“And you do not want to.”
“No.”
He nods. “I envy you.”
I laugh once. “You envy the scholarship boy?”
“I envy someone who doesn’t belong to anyone.”
The silence that follows is different. Not cold. Not empty. Shared. We start the assignment, but we don’t talk about history.We talk about hockey. We talk about coaches. We talk about expectations.
He talks about the military tradition in his family, how his father is already planning where he will serve at eighteen.
I talk about my brother, though not everything. Not the bruises. Not the reasons we left St. Petersburg.
By the time we finish, it is dark outside.
Mikhail walks me to the door.
“Kilovac?”
I turn.
“Do not tell anyone,” he says softly, “that I do not like my life.”
“I won’t,” I say.
He nods once. “Thank you.”
As I step into the elevator, he stops me one more time.
“And Aleks?”
It is the first time he uses my name.
“Next practice?”
“Yeah?” I ask.
“Hit me harder.”
I grin. “Gladly.”
The elevator doors close between us.
But something settled in that penthouse. Something I did not expect. Something I will not name. Not yet.
Chapter Seven
Brothers Without Saying It
The next nightI can’t sleep.
My brother’s shift ran late, so the apartment is still and quiet in that way that makes you hear every memory you’d rather not. I stare at the ceiling until the walls feel like they’re leaning in.
When I can’t stand it anymore, I grab my skates and slip out.
The city is colder tonight. Wind sliding between buildings. Snow swirling in slow circles under the streetlamps. I walk fast because that is how I keep the thoughts from catching up. When I get to the rink, the lights inside are dim but not off. Someone left them in practice mode. Probably a lazy custodian. Probably the universe being kind to me for once. I punch in the side door code they gave all players and step inside.
