That was so rich I nearly laughed.
1/
nico
New York City: Present Day
I walkedinto the conference room at HFNA headquarters and immediately wanted to turn around. The space was all glass and steel, a corporate showroom designed to intimidate. Executive types in suits lined one side of a long table, while players sat on the other. Arnold Gasser, the league’s new commissioner, presided at the head like a disappointed principal.
Fuck me. The only empty seat was next to Kirby Paquette.
Seven years, and I still remembered the blood, rage, and humiliation. The memories were as sharp as ever.
Yet there he was, sprawled in his chair as if he owned the room, taking up more space than he needed. He’d tilted his head, and his wavy hair caught the fluorescent light. I hated noticing any of it, and my stomach tightened before I could remind myself how badly things had ended.
I shook my head and tried to focus. The email about this mandatory meeting had been vague: “select players only,” with no details. When I asked the Condors’ GM, he said he knew nothing. They never pulled players away from their teams inFebruary unless someone had fucked up or a catastrophe was brewing. Looking at the grim faces around the table, I guessed it was the latter.
I slow-walked to the empty chair and sat down. Packy didn’t look at me, which was fine because I didn’t want to see him either. But I could smell him. His cologne was woodsy and probably expensive, nothing like the cheap shit he used in college. Pushing the thought aside, I looked toward the front of the room.
Packy finally glanced over, and his big smile vanished as soon as he saw me. His eyes went wide, almost comically. We stared at each other while he cycled through more emotions than I could keep up with. Then he covered them with the same smug grin he’d perfected back in Michigan. I wanted to rearrange his face.
“Don’t worry,” he said, voice dripping with false sweetness. “I showered. Just for you.”
His words hit hard. Of course he remembered the stupid exchange after our very first practice freshman year. I told him he smelled like a gym bag, and he laughed so hard he almost fell off the bench. Back then, we were friends, and noticing everything about him didn’t hurt.
“You did?” I asked. “Too bad it didn’t wash off the stench of Buffalo.”
“You are unbelievable.” His fake grin sharpened into a mean one. “Seven years later, and you’re still glaring at me. Adorable.”
“Seven years later, and you’re still breathing. Tragic.”
He balled his hand into a fist, and I thought he might hit me right in front of the commissioner. Part of me wanted him to, because at least that would be honest. It would prove he still felt something other than his infuriating smugness.
“Relax.” He uncurled his fingers one by one. “I won’t mess up your ugly face until the next time we meet in a game.”
“Fuck you,” I said. “I nearly killed you in October.”
“Fuckyou. You’re the one who hobbled off the ice with blood on your face.”
I gripped the arms of my chair so hard my knuckles went white. “Keep it up, you snot-nosed little shit, and I’ll finish what I started in the locker room at college.”
The words were out before I could stop them, and Packy froze. Something raw flashed in his eyes before he hid it again.
“Gentlemen.” Gasser’s voice cut through the room. “If Paquette and Rossi can stop fighting for a few minutes, we’ll get started.”
Laughter erupted around the table. Blake Conti, sitting on my other side, nudged me with his elbow. “Already making friends, I see.”
Packy held out a hand toward the commissioner. False charm and easy confidence had always gotten him anything he wanted and saved us from trouble more times than I could count. “Sorry about that,” he said. “Please continue.”
“Yeah, don’t mind us,” I added, unable to stop myself. “Packy’s just being an ass, as usual.”
Gasser’s face turned bright red. Blake leaned close and whispered, loud enough for Packy to hear, “Sounds like love language to me.”
Packy and I both glowered at him. While I mouthed “fuck off,” Packy said it out loud.
Welldamn. This was the first time we’d agreed on anything since the day I put my fist through his face. Everything went to hell after that fight, and he walked away like the previous two years had meant nothing.
“First, congratulations to everyone who participated in the All-Star events last weekend,” Gasser said. “It was proof that the HFNA has the best hockey players in the world. Good job.”
