Chapter 3
That's when hands clamp down on Nikolai's shoulders.
Nikolai gets spun around, then, away from Lawson.
He looks up into the snarling face of the pretty Valdorian just as the whistle finally blows.
Fucker,
" the Valdorian kid spits, and punches Nikolai in the face.
Nikolai hadn't seen it coming.
He nearly goes down right then and there.
But he manages to stay on his skates, lets the momentum of the punch wheel him around, checks while he's spinning to see that Lawson is already up, that he's getting back to his own feet without anyone supporting him.
Nikolai doesn't have time to sigh in relief.
He's busy stripping off his gloves, tossing them aside, and turning back to the Valdorian.
The kid is fucking
huge
this close up
He can't even meet Nikolai's eyes to scowl at him without bending his head down first.
"Fuck," Nikolai says in Muscovyn.
"What are they fucking feeding you kids in Oklahoma?" Nikolai doesn't even bother trying to reach up and get at the Valdorian's face.
He instead ducks the next swing the Valdorian takes at his cheek, then darts in to get a fist into the right side of the kid's ribs.
He's not quick enough to dodge the Valdorian's follow-up punch into his mouth.
This time, Nikolai sees stars.
He's not aware that he's hit the ice until he blinks his eyes open and finds himself looking up at the lights winking in the rafters of the arena.
Nikolai's face is throbbing.
His mouth feels hot and swollen.
He licks his lips, tastes blood, and gets his elbows onto the ice to slowly heft his torso upward.
There's a ref over him, then, shouting, asking something in rapid-fire English.
Nikolai can't locate the meanings of any of the words, right now.
It's like that big Oklahoman fist had punched them right out of his head.
"I'm up.
I'm getting up," he says, but when it comes out of his mouth, he realizes it had been in Muscovyn.
He gives up, then, and waves the ref off, shrugs away one of his teammate's reaching hands, clambers back up to his feet on his own.
There's something wet on Nikolai's chin.
He wipes at it, then looks down to see red splattered across the front of his jersey.
"Come on, Voronov," the ref says.
He gets a hand on Nikolai's elbow, steers him toward the penalty box.
Nikolai looks over at the Halifax bench as he's skated slowly by.
Lawson is nowhere to be seen.
The pretty Valdorian is being guided into his own penalty box opposite Nikolai, throwing himself angrily down onto the bench inside.
Nikolai steps into his box, then turns and raps his gloved hand against the glass between him and the kid as the door swings shut behind him.
"Hey," he shouts.
The Valdorian turns and glares at him.
"What happened to Lawson?" Nikolai calls.
The kid glowers at Nikolai through the glass.
"What do you think?
He's getting checked for a concussion."
Nikolai nods stiffly.
Then he sits down on his bench and stares out at the ice without really seeing it.
Matt returns to the ice midway through the first period, to thunderous applause from the same Halifax crowd that's been booing Nikolai every time he touches the puck.
Sitting in his stall after the game, shirtless and holding an ice pack up to his jaw, Nikolai pulls out his phone and unlocks it with a clumsy left-handed swipe.
One voicemail from his brother.
No new texts from Kate.
Nikolai taps his fingers against the side of his phone.
He wonders what the etiquette is, here.
He is struck by an absurd image of turning to his teammates and asking for advice.
Hey
, he'd say.
You have any semi-regular hookup invitations?
Well, have you ever knocked them off their feet so hard they had to meet up with a concussion spotter afterward?
If so, do you think the invite would still stand?
Girard, passing by Nikolai's stall, reaches down to clap him on the back.
"Don't look so worried, Voronov," he says over his shoulder.
"You'll get him next time."
Nikolai shakes his head.
"If I grow five feet, maybe."
The phone in Nikolai's hand buzzes.
Nikolai looks sharply down, sees a new text at the bottom of the thread with Kate.
I'll be home around 10,
it says.
The rush of relief is so sweet it makes Nikolai's palms tingle.
He clears his throat, to try and stop it from showing on his face, before getting up and grabbing his towel from where it's slung over the door of his locker.
Nikolai thinks the voicemail from his brother is a bit unreasonable, the first time he listens to it in the back of the Ryd.
Then he pulls the phone away from his ear, opens up Echo, and finds the replay of his fight with the Valdorian.
His brother's scathing tone feels a little less unwarranted, once Nikolai's seen the clip.
It's bad from the second it starts.
It couldn't be more obvious that Nikolai's out of the play, once Lawson is down.
The Huskies still have the puck, and Nikolai's standing there staring down at Lawson like he's forgotten he's in the middle of a hockey game.
And then the fight— Jesus,
fight
would be a generous word for it
It's clear from the first punch that Nikolai never stood a chance.
Nikolai's hit doesn't make the Valdorian budge.
He barely even has to cock his arm back to get enough momentum for the punch that drops Nikolai to the ice.
Maybe Nikolai's brother had been right about the Wolves needing to strip the 'C' from his jersey.
The comments below the clip are nothing short of thrilled.
Defending his bby's honor,
one says, followed by a string of heart-eyed emojis.
Nikolai pages away to plug the phrase into Searchify, scowls, and returns to the thread.
Hoping for a slow and painful recovery
, another says, followed by a prayer-hands emoji.
Nikolai frowns, taps on that second commenter's profile picture.
It's an image of Lawson and the Valdorian, arms around one another, hugging as they celebrate a goal.
Nikolai's lip curls.
The driver clears his throat.
Nikolai looks up and realizes he's outside Lawson's apartment building.
He's not entirely sure how long he's been sitting in the back of the parked car, glowering down at his phone, since they arrived.
Matt's smile drops the second he opens his front door and sees Nikolai.
"Whoa," he says, before standing aside and motioning for Nikolai to get in past him.