Page 7

Chapter Seven

“I would like to take this moment to send a public note of thanks to Ms. Minerva Conway. Ms. Conway teamed up with old Dr. McCluskey to spearhead the donation drive for the Three Corners Animal Rescue this past Saturday. Amazing turnout, including a visit from 3C natives, but Richland residents, Scout Pendleton and the younger Dr. McCluskey. Do I sense a lil puppy love?" Penni’s Puckleberry Tea

Boh

The instant the front door closed behind Novy, I slumped deeper into the black leather couch. I should feel better now, away from the watching eyes, the pressure to perform, right? Peace would settle over me.

I’d made good on my escape from Brightside. I waited for a sense of relief to settle over me.

For the constant fiery edge of anger to fade.

For my mind to finally chill and give me a fucking minute to just breathe.

I shifted on the couch, digging my ass into the butter-soft leather in search of a comfortable position to lull me into the sense of calm I’d been missing for too many weeks now. Instead, an ominous shadow hovered at the edge of my vision.

I tipped my head back against the cushion, closed my eyes and let the antics of the show play out on the TV. I didn’t understand the words and wouldn’t open my eyes to read the subtitles, but the familiar Korean drama should have been enough to lull me into relaxing.

A steady pulse that had nothing to do with the music throbbed just behind my left eye. Experience told me it would pass. The specialists at Brightside warned the throbbing, the shadow at the edge of my vision, the headaches, and everything else might never go away. And if that proved to be true, I’d never play professional hockey again. Coach said to trust the doctors, to have faith in the organization.

I trusted my gut instead. The idea of never making it back to hockey was unacceptable.

Unacceptable.

I rolled onto my hip and dug my phone out of my back pocket, ready to bury the thoughts zinging through my brain with distraction. I scrolled through Insta until a familiar name popped out. Shep Landon, the Renegade’s star sniper and my seatmate on every plane trip for the last three seasons. I lingered on the sight of the workout selfie he’d posted only a couple hours ago, before thumbing over to my contact list.

I scrolled past trainers, public relations specialists, coaches and assistants. Past all the people that made it possible for me to function within an NHL organization to land on Shep’s number.

He answered on the second ring. “You lazy fucker! How’s my favorite rehab patient?”

“It was a specialty clinic, blbec . Not rehab. You make it sound like I’m a drug addict.” That’s all I needed. More rumors getting back to management. They’d have a field day quoting all the violations to my contract any rumors of extra-curricular drug use would hatch.

“Sorry, I only heard ‘rehab’ out of all that.” He laughed at my annoyed grunt. “But maybe that’s on me. Been spending half my days working at a soup kitchen. Turns out not only am I the best sniper in the history of the NHL, I can chop onions like a badass mother fucker, too.”

“You home, then?” Home for Shep was a small town west of Richland. “Nobody would have guessed you were feeding the homeless with your half-naked Insta in the gym.”

Shep laughed. “Shut it, Rehab Boy. A guy can go to the local gym and still be of use to the community. I’m a legend over here, too. Even more than in Richland.”

“Yes, ‘cause your small town has nothing else going on.” A lie and we both knew it. Shep came from the area of Virginia known as Three Corners northwest of Richland. Shep’s hometown and the hometown of the Renegade owner, too. He lived in the sort of blue and silver bubble I couldn’t even fathom. I’d signed a new contract worth millions two years ago. I’d chosen to make a life half a world away from my childhood home, but sometimes I missed having family close. Shep, best friend or not, didn’t even recognize the blessings of his life. I’d made it my job to remind him on the regular.

“Careful, careful. Your jealousy over my loving family and perfect hometown is showing. How’s the gym in your rehab ? Melani has me working with the social media people even here at home. They want, and I quote, ‘eye-candy pics’ several times a week. And since social media’s favorite hockey bro checked into rehab, I’ve had to step up my selfie game.”

I tilted my head back against the couch again, staring a hole into the clean lines of the ceiling. “I sure didn’t check myself into that place.” I rubbed my temple. “And enough of the rehab jokes, kámo? . I’m out of that prison now.”

“No joke? They finally let you out? Everything cleared up, then? Ready to get back into shape?”

I squeezed my eyes closed. “Not exactly.”

“Oh, man, tell me you didn’t fold to Aubrey Canfield and decide to stay with Trent’s snake of an ex?”

“How do you even know about that?” It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours.

“I’m not the only one with an Instagram account.”

“She posted something? About me? In Brightside?”

“Bro, she posted from the parking lot. Said something like ‘heading in to get my boo’. Do people still say boo?”

“I don’t know, bro , do they?” He only laughed at my grumbling. “But no. I am staying far, far away from that woman. I’m not one to repeat mistakes. But I did find a babysitter to satisfy the contract.”

“Who’s the poor victim? Rook back in town?”

“Nah, he’s not back until training camp. My official Designated Medical Guardian is a woman I met at the clinic.”

“A gullible rehab worker. She crazy, too?”

“Fuck you, asshole. She was visiting someone else, and I told you to lay off the rehab center jokes. Have some respect.” It was bad enough for me to think I was going mad. I didn’t need my best friend adding fuel to the fire.

“Sorry, man. I’m done. Done. Hand to god.” His voice still carried the lilt of laughter, but finally moderated by a hint of sincerity. It would have to do.

“She’s on some sort of rec roller skating team. They needed space to train. Between Walsh and Coach, they worked out a deal giving them use of the Fernbrook Complex. In return, she gets to chill in my place until I’m cleared.”

“So what I’m hearing here is your sparkling personality wasn’t enough to coax a woman into your apartment. You guys had to add in a little bribery. Sad, man. Pathetic, even.”

“Fuck you, Landon.”“Is she hot?”

“Shep… ” An edge sharpened the word.

“What? I’m only looking out for you. If you have a certified hottie brightening up the place, you’re bound to heal faster. There’s been studies.”

I rolled my eyes. “Studies, my ass.”

But Novy Dalton would brighten up the place. Not that Shep needed the details of my too-distracting new roommate.

“Alright, hate to cut this short, but I’m heading over to Shy and Tiago’s place for a meal. Pray for me. Pray that Tiago’s doing the cooking and not my sister. Last time I was over there, she cooked a seafood pasta dish that left me feeling like my digestive system was under siege.”

With a brisk ‘bye’, we severed the call and I found myself counting ceiling tiles. The momentary respite of talking with my best friend dissipated and the white-hot stab behind my eye jabbed back to life. I dragged in a deep breath and fumbled with the sound system controller. By the next breath, the imagery of the dystopian Korean drama Black Knight filled my television screen, sound muted, subtitles up. While bright lights bothered me, reading did not. To je fakt divny .

I closed my eyes. I’d wanted escape from the all-seeing eyes of Brightside, craved the calm oasis of my own place. But at Brightside, at least the movement of staff through the halls reminded me I wasn’t alone. I’d never felt as isolated as I did now.

I slumped deeper into the couch, my arms and legs heavy weights pushing into the cushions. What would happen if the white pain crept through my skull and never eased? What if the near constant anger that simmered just below the surface morphed into an uncontrollable rage? What would happen if the shadow on the edge of my vision grew into a blackness that blinded me?

I exhaled slowly. None of that hovno was gonna happen. Sitting here on this fucking couch was giving me too much time to think. For my mind to play tricks and strip away my confidence. I was better than this. I was stronger than a stupid concussion.

The problem was boredom. Straight up boredom. Any other year, I’d be hitting the gym, maybe take a trip with one of the guys to some bougie locale south of the equator. Spend time in Three Corners with Shep and his sister. I’d be living my life. Not living in fucking lockdown.

I shoved up straight and swiped to open my phone again. I scrolled through the list. Plenty of people I could reach out to. I scrolled until my thumb landed on Alex Bouchard’s name, meanest margarita mixer on the East Coast, the asshole could always be counted on for a good time. I pressed dial.

A handful of rings later, the man himself answered. God-awful techno music blasted in the background. “Boh! My man!” His scream matched the music.

I lowered the phone and flipped to speaker. “AB! Good to hear you, man. I’m back home and—”

“I’m in Ibiza, bro!” My teammate and friend yelled again. “But that doesn’t matter! What matters is that you are back in the game! You hear that, motherfuckers?” He screamed even louder and I couldn’t help but laugh. “Fucking Bohdan Zacha is back!”

This time his holler was answered by a crowd of voices. A mash-up of languages blending into a massive wave of sound. A throb began behind my eyes.

“Great to hear your voice, bro, but I gotta bail! The place is loaded and ready to explode! They need AB to light it up!”

Without waiting for my reply, he hung up. I grunted a laugh. Typical AB. He thrived on attention and excitement. He’d be paying for his partying come training camp, though, when he couldn’t pass his physical.

I scrolled through my contacts list again and seeing as I was on a roll with talking to teammates, I moved to the next on my list. Marek Cerny’s name glowed under my thumb.

My senior by a couple years, I’d come up through the same Czech system as he had. When I landed on the same NHL team as him, too, it had felt natural to lean into his experience and luckily for me, he’d welcomed the friendship. I did not like disappointing Marek.

The throb in my head lit up again, pain spiking behind my eye. I tapped his name and after a single ring, he picked up.

“Bohdan! How are you?”

“Hey, Marek.” What to say to the man I considered more like an older brother than a teammate? Disappointing him was as bad as disappointing my father. “Fresh out of Brightside.”

“Great to hear, brat?í?ku. ”

Sincerity rang in his words and warmth filled me. Perhaps I wouldn’t have to rehash the wreck, the concussions, the shit show of my life. In the background, the sound of children laughing filled the quiet between our words. I latched onto the distraction of his kids before he could reconsider his warm welcome and chastise me for being an idiot. “Where are you? I can hear the girls there with you.”

“Soaking in some family time, yeah? I brought Mom, Adéla, and the girls to Brazil. Mom was craving some white sand and beaches and you know Adéla never turns down a vacation. We found a nice place where the girls can run around without escaping.” He laughed, all indulgent táta . “Look, Boh, very relieved to hear your voice. I’ve been worried since you and Hammer had that wreck. I would hate to see you lose everything you’ve worked so hard for.”

Guilt trickled down my spine like a freezing rain. “Not gonna happen. Everything’s under control.”

“Good job, brat?í?ku . I’ve got to go, my girls just found water guns and it looks like I’m in their line of sight.”

I pushed a laugh through my too-tight throat. “Later, Marek.”

Silence swept over me like a heavy fog. Dense and murky and weighing me down with a sense of foreboding. I shrugged the feeling off, heaved up off the couch and crutched my way to the window that nearly filled the whole wall. Shoved aside the stylish curtains chosen by some team lackey when I moved into the place three years ago. Five stories down, an empty sidewalk did nothing to alleviate my feeling of being smothered. Late sunlight glinted off cars parked along the street, the glare sparking off a new pain behind my eyes.

I turned away from the view and the simple motion sent a wave of vertigo spiraling through me. I stumbled toward the couch, as unsteady as if I walked across a ship’s deck in a summer squall. My hand landed on the back of the leather sofa, my fingers digging deep until the sensation faded. I’d moved too fast. Turned away from the window too suddenly.

Could happen to anyone.

I sucked in a deep breath, let it out, willing my pulse to slow, my head to clear. I was better than this.

Straightening away from the furniture, I stood and dragged my gaze over the empty apartment. My new roommate was still out shopping or she might have witnessed the momentary weakness. I stepped forward, cursing the hesitance in my movements. I could soar over the ice with lightning speed, outpace my adversaries any day of the week. Even before I turned pro, the experts commended my skating. Control, finesse, accuracy. My calling cards.

I picked up speed, lengthening my stride and forcing a confidence into my movements I didn’t feel. Didn’t feel yet . But I’d feel better after a shower.

I would beat this shit. I would get my life back.