I kissed him back as his fingers dug into my jaw, pulling me closer. His breath hitched, coming out in a rough, uneven sound against my mouth.
And then Aleksey ripped himself away. He stepped back, looking rattled.
“Damn it, you aren’t getting it,” Aleksey said, his voice harsh. He couldn’t even look me in the eye. “If I stay in this room, I’m never going to be able to stop wanting you.”
“Aleks, wait,” I said.
“No,” he backed toward the exit.
Before I could say anything else, he grabbed the door handle, shoved the steel open, and walked out.
The door clicked shut a beat later, leaving me alone in the almost pitch-black. I rubbed my jaw, feeling the dull ache where his fingers had dug in.
The numbing fog from the last few days was completely gone. I always played a safe game. I stayed out of the corners, kept my head down, and let other people take the penalties.
But standing in the quiet equipment room, that ingrained instinct finally snapped. I let out a slow, steady breath. I was done backing away.
Chapter 18 - Aleksey
Iknew a setup when I saw one.
Coach Corby had texted me to come in an hour before the rest of the team. At first, I thought I was called in to sit in the dark and watch footage of my shifts from our last game, breaking down my hits and defensive positioning on the screen the way we usually did during solo reviews.
Instead, I walked into the athletic offices at ten in the morning and found Athletic Director Gerald Hastings sitting perfectly still in Corby’s chair.
My duffel bag hit the floor with a thud as my brain immediately threw out everything I knew about our defensive strategy and braced for whatever new bullshit the AD was about to drop on me.
The second Hastings met my eyes, I felt a cold spike of dread, but I shoved it down. Growing up playing in the rinks that I did, you learn fast that showing fear or anger just gives the guys in charge more ammunition. So, I locked my jaw and wiped my expression, scanning the room for an angle.
Hastings sat with his fingers interlaced on the desk. Then he pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose.
“Have a seat, Aleksey,” Hastings said.
This time, scraping the metal chair back, I actually sat down. Coach Corby stood over by the filing cabinet, rocking on his heels with his arms crossed tightly against his chest. He refused to meet my gaze.
“Is there a problem?” I asked.
“My sense is that we have a difficult situation regarding university liability,” Hastings said. His tone sounded soft and corporate. He opened a manila folder on the desk. “We received an anonymous complaint this morning.”
I let out a short, harsh laugh. “Another one? Are you guys running this team based on a suggestion box?”
Hastings ignored the attitude. “It claims you have been engaging in inappropriate conduct with a freshman player.” He glanced at the paper. “The complaint describes late-night visits to a freshman’s room. It also mentions using tutoring to hide harassment.”
My mouth clamped shut. I knew exactly who was behind this.
Trenton.
A flash of pure red heat spiked behind my eyes. I could picture it perfectly. Dragging Trenton by his expensive collar, slamming his head into the locker room wall, and driving my fist into his smug face until his jaw splintered under my knuckles. I wanted to cave his teeth in. But I kept my breathing steady and my hands relaxed on my thighs, burying the thought back down.
“Did someone actually step up and say I harassed them?” I asked, leaning back in the chair to look as bored as possible.
“The report is anonymous,” Hastings said. “But it is highly specific. Have you been in any freshmen’s rooms after team curfew?”
Curfew. What an absolute joke.
We barely had a curfew at the Ice House to begin with. It was a loosely held rule Coach Corby only brought up the night before major games, and nobody ever actually checked our doors.
Meanwhile, the legacy kids in their luxury apartments lived with zero oversight. The rule existed purely to keep a leash on the guys who had nowhere else to go.
