Alexio’s footsteps stalled, and he swore under his breath. “Yeah. I’ll get you something to clean up.”
“I can do it,” I started as I heard him unlock the door.
He stopped again. “Do you know where anything is?”
“I—” Shit. He had a point. “Fine. Whatever.” My cane found the doorstep, and I walked over it and got my dad inside without letting him fall on his face because that’s all I’d need. “Alright, Dad?—”
“Where’s my son? Who the hell are you?”
I bowed my head and took a breath. I had no idea how to handle this. “He’s playing hockey.”
“Did you know my son’s a goalie? I never thought either of those boys would do anything besides lay in bed and jerk off.”
My face bloomed hotly as I heard Alexio make a startled noise from a few feet to my right. “Jesus Christ.”
“That’s all they were really good for. Their mom raised them to be puss?—”
“Hey, Peter.” Alexio’s voice was softer and kinder than it had been all evening. “Do you want me to put on your show for you?”
“Oh. Yes. Thank you.”
My dad’s hand left my arm, and I heard Alexio walking him toward the right, where I assumed his living room was. I stayed rooted to the spot, not willing to feel around to get my bearings. Not in front of my dad or the dickhead who seemed to hate me on sight for no fucking reason.
Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out my phone and pressed it to my ear before asking for the time.
Fuck. It was nearly four. Although at this point, I wasn’t sure I was making it to the game. I couldn’t, in good conscience, leave my dad alone like this. I would have to spend the next few days figuring it out because Micah couldn’t afford to miss games either, and there wasn’t a chance in hell Caleb would go out of his way to help.
Which left me to deal with it all.
“Come on.”
I startled when Alexio’s gruff voice spoke a little too close to me for comfort. “Uh. Fuck you?—”
“Don’t be a child. Take my arm.”
His elbow bumped against my hand, and as much as I didn’t want to, I grabbed it. I relied more on my cane than him though, following his steps down what was definitely a very short hallway and then into a room that sounded too much like a bathroom to be anything else.
“Toilet,” Alexio grunted.
“Want me to take a piss, or…” I was being deliberately obnoxious, but fuck, the man drew it out of me.
Instead of answering, he spun me, and on instinct, I shoved him back, then brandished my cane like an undrawn sword.
“Try that again.”
Alexio cleared his throat. “I need you to sit.”
“Words go a long fuckin’ way, bud. I don’t know who told you manhandling people was cute, but it isn’t.”
There was more silence, and then Alexio grunted out, “Sorry. Sit your ass down unless you want to keep bleeding all over your shirt.”
It was only then that I realized my head wound was still sluggishly dripping down the side of my face. I probably looked like a horror show. I took three steps back before I felt the toilet against the backs of my knees, and then I reached down to make sure the lid wasn’t up because it would be just like this fucking guy to make me sit on it while it was open.
When I was down, Alexio grunted again, and I had the sudden urge to reach up and touch his shoulders to see how big he was. The only people on my team who talked like a goddamn caveman were the D-men, and considering there was only one Alexio on the Glaciers, I knew exactly who he was.
Alexio Zeki—veteran, dickhead, defenseman.
There was a soft clicking sound, then rustling noises, then paper tearing before Alexio sucked in a breath and said, “This will sting.”
