Chapter 1
Artem was still laughing at the highlight real when the call came through.
Rhys was on his tv screen, yelling at Jonas Sutter while his teammates held him back like an angry kitten.
Artem was lying in bed with a stupid smile on his face because even angry, Rhys was just so...
cute.
He was so bare.
All his emotions right there on his face, set deep in his eyes.
Like he couldn't help it – like he still didn't know how to hide, even when he was trying.
Not from Artem.
It pleased the Karonian greatly.
The news anchor was speculating on what they could be talking about and Artem was desperately wondering the same.
He'd thought Rhys and Sutter were cool – friends even, after Showcase – but his boy was practically spitting words at the American, face scrunched and eyes hard in a way Rhys rarely got.
Especially on the ice.
Especially in front of cameras.
Whatever it was had to be good for Rhys to have lost his composure and Artem was practically chomping at the bit to get in on the action.
He was just pulling his phone out to text and ask when Gwen's contact popped up as the device started ringing.
Artem answered the call still laughing, "Goody, goody Thorne dropping his gloves—"
"Artem," Rhys's voice broke on his name.
Like he was crying.
Artem immediately sat up in bed, "Rhys?
What is wrong?"
"Artem," and yes, that was definitely a sniffle on the other end of the line.
"Artem I – he—" Rhys was gasping between words, hyperventilating.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Artem was out of bed and moving before his head could catch up to his feet.
"Rhys?
Rhys, is alright.
"I didn't – I didn't fucking mean it," Rhys was sobbing.
Artem felt like his stomach was in his throat.
"I-I was just messing around.
Like the guys are always messing around."
Artem hopped on one foot, phone pressed between his ear and shoulder as he tried to put on his shoes, not even bothering with the laces.
He grabbed his jacket from the closet, patting the pocket – where was his fucking wallet?
"Rhys what happened?
Is this about fight?"
"I-I just wanted to try it out, you know, the jokes and stuff.
I thought it would be fine.
I-I didn't think Jonas would take it like that."
"Sutter?
What did Sutter do?" Artem was a mix of blinding panic and rage.
If Rhys was this upset then it had to be serious.
Artem was going to kill Jonas Sutter.
He was already calculating travel time to Calder, pulling up flights on his phone.
If he got to the airport now, he could be in the city in three, maybe four hours.
He'd be at Rhys's apartment before sunrise.
But that still meant he'd spend the night alone.
"T-The fight.
He – he said – I-I said—" Rhys broke off with another sob.
Artem's heart broke.
He needed to go.
He needed his fucking wallet.
Where the fuck—
There!
On the side table where it usually was when he actually put his jacket away in the closet.
Why he hadn't looked there first...
it didn't matter.
He grabbed it, going for the keys on the hook – which were fucking missing.
God fucking dammit.
Rhys's breathing had sped up again.
Artem tried to calm him down, "Rhys, you need to breathe.
Breathe for me, please sweetheart.
Deep breath."
He heard Rhys take a choked inhale.
"Good," Artem soothed.
"Are you in trouble?
Is manager mad?
Team?"
"N-No, t-they didn't say anything about it."
"Then why are you crying?
Was it Sutter?
Did he hurt you?" Artem was already running every possibility of injuries, and hospitals, and time off that he could think of.
Spiraling through every doomsday hockey scenario that had ever haunted his nightmares.
Except in his dreams, they usually happened to him.
Somehow, this was worse.
Rhys's voice was almost a whisper as he admitted, "I fucked up."
Artem stopped in his tracks, "What do you mean?"
"He knows.
Jonas Sutter fucking knows."
And Artem understood what he meant immediately but he still needed clarification – for Rhys to confirm it out loud so he knew it was real, "About...
"Us," Rhys sniffled again.
"About you and me."
Everything in the room stopped moving.
A chill settled over Artem's bones.
"How do you know?"
"Because he told me.
When I chirped him, he told me he knew that we were together."
Artem's veins were turning to ice, "He said it on rink?
With cameras?"
I-I don't know, it was on the ice but there weren't cameras around.
It was after the game."
"You are sure is what he meant?"
"Yes." There was a long pause before Rhys said, "And if he wasn't sure, then I confirmed it."
Artem was standing very, very still, staring at his front door.
He should be looking for his keys, but something in him was hoping that if he just didn't move, then time might stop, and the future of whatever this was wouldn't come to fruition.
He took a breath before asking, "Confirmed it?"
"I-I overreacted.
Even if he was just making assumptions before, he'd have to know it was true now," Rhys was still crying.
Artem felt like he might start.
"I-It was a joke.
It was supposed to be a joke—"
"What was?
Rhys, what did you say?"
"I said 'Hope the next time we play you decide to show up,' a-and he spat at me and then h-he said I was starting t-to sound like – like—"
"Like what?"
"You."