Chapter 2
The next day, Dylan drags himself to practice.
He's slow to change, slow to fasten his blades, slow to pull on his gloves.
The background noise of the changing room feels piercing.
Someone makes a comment and everyone jeers.
Dylan winces.
"You okay, man?"
It's Wesley.
Peering at him with obvious concern.
Dylan tries to answer, but finds his voice fails him.
He swallows and tries again, "I'm fine."
Dylan is not fine.
He feels thin, like a piece of fabric worn down to its last threads.
His hands won't stop shaking beneath the gloves.
"You don't look fine.
Maybe we should let the medical team take a look at you."
Dylan already has.
He arrived early and went straight there, hoping they'd find a reason for the way he's feeling, but there isn't anything physically wrong.
All his vitals are normal.
He doesn't even have a fever.
He just feels... empty.
"I'm fine," Dylan repeats.
It's one of the worst practices he's ever had.
He fumbles shots he normally could have made with his eyes closed.
The rest of the team know it too, shooting glances his way as they leave the rink.
Dylan wants to shrink into himself and disappear.
Fate awards him a rare afternoon off at the worst possible moment.
There's nothing to distract him—no practice, no meeting with sponsors, no promotional events.
It's just Dylan, alone and empty.
He crawls back into bed, securing himself within the blankets, clinging to their warmth like an anchor.
His breathing is slow and shaky at the edges.
It feels safer not to move, to lie still and pretend the feeling isn't pulling him under.
The sound of his ringtone is piercing in the silence.
Dylan fumbles to answer it without checking the caller.
His voice is groggy.
"Hello?"
"You're not going to believe this."
"Mom?"
"It's Orlov," she says.
The mere mention of Viktor's name makes his pulse spike.
He sits up, blankets falling away.
"What about Orlov?"
"He's the last minute addition to the photoshoot tomorrow.
They just signed him as an ambassador."
Dylan's thoughts slip sideways.
It's hope that flickers first, like a pilot light in his chest.
A kind of nervous warmth spreading gently outwards.
His grip tightens around the phone, trying to steady himself.
He realises she's still talking and tunes back in.
"—why would they even want someone like Orlov?"
Dylan swallows and tries not to think about all the ways he wants Orlov.
"I don't know, Mom."
"Do you want to cancel?"
"No," Dylan says quickly.
Too quickly.
"It's fine.
Really."
She sighs.
I can't make it, so you'll be on your own.
Don't let him get to you."
Dylan bids her goodbye and hangs up.
He stares at his reflection on the screen.
Tomorrow.
He thought it would be months, but he'll get to see Viktor tomorrow.
Even as his pulse picks up in anticipation, everything else still feels slow, like wading through honey.
The ache persists, but it's shifting slightly to make room for something else; a nervous combination of longing and worry, wondering how Viktor will react when he sees Dylan again.
He types out a message and hits send before he can overthink it.
Kate [16:35]:
Breven.
Congratulations
Dylan immediately puts his phone down and heads to the bathroom to shower.
He needs a distraction, rather than sitting there waiting for Viktor's reply.
The hot water pounds down on his shoulders, doing nothing to thaw the numbness he's been carrying around for days.
When he gets back, there's still no reply from Viktor.
Dylan tries again.
Kate [16:58]:
I'll see you at the photoshoot?
Dylan waits a while longer.
His heart jumps when three dots appear in their chat.
The dots disappear, then reappear, then disappear again as Viktor types and deletes.
Dylan watches in hopeful silence.
In the end, Viktor's answer is one word.
Rose [17:01]: Yes
After days of nothing, it's a tiny beacon of light in the darkness.
Dylan desperately clings to the thin thread of connection.
Kate [17:02]: Was this one your idea too?
Dylan chews on his lip.
Every unanswered minute weighs heavier and heavier, the flicker of hope slowly dwindling.
Five minutes turns into ten which turns into thirty.
His phone screen remains dark and silent.
After an hour, he tosses the phone aside, pressing trembling hands over his eyes.
He feels stupid for even asking.
Brand deals as big as Breven don't just happen because a player suddenly decides they want it.
He's grasping at anything to get Viktor to talk to him, even when Viktor clearly doesn't want to.
A miserable thought occurs to him, worming out of the pit in his sternum.
Did Dylan do something wrong the last time they were together?
It would explain why Viktor is avoiding him.
The memory of that evening now felt hazy—blurred at the edges, as if viewed from a distance.
He thought Viktor had enjoyed it, but maybe he was wrong.
Maybe Dylan hadn't been good enough.
The echo of Viktor's warm skin against his fades with every second that passes.
Dylan is left completely alone.
The backs of his eyes prickle with the sting of tears.
He barely has enough energy to pull the covers back over his head, trying to shut out the entire world.