“Late,” I said, grabbing my shower caddy. “Had to study.”
“You look terrible,” Matt observed.
“Thanks.” I slipped out the door before he could ask anything else.
The communal bathroom smelled of stale humidity, but it was quiet, which was why I was there. If the older guys caught me, I’d be stuck shivering through the freezing showers they forced on the freshmen. But at this hour, I could steal a hot one.
I turned the dial and stepped under the spray. The hot water hit my skin, and I hissed, my fingers automatically pressing into the back of my neck. Between the heat and the pain in my back, the numbness cracked.
All I could feel was the memory of Aleksey in the sub-basement. We’d been a second away from getting caught. It was stupid, it was messy, and my blood ran hot just thinking about it.
I heard laughter echo near the sinks. The upperclassmen had arrived. Shutting off the water, I grabbed my towel and pulled it tight up to my chin. I didn’t panic. I just put my head down, skipped the mirror, and efficiently walked out before they could give me grief about the hot shower, or worse, see my neck.
My clothes were still living out of the expensive luggage in the corner of our drafty room. I grabbed a thick, oversized hoodie, pulling it on and adjusting the collar until it concealed the bruising. It wasn’t my usual look, and Matt noticed. He sat on his side of the room, already bundled up against the freezing Michigan morning, and watched me check my collar.
He had an expressive look that said he knew something was off, but he was a good roommate. He just went back to tying his shoes and let it go.
The dining hall hummed with morning energy. Plates clattered as teammates yelled over each other at the long tables, but my face stayed perfectly neutral as I walked to the oatmeal station. Yet underneath my calm act, every nerve ending was awake.
Matt walked next to me with a tray of scrambled eggs. “You’re really quiet today,” Matt said.
“Haven’t been getting enough sleep,” I answered, “but it’s fine.”
“You sure, bro? You’ve been spacing out since we left the room.”
“I’m fine, Matt. Really.”
I picked up a serving spoon. And then I saw him.
Aleks.
He was by the coffee machine wearing a washed-out sweatshirt and jeans; his posture was rigid despite looking like he hadn’t slept a single minute. And from beneath his brow, his dark eyes tracked me. Just the sight of him brought back the memory of his desperate hands on my body.
Sitting at my table with a bowl of oatmeal I wasn’t going to eat, I looked back up to find Aleksey staring me down. He was waiting for me to look away.
But looking at him, all I wanted was to close the distance between us. I held his gaze as something stubborn and new locked into place inside me.
I wasn’t going to hide.
The cold air of the arena hit my face. Most mornings, stepping onto the ice was an automatic reset. I liked getting out here early; staying busy on the rink was always easier than thinking about anything else. Ice sprayed from my custom skates as I stopped at the blue line, but the normal relief didn’t come. My mind was still stuck in the sub-basement. For the first time all season, I didn’t care about running drills. I just wanted morning practice to end.
My brother, Elliot, skated up next to me. He tapped his stick on the ice three times.
“So, did Dad text you?” Elliot asked.
“Yeah, multiple times actually,” I said, keeping my eyes locked on him. “He had a lot of thoughts on how sloppy my passing was yesterday. Funny how he could see that all the way from Boston.”
Elliot had the decency to look ashamed, shifting his weight. “I was just giving him an update. You need to pay attention out here, Karter. We have a lot riding on this tournament, and the Johnston name is on this facility. I’m just trying to keep you locked in.”
I frowned. Any other day, I would have let his unsolicited advice roll off my back. But today, the sound of my father’s exact intonation coming out of my brother’s mouth was incredibly grating.
“I didn’t realize you were his assistant coach now,” I snapped. The sharp, uncharacteristic grit in my voice surprised even me.
Elliot stared at me. Instead of getting mad, he softened, putting the pieces together entirely wrong. “You’re stressed,” he said, nodding to himself. “It’s all that extra time you are spending around those scholarship guys. Babysitting Aleksey is draining your focus.”
“That’s not—”
“You’ve suffered enough for the cause,” Elliot interrupted, waving it off. “I’m going to talk to Coach Corby. I’ll get you off tutoring duty so you can actually get your head right.”
