He takes tentative steps as he heads to the farthest shower stall. I turn and face forward but remain standing on the transition strip between the two areas. Viktor walks back to his cubby and finishes undressing, just as the sound of running water fills the room.
No panic attack.
Good.
Zach stares at me, still standing in front of the door, arms crossed. “You do something to him?”
“No.”
Viktor snorts. “Only held a gun to his head.”
I’m going to punch him.
“Speaking of which, did you see Henneman’s face when you were dancing with that girl Friday night?” Viktor kisses his fingers, then fans them wide. “Ten out of ten. Pure art. If looks could kill, you’d be a chalk outline.”
“Shut up.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “You know he probably can hear you, right?”
He presses a hand to his heart. “My God, it’s happening. You’re actually catching feelings.”
“Not happening.”
“Then why’d you go full Killian Blackwell on Jenkins?” He grins widely, waggling his brows.
I exhale sharply, cracking my neck. “We don’t need to lose a player before the beginning of the season.”
“Right. Had nothing to do with Jenkins touching your man.”
Swear I’m going to throat punch him if he doesn’t shut up. “He’s not . . . I’m not . . .”
“There's more than one fucking label.” Zach's voice is low, dangerous.
I growl but say nothing.
Because what the fuck am I supposed to say, especially after Wednesday night? I like women. Always have. Yet between Raiyne and Henneman, there might be more to it. But there’s too much shit going on, too much at stake, to figure it all out right now.
Zach closes the distance between us, getting right up in my face. “You came to my place in the middle of the night, crashed there for two days. Now your husband's panicking worse than ever. You better not be pulling some Buckland shit.”
My entire body goes rigid, every muscle locking tight. Blood roars in my ears. “I am nothing like that homophobic fuck.”
Zach's jaw clenches, tendons standing out. “Figure your shit out, because you sound exactly like our former assistant coach.”
Viktor grabs his blocker off the bench, hurling it at me, and I barely dodge it. “You crashed at our place? For twodays? And no one told me? Do you know how betrayed I feel? Like, soul-level betrayal.”
Zach huffs. “He needed space. Not you prying.”
Viktor sprawls on the bench like he owns it, legs splayed, inspecting his nails. “Knight’s right, though. You’re acting like a total bitch. Almost as bad as my cousin. What’s the big deal if you’re into your husband? Bend him over and get some.”
The big deal is that Henneman’s name tore out of me when I came. And that him breaking down over my touch made me want to kill someone.
But now’s not the time to get into all that shit because dinner’s waiting. And with my father, it’s never just a meal.
Chapter 13
Ryan
Gravel crunches under the Maserati's tires as Connor pulls into the circular driveway. My stomach clenches as I dig my fingers into my thigh, nails biting through the fabric of my joggers. Wish there’d been time to change, time to shower where it was safe.
I take a deep breath and look out the window at the manicured hedges, unsure what to think of this day in general. Connor practically beat Jenkins on the ice. Sure, boarding is highly dangerous, and teams fight when it happens.
