“They might. I can feel the curse of my ancestors.”
“You don’t have ancestors,” I say. “Just money.”
He cracks a grin. “You wound me.”
Then the next name cuts the room cleanly in half.
“From Yale University, the Brooklyn Bears select Aleksandr Kilovac, defense.”
The sound hits my spine like impact on fresh ice. Faulker freezes. Then swears in three languages.
“You absolute villain,” he hisses. “You stole my dramatic moment.”
I stand. He grabs my wrist before I go.
“Go,” he says quietly. “And don’t forget me when you’re rich and emotionally unavailable.”
“I’m already emotionally unavailable.”
He smacks my arm. “Get on stage, you bastard.”
I do.
The lights are blinding. The cameras flash. Hands reach for me. A jersey is shoved into my grip. Everyone sees a dream realized. They don’t see the calculations behind my eyes:
My brother might get out. My signing bonus will cover a lawyer, administrative fees, safer, better housing, the ability to make a fucking plan to repay him for what he has done for me. He won’t leave Russia tomorrow. Maybe not next year. But he has a path now. A crack in the wall.
For him, this is life changing. For me, this is blood-deep relief.
I hold the jersey higher because that’s what they want. Inside, something sharp unclenches. Pictures are taken and I am whisked away.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Faulkner:
Drafted. Same Team. Hell begins together.
Good. I’m not losing him either.
They funnel me into a hallway for photos. The noise fades. The wall behind me is cold when I lean against it.
“For you,” I whisper.
For the brother still behind enemy lines. For the one who died in uniform. For the boy I refused to leave behind again.
I put the Bears cap on. It fits like armor. The world thinks this is where I begin. But it’s not. This is where I finally get the power to save someone else.
This is not glory. This is obligation. A vow I intend to keep. No one I love gets left behind again. Not ever.
Epilogue
Aleks
People think getting drafted changesyour life overnight. They don’t realize the grind stays the same. The ghosts stay the same. The hunger stays the same. The only thing that changes is the amount of money people are willing to throw at your destruction.
Faulker ended up beside me on the roster. Same locker room. Same ice. Same infuriatingly earnest attempts to “help me communicate my feelings,” which I shut down every time. He pretends he’s not my friend. I pretend I don’t need one. We’re both liars.
And Costello— Yeah. He’s not on a rival team anymore, like back in college. He owns the Bears. The entire organization. The building. The media rights. The ridiculous luxury gym our team trains in.
