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And then…

“GOAL!” the crowd screamed.

I turned around so fast my skate skidded.

It was Maksim, with his back to the net, and he took a wrist shot from the slot so quick I didn’t even see it leave the stick. All I saw was the red light going on and the crowd on its feet and my goalie lying facedown like he’d been shot.

Ravens 2, Kings 1.

I skated to the bench with a look on my face that made two of my teammates step out of the way.

We fought. God, we fought. We got it to three-all with two minutes left, and Duke and I both went down in a pile, and I got a penalty for something I definitely did, and Maksim and I hit each other so many times in the last five minutes that I lost count. Whenever I had the puck, he was there. Whenever he had it, I was there. It felt like a dance with someone who knew all my steps before I did.

In the end, the last goal went to the Ravens. Four to three.

We lost.

I stood in the middle of the ice with my chest heaving while the other team piled on each other, and I felt the rage climbing my spine like a live wire.

God damn it.

“Hey, Lex, calm down,” Jason said, plopping onto the bench beside me. He’d already peeled off half his gear and looked like a happy scarecrow. “It’s just a game. There’s three more. It’s a best of five. We’ve got time.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You’ve got that face again.”

“What face?”

“The one that makes people cross the street.”

“I know, Jason.”

He always does this. After every loss. He sits with me like a man calming a large, angry animal, hands up, voice low. He’s never scared. That’s what I like about him. Jason’s just… kind, in a way I don’t have a word for, and I keep waiting for it to run out, and it never does.

We watched the Ravens stream off the ice. Maksim was near the back. He didn’t look at me.

“But wait,” Jason said slowly. “Why are you still living with that guy?”

“What?”

“Duke told me. You bribed your way into his room.” He turned to look at me. “Lex. That dude scares me. I’m going to confess. I know it sounds dumb, I know, he’s a great player, but there’s something about him. He looks at people like he’s deciding something. Yesterday he passed me in the hall and I swear my whole body went cold.”

“He’s just Russian,” I said. “They’re all like that.”

“I don’t think that’s a nationality.”

“He’s a clean freak with a stick up his ass. He can’t hurt me.”

“I’m serious, man. Be careful.”

“I know. Thanks for the heads up.”

Jason’s one of the good guys. I’m not a person who likes people much, it’s just how I’m built, but I love hockey, and hockey needs a team, so I’ve learned to fake it, and I’m actually pretty good at it. The captain thinks I’m a delight. The guys think I’m a psycho with a good heart. But Jason’s the one I don’t have to fake with. He’s the one I’d actually call at three in the morning.

Not that I would. That’s a dumb thing to say out loud.

While I was talking, Maksim reached the tunnel. He stopped for a second. I saw his shoulders shift, and for the shortest possible moment he turned his head and looked back across the ice, and our eyes met.