“Got it.”
I hoisted the next cardboard case of soup into my arms, but my focus kept slipping. The sharp point of Karter’s elbow dug into my ribs all over again. The steady thump of his heartbeat beat against my palm. I kept seeing the fading bruises on his fingers, the water tracing down his stomach.
A rich legacy player had absolutely no business taking up this much space in my head. I needed this job to pay for my life back in Detroit. So I couldn’t afford to waste time and energy thinking about the guy living across the hall from me.
But then the sharp memory of Karter fighting back in the gym flashed through my head, snapping my focus. Between the exhaustion and a sudden, unwanted spike of adrenaline, my overworked grip just gave out.
The cardboard case of soup slipped right through my fingers.
The box crashed onto the cheap linoleum. Cardboard ripped open, and metal cans rolled everywhere, hitting the baseboards with a loud clatter.
“Are you fuckingkidding me?” Derek yelled, marching down the aisle. My manager’s face turned bright red. “Do you have any idea how much soup costs?”
“The cans are dented,” I said, looking down at the mess. “They aren’t open.”
“They are damaged goods now, Zotov. That comes right out of your paycheck.” Derek pointed a thick finger at my face. “I am writing you up. One more screw-up and you aredonehere.”
“Fine,” I muttered.
Derek stormed off to the front register. I looked down at the scattered cans.
I dropped to my knees and started grabbing them up. My hands shook. I gripped a dented tin of chicken noodle so tightly my fingers throbbed in protest.
Karter was actively ruining my focus.
I scrubbed my palm roughly against my jeans, trying to erase thoughts of Karter from my mind. Still, the physical struggle of wrangling the rolling cans matched the chaotic mess in my head.
Letting my guard down was literally costing me money I didn’t have.
Cleaning up the mess took another agonizing hour. I finished the miserable shift and finally walked out into the freezing night at three in the morning.
My face stung from the bitter cold on the walk back to The Ice House. My feet dragged heavily on the cracked pavement. All I wanted was to go into my empty room and shut down.
Once I’d arrived at the walkway leading towards the house, I stopped on the dead grass outside, watching the bright yellow glow of Karter’s attic window against the pitch-black sky. ThenI shoved my cold hands into my pockets, hating the fact that I cared if he was awake.
Chapter 3 - Karter
My sleeve slid down a second too late. Elliot had already locked his eyes on the dark bruises wrapped around my wrist.
“Where’d you get that from?” Elliot asked, setting his fork down on the table.
The memory of Aleksey gripping my wrist in the weight room flashed in my mind, sending a sudden, restless buzz straight into my fingertips. Pushing the sensation down before I could examine it, I kept my face blank.
“Gym wraps,” I said. My fork scraped against the plate, pushing a lukewarm noodle around. “I tied them too tight yesterday.”
Elliot didn’t buy it. He ran a hand through his hair, though the messy style still stayed perfectly in place. He stared at me, giving me a long look.
“How are things at the Ice House?” he asked.
The dining hall was loud. Hundreds of overlapping conversations bounced off the high walls, mixed with the harsh clatter of plastic trays. Normally, the noise faded into the background, but today I focused on it to stay grounded.
“Fine,” I replied.
“Only fine?” he pressed. “No incidents? Some of those guys take things too far.”
A tight knot formed in my stomach. The freezing water of yesterday’s shower rushed through my memory, along with Aleksey’s dark eyes staring right at me.
“I said it’s fine,” I told him, keeping my tone even. “No hazing. Someone did mess up my side of the room the other day. Left Matt’s stuff alone. It was just a stupid prank.”
