Chapter 3
There was no one here right now to see Artem, but that didn't mean someone couldn't walk out that door or come up the elevator.
Maybe someone had seen Artem in the lobby – recognized him.
Would start asking questions why a Dunmore player was in Bromley.
Why a player most of the league hated was suddenly at a random apartment outside his city.
The paranoia was starting to take over, making him feel a little unhinged.
God, what was he fucking doing?
This was so fucking stupid.
If Rhys knew, he would be telling him as much.
He should turn around, go home, forget about this.
Except he kept replaying Rhys saying his name on a half-sob.
How broken he'd sounded.
Defeated.
Scared
Artem couldn't let that slide.
If Jonas fucking Sutter wanted to throw the weight of knowing Rhys's secret around – especially on the fucking ice – then Artem had to make it clear there would be consequences.
If he already knew about Rhys and Artem, then Artem didn't have to hold back in defending Rhys.
Jonas Sutter had run his mouth a little too much and Artem Belov was going to put his fist through it.
He knocked again.
"I'm coming," came a deep voice from inside.
Artem was bouncing on the balls of his feet, adrenaline pumping through his veins, heartbeat pounding in his ears.
There was a click, another, and then the door opened to reveal a shirtless and sweaty Jonas Sutter.
Artem stopped.
"Belov?" Jonas asked, completely confused.
Artem tracked a drop of sweat running down Jonas's chest to his abs.
"What are you doing here?
How do you know where I live?"
Artem snapped out of it, rage right at the surface, "Does not matter.
I find you."
"You found me?"
"I come in." Artem didn't give Jonas a chance to say no, pushing past him too fast for the man to think of blocking him outside.
He took a couple steps into the apartment.
Lots of art displayed around the shiny sleek furniture.
Lots of breakable things...
Artem turned back to Jonas, finding him still standing in the open doorway, his confusion slowly turning to apprehension.
"Close the door," said Artem.
Jonas's jaw ticked as he realized why Artem was here.
The Colonel glanced to the hall – maybe thinking about making a run for it – but he had no shirt and no shoes (seriously, who walked around their house in jeans?
Why
jeans
?) and there was no way Artem was going to let him do that.
Better they have this conversation in private.
"Close the door," Artem said again.
Jonas nodded, letting it shut behind him.
He looked at Artem, eyes hardening, "You're here about last game?"
"You know what I am here about."
"It's just a game.
Fighting's part of that."
"Fighting yes.
But you do more than fight."
Jonas rolled his head back with a sigh, "Look man, I'm sorry about that.
I shouldn't've said—"
You are
sorry
?" That chill was settling over Artem again, the scary kind, the kind that came over him before he'd get ejected from a game as a kid.
The kind that let him go to some other place when his father was yelling.
The kind he tried very desperately to keep under control.
Control that felt very far away right now.
He tried to keep his focus, tried to stay present, but Rhys's broken voice was still playing through his head on a loop and Artem's own fear had been riding him the entire four-hour drive (yes, he could've taken a plane, but then someone might have recognized him at the airport and he really, really didn't want anyone to know he was in Bromley right now.
Just in case) so he wasn't really thinking clearly at the moment.
What he really wanted was to be on the ice so he could drop his gloves in front of Sutter and watch the fear sink into his eyes.
But they were in his apartment, so Artem was going to have to settle for squaring his shoulders without the pads making him look bigger.
Jonas's eyes still widened.
"You say that out there – you make accusation – during a
game
," Artem's voice was rising.
Good thing Jonas Sutter had a big apartment with far-away neighbours.
Good for Artem.
Possibly bad for Jonas.
"I-I know man.
It wasn't cool, I'm sorry," Jonas took a step back as Artem took one forward.
"You don't get to make threats on ice.
Not without consequences."
"I think Thorne already saw to that," Jonas gestured at his jaw and through his blinding rage, Artem could see a little redness on the skin there.
Not even a fucking bruise.
"You think that makes better?
You think that is same thing?
You say to him in front of everyone!"
"Not everyone—"
"You do not know that.
You do not start shit like that out there." Artem's control was slipping.
Jonas's eyes hardened, "I didn't start it.
And maybe Thorne shouldn't be talking shit if he couldn't take it."
Artem scoffed, "He don't even say much!
He make little joke and you throw darkest secret in his face!"
"I know—"
"Are you such baby you cannot handle little chirp?
Thorne don't hurt you – he don't hurt fly – and you swing at him because you can?"
Artem pushed Jonas into the door, feeling it shake on its hinges.
He pressed his forearm to Jonas's throat, "You want to swing at someone you swing at me." He gave him a little shake, "I swing back."
"I'd like to see you try."
"You think you big man, Sutter?
I show you, fucker," and Artem's fist swung.
It made contact right over the little red mark Rhys's had left behind – like a target.
Like Artem's hand was finding Rhys's even broken by time.
Like he was reclaiming a place that Rhys had touched.
Jonas grunted, trying to push Artem away.