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I startled, mind dragged back to reality as I focused on Bayuk and his sexy accent. “Hey, look, it’s our rival.” I winked at him.
He laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. Behind him were a couple of other guys, including one I recognized as Fairborn, and I gave him a glare, which earned me a smug smirk in return.Prick.As though seeing his face ignited a memory of being bashed into the boards, my body throbbed in pain, and I winced.
“What are you doing around these parts?” I asked, leaning my elbow on the bar while trying to look cool and relaxed.
Bayuk shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Thought we’d come and get a drink and celebrate the first game of the season.”
I nodded. The logic made sense.
Fairborn leaned over Bayuk’s shoulder and flashed his white teeth at me. “How’s the ribs, Finch?”
“Fuck you, that’s how, Fairborn.” I offered him the sweetest smile I had because as much as I would love to punch the fucker, it would get me in a lot of trouble. And unlike Atlas, I didn’t resort to fighting. Coming from figure skating to hockey had been a rude culture shock in terms of the brashness and violence. “How was the penalty box?”
He grunted, the smugness draining from his face.
Bayuk slapped Fairborn’s chest and frowned. “Stop it, man.”
As if he sensed something happening, Miloševic stalked in from my left, chest shoving against Fairborn’s as he elbowed his way between us. Standing a good bit taller than Atlas, which probably put him in the six-foot-five range, Miloševic was huge, and a fierce fucker who loved a good fight. He also took his duty of protecting his teammates seriously.
“Back the fuck off,” he growled out. He’d only arrived in the US a year ago, and his Serbian accent bounced musically in the words.
Bayuk said something in another language, and I wasn’t sure if it was Ukrainian or Serbian, but Miloševic glared and pointed a finger at him, spitting a response back. Miloševic shook his head and his blond hair flopped onto his forehead.
Fairborn held up his palms and grinned. “I’m not doing a darned thing. We’re having a conversation, partner.”
Miloševic’s glare deepened and he flashed a dangerous grin at Fairborn. That was a sign that he was ready to throw fists. “Fucking the fuck off is the only thing you should be doing,partner.”
“Gentlemen.” I raised my hands to them, then patted Miloševic on the shoulder. “Come on. Let’s leave it for the ice, okay?”
Miloševic grunted, eyes still narrowed dangerously. He continued the stare off with Fairborn, and the only real thing that broke the tension was Rain, who came rushing through the crowd, bumping people. Some of the clubgoers yelled “Hey!” He ignored everyone as he reached us, mouth parted in a pant like he’d run the entire way here from somewhere distant. Either that or he was hyperventilating.
“You okay, Rain?” I reached out to touch his arm, and he shook his head fast.
“Your car. I heard the alarm going off, and Atlas’s gone crazy.” Rain’s eyes widened even more.
“What?” My spine stiffened and I straightened, not quite sure if I’d heard him right.
Rain’s arms began to swing as he continued on his frenzied rant. “I parked my car and got out. And I saw Atlas, and I was going to say hey, but then he started kicking your Lambo’s door and he’s gone nuts. He kept punching and kicking the doors and windows. I tried to get him to stop, but he wouldn’t. I came in here to find you.”
My breath left my lungs quicker than a jab to the chest would’ve made it, and I shot forward, past the Blades and my teammates. I rushed out of the club, ignoring the bouncer as he grunted when I shoved past him. I ran as fast as I could toward the parking lot, ignoring the pain that twinged in my ribs until I finally got to the Lamborghini to find Atlas sitting on his ass with his back pressed to it. I hit the button on the key fob to stop the alarm from blaring. Like Rain had said, the car’s doors were dented, and Atlas had taken a metal pole on the ground to the windows, and a web of cracks spiraled out from where he’d obviously smashed the windshield.
He sat with his shoulders slumped, knees to his chest, and the sound of a lone pain-filled sob met my ears. And even though I didn’t understand what had happened, seeing him this way broke my heart into a million pieces.
Behind me, I heard footsteps echo across the lot, and I turned to see the rest of the team, including Boss, approach at a fast pace. I met them halfway and shook my head, holding up my hands. “Guys, it’s fine.”
“It’s clearly not,” Nikolai said in a bored tone, nodding at a bent over Atlas, who hadn’t bothered to lift his head. “What’s wrong with him?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I argued.
“He’s our friend and teammate, too,” Gentry said, the concern making his Texan accent thicker than usual. It made sense that he would be worried because he was one of the forwards like us. We trained together a lot, and Gentry was a proper Southern gentleman who cared about everyone.
“Guys, please. Just go. I’ve got him.” The pleading in my tone must’ve done something because they hesitated.
It was Boss who began to herd them away. He used his wide arms to wave them back toward the club. “Come on, boys, the next round’s on me.”
While they continued to waver, Boss’s charm and perseverance had them moving back toward the club. Boss sent me a sad smile over his shoulder, and I gave him a nod of thanks. This would be a lot easier without them hovering nearby to watch a show. With people like Rain around, it would reach the entire school by tomorrow afternoon.
Once the guys were far enough away, I turned back to Atlas, not quite sure what to do. I didn’t know what had been the catalyst for this breakdown, and I didn’t know him well enough to understand what he needed. We’d fucked, but we weren’t connected as more than acquaintances. Not really.
