Page 9 of Puck’N Enemy (Thunder Knights #2)

Logan

I scan the crowd in the cafeteria, looking for a glimpse of Dylan.

It’s almost become a habit to gaze around my surroundings, no matter where I am. Whether it’s the cafeteria, the quad, or the stands, I’m always searching for him.

Every time I hear the shuffle of shoes behind me, I half expect to turn around and find Dylan. He’d probably be in one of his black hoodies, with shoulders hunched, and moss-green eyes staring directly at me.

But there’s been nothing. I haven’t seen him in over a week, and it’s starting to bother me.

“How’re you doing, Captain?” a sultry, feminine voice whispers in my ear.

“Fine,” I mutter, glaring at the half-eaten burger on my plate.

It’s lunch time at the moment and I’m surrounded by my teammates and a group of puck bunnies. Laughter rings out at the table from time to time, punctuating the sound of music that’s blaring from someone’s portable speaker.

“You’re sexy when you brood,” Lisa says, pushing between me and Mitchikov. She secures her place beside me and places a flirty kiss on my cheek.

I instinctively gaze around me, wondering if Dylan caught that act.

Stop being so damn stupid , I chide at myself mentally. He has no right to care whether a girl kisses you or fucks you .

“How about I catch up with you later, babe?” I say, forcing myself to grin at Lisa. “Right now, I need to talk about some serious team business with Mitchikov.”

The sound of his name makes him glance in my direction.

“Did you say something to me just now?” Mitchikov asks, looking utterly clueless.

“Yeah,” I say, gesturing toward a quieter corner of the cafeteria. “I need to tell you something.”

He grins, his eyes shining with excitement. “Ohh...sounds intriguing!”

“You’re leaving already?” Lisa pouts at me. “I was hoping we could go out to dinner tonight.”

“Give him a break, Lisa,” Mitchikov mutters. “Dude’s still on the mend.”

Her pout turns into a frown as I leave the table and walk away. She’s a queen bee and hates it when she’s not the center of attention.

It’s almost a relief to be stepping away from her.

“So, what is it?” Mitchikov asks as I lead the way out of the cafeteria.

I don’t stop to answer him until we reach a lone spot outside the cafeteria doors.

“I need a favor,” I say.

“Let me guess,” Mitchikov says, chuckling. “That kid’s still bothering you?”

My spine tenses. “What kid?”

He snorts. “The Bear. Larson or something. The guy you stopped me from beating the shit out of at the food court. Did he narc on us? Did Coach Sullivan say something to you?”

I shake my head. “I haven’t seen him around.”

Mitchikov quirks an eyebrow. “Why do you look so disappointed about that? Do you want him hanging around us?”

I don’t answer him.

Because deep down, I don’t know the answer myself.

But I know Dylan Larson. He’s not someone who vanishes after taking a few bruises.

Dylan is stubborn. Loud. And a total bastard when he wants to be.

He wouldn’t hide or quit his job just because a member of an opposing team punched him a few times. If he wanted to stalk me, fight me, or glare at me from across the arena, he would have done so without caring about anyone.

He wouldn’t just disappear. Not unless something was wrong.

“So, what’s this favor you’re asking for?” Mitchikov says, breaking me out of my thoughts.

“I need you to find out where he lives.”

He stares at me for a heartbeat and then laughs. “What the hell are you talking about? Do you hate him so much that you want to go fight him one-on-one? Not that I’m complaining. But dude, you’re still healing. If you want, I can go kick his ass for you.”

“I’m not going to fight him.” Stepping closer to Mitchikov, I glare daggers at him. “And you...you don’t get to touch him.”

The sudden depth and roughness in my voice alert him. “Then, why do you care where the guy lives?”

“Can you do it or not?” I ask, ignoring his question.

Mitchikov shrugs, pulling out his phone. “I know a guy who knows a guy. Give me a sec, okay?”

I nod, watching him step away from me.

Pavel doesn’t talk about it but his dad’s side is connected to a powerful Russian mob family. He’s usually a goofball but there’s a streak of cold, unrestrained lethality in him that he only unleashes on the ice.

Only Coach Sullivan and I know of his connections to the dark underworld of the East Coast mafia network. The rest of our teammates have no idea they’ve been sharing high-fives with a dangerous man who has no business playing college hockey.

Mitchikov walks back toward me, looking grim. “It could take ten minutes to a day,” he says. “Depends on how shady this Larson guy is.”

Digging my hands into my pockets, I nod.

I don’t tell my friend anything, but as far as I know, Dylan’s background isn’t an ideal one. He was a foster kid growing up and lived through some dark shit.

I have no idea what he’s been up to over the past four years he’s been missing. All I can do is hope he didn’t get involved in something dangerous again.

Mitchikov’s phone suddenly starts ringing. His eyebrows rise as he glances down at the screen and then at me.

“This barely took five minutes, huh?” he says, proceeding to take the call.

He speaks for barely a minute before hanging up.

“Larson doesn’t live in the dorms,” Mitchikov says, looking surprised. “He’s registered with the team but he’s staying off-campus.”

I frown. “That’s unusual for someone in an athlete program.”

“Yeah, well,” Mitchikov says, slapping his phone in my hand. “There’s the address. It’s some apartment building across town.”

Glancing at the screen, I see a snapshot of an old, crumbling building in an industrial site. Without a word, I transfer the address and photo to my phone.

“Are you sure about this?” Mitchikov asks quietly. “What exactly do you want to do with his home address?”

“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “Maybe I just want to find out what he’s been up to.”

“The Silver Bears are a bunch of assholes,” he says, looking annoyed. “But are you sure you want to stalk their center? The dude’s good. I’ll give him that. But is he worth the trouble you’re taking on?”

I remain silent.

Is Dylan worth the attention I’m giving him?

Maybe not. But there’s only one way to find out.

“Thanks for this,” I say, giving Mitchikov his phone back. “I owe you one.”

“That was nothing,” he says, grinning at me. “Just make sure you don’t get into any trouble over this guy.”

“I won’t,” I promise him.

“So, will I see you after classes today?”

“Nah. I’m going to take a look into this address and see what I can find out.”

Mitchikov looks like he wants to say something more but steps back. “All right, then. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow morning in the gym, then?”

“Yep! Catch you later, bud.”

I walk away and head to the nearby parking lot. I have classes this afternoon but I’m ditching them.

Getting into my car, I check the address on my phone again and drive out of the campus. It takes me a while to get through traffic to reach the part of town I haven’t been to since my high school days.

The old, dilapidated factory buildings look the same as they did years ago. My car jerks and shakes as I drive over cracked roads.

Soon, I enter a street that’s lined with tall, crumbling apartment buildings. Laundry lines crisscross over my head, casting a network over the tiny balconies.

Parking my car on the street, I step out.

I stare up at the building where Dylan is supposed to be living. Worn bricks and cracked concrete line the faded walls. Every window is smudged with thick dirt, making it impossible to see anything beyond them.

This isn’t the kind of place someone chooses to live in if they have other options.

Dylan could’ve easily gotten comfortable accommodation at his university. The Bears are a strong team without a lack of funding or sponsorships. He could’ve easily lived on campus instead of this hellhole.

Suddenly, my gut twists. It’s the same feeling I’ve been getting each time I feel Dylan’s absence.

Taking a deep breath, I walk inside the building.

The walls and staircase are heavily covered in graffiti art. I climb up the steps until I reach the apartment I’m looking for.

I raise my hand to press the doorbell, but I hesitate for a moment.

My heart hammers in my chest with a mix of emotions.

Am I ready to face Dylan? Can I stay patient enough this time and make him explain what happened in the past?

Suddenly, the door creaks open.

And the breath whooshes right out of me.

But...wait...

The man standing on the other side of the door isn’t Dylan.

“...Coach Becker?”