry.”
“No, chemistry has invisible rules. Made up by dead guys who hated everyone.”
“Pretty sure Mendeleev didn’t hate anyone.”
“He hated me specifically.” Aleksey underlined the problem without solving it. “All the way from the grave. It’s impressive.”
A laugh almost climbed up my throat. I killed it before it could surface, but something on my face must have slipped, because Aleksey glanced up. He stared at me for half a second too long.
A stray red pen sat near the binding of the textbook. Aleksey reached for it just as I went for it at the exact same time.
Our fingers collided.
Tension spiked through me. I expected a sneer. I expected him to shove my hand away.
Instead, Aleksey froze. He didn’t pull his hand back.
