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vladi

“ Y ou wanted to see me, Coach?” I say, standing in the doorway to Coach Calhoun’s office after our morning conditioning.

“Yeah, Vladi, have a seat,” he says, not looking up from his desk.

I crack my knuckles in frustration as I lower myself into the chair sitting up straight as a board.

This is not a pep talk. We lost yesterday to the New Haven Midnight.

I let in four goals. The sting still sits heavy in my gut as I stare at photographs of Riders’ through the years, smiling with arms raised as they celebrate a win.

I’ve been in this league long enough to know where this is going.

“I wanted to let you know we’re going to give you a rest. We’re putting McKenzie in net next game. He needs to get some more games under his belt, so it’s good on all fronts.”

“Got it, Coach”

“You are still our starting goalie, Vladi.”

“Yep,” I curtly reply, keeping my anger at bay. I’ve heard those words a thousand times before.

“All good?” he asks, finally looking up from his papers .

“All good, Coach. Whatever is best for the team,” I lie through my teeth as I stand and leave the office.

This is bullshit. One fucking loss and I’m on the goddamn bench.

McKenzie is my teammate, and we train together every day, but he’s still too green.

He is a good guy, a little peppy for my taste, and too damn nice.

Goalies aren’t nice, but he’s good in the net.

His skills, however, are not as refined as mine.

This is only his second year in the league, and I’m a veteran with ten years and my name on the Stanley Cup.

I’ve been the starting goalie for the Milwaukee Steel Riders for a majority of my career—I don’t need to be replaced every time we lose a goddamn game.

Storming into the locker room, I throw my gear into my bag, more than ready to head home.

“Chush' sobach'ya,” I mutter in Russian. I speak better English than most of my American teammates, but when I get pissed off, I lean into the comfort of my native tongue. They have no idea what I’m saying which makes it even better.

I could be saying the bread is in the cupboard and they would still think I was cursing them out.

However, chush' sobach'ya literally means this is bullshit … nothing about bread. Bread is khleb.

“You alright there, Vladi?” Hayes Larson, my friend who is like a brother to me, asks as he watches me slam my glove into my bag harder than I should.

“Fine,” I snap, continuing to throw shit around.

“Mac in next game?”

I glare at him. He knows. Everyone knows.

“Sorry, man,” Larsy sighs as he places his hand on my shoulder. “I know it sucks. This early in the season, they are just trying to get the right mix on the ice, and you know that means you in the net. You’ll get back in soon.”

“One game with four goals and they take me out? This is horseshit. That damn rookie, Bougie, had a shit game. Two of those goals were him not doing his damn job. I don’t know where his mind was, but it was not on helping me keep pucks out of the net.

But, you know, it’s always the goalie’s fault.

You won’t see Bougie getting benched. Fuck me.

” I tilt my head, cracking my neck, trying to contain my rage.

“Try and shake it off. Mac is young, and he’ll make mistakes. You’ll get your chance.” He nudges me with his elbow, neither of us moving an inch. “Why don’t you come to this bourbon gala tonight with me and the other guys? I’ll keep Bougie in line.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I said I was only going if there was vodka. Have they changed it to a vodka gala?”

Larsy laughs. “I don’t think the Bayview Bourbon Distillery suddenly started making vodka. I tell you what, you come with us tonight and I’ll buy you a bottle of your favorite vodka for the ride home. Please? I’d love for you to get to know Olivia better.”

A loud sigh escapes me at the mention of his love life.

Of course I’m happy to see him so in love, and his new relationship seems to stoke the fire in his game, but that’s not for me.

My surname is Volkov. Wolf. And that’s what I am.

A lone wolf in the net and in life. I don’t need a wife and a family.

I only want to worry about me. I’ve spent so much of my life trying to survive, clawing myself out of the tragedy that haunts me, the memories that wake me at night.

I’ve fought to get where I am today. I worked hard to succeed in my career.

Not to be famous, but to move forward. I don’t have it in me to care for someone else.

But a night full of alcohol and beautiful women? That, I can handle. I could use a chance to drink and get laid. A nice, no strings attached hookup sounds like the medicine I need right now.

“Alright, you have a deal. But a warning, the vodka I like is not cheap,” I tease.

“Fair enough,” he says with a laugh. “We’re all meeting at Walt’s on Water at six to have a couple drinks before heading to the gala. See you then. ”

Larsy heads out as I continue packing my gear.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jordan ‘Bougie’ Boucher walking into the locker room.

I squeeze the worn strap on the bag with all of my might.

Normally, he’s like an annoying gnat I try to swat away, one that won’t leave me alone.

But after his shit game last night and me getting benched, I am not in the mood for his antics.

If that cocksucker comes near me, I swear I’ll punch him in the face.

“Vladi, my man! You’re gonna rip that bag in half if you slam your stuff in there any harder. Someone piss in your cereal this morning?”

Darting across the locker room, I am quickly held back from moving any closer toward him. Zack Reeves, our captain, is holding me from behind, keeping me from punching Bougie square in the jaw.

“Don’t do this, Vladi,” Zack orders, his voice even. “Take a deep breath and calm down.”

“What the hell did I do?” Bougie yells from across the room.

“It’s what you didn’t do last night, cocksucker,” I snap. “Two of those goals happened because you were not where you were supposed to be, and now I’m fucking benched.” I struggle against Zack’s hold, Taylor reaching for me as well. “ That’s what you did.”

A look of shock and sadness crosses his face, but that’s not going to make me feel sorry for him.

Not when he fucked up my game. “Damn, I…I’m sorry, Vladi.

Look, I admit it. I had a shit game. You’re right.

Those goals are on me. But I swear to God…

I didn’t mean to get you pulled,” he says with sincerity.

Which is rare for someone as arrogant as Bougie.

He walks over cautiously, Zach still restraining me, and holds out his hand to shake mine. My mind wars between the shock of him apologizing, and the wolf in me wanting to rip him to shreds.

“I really am sorry, Vladi. My mind was not in the game last night. I’ll do whatever you want to make it up to you. ”

Reluctantly, I extend my hand to grip his, maybe harder than necessary. “One favor. Of my choice. Anywhere. Any time. Deal?”

“Deal. I can’t have you pissed at me. You know I love my big goalie,” he says, pulling me in for a hug. I stiffen, refusing to return his affection. I do not like hugs. These Americans and their obsession with hugging it out is asinine.

“Do not hug me again or the deal is off and I will punch you in the face.”

“Okay, okay, duly noted,” Bougie laughs as he backs up with his hands raised in surrender. “No more hugs for the Vladinator.”

Zack’s gaze darts between the two of us, shaking his head at Bougie’s ridiculous nickname. I do not like nicknames. “You two good? I can let go of Vladi’s arm?”

“Yes.” I nod at Zack to let him know I’m calm enough to not kill our defenseman. “Thanks, Z. Sorry about that.”

“It happens. We all have a lot of emotions around the ice. You’ll be back out there soon.”

I grunt. I know I’ll get back on the ice eventually, but knowing doesn’t dull the pain.

At least Bougie took some accountability.

But I’m still pissed. I zip my bag, throwing it over my shoulder and striding out of the locker room.

Originally, I did not want to go to this gala tonight, but now I think it’s the perfect thing to get my mind off this shit.

Drinking and women are the best way to soothe my angry Russian temper.

I smirk. Za zdrovye.