Page 134 of Wicked Serve

“No. It was the Sharks.”

He looks dazed as he jerks on the ends of his hair, swiping his tongue over his lips. I clasp my hands together, pressing them to my mouth.

“What did they say?”

He laughs in quiet disbelief. “They—they want to call me up.”

Chapter 63

Nikolai

A win today, and we clinch Hockey East.

When I came to McKee, I imagined this moment. A guaranteed slot in the Frozen Four, a final send-off to hockey. I should be excited, at the very least, about the prospect of winning the division, but with the call from last night still echoing in my mind, I haven’t so much as smiled.

I adjust my leather bracelet as I stare into my locker. A new helmet, since my old one got too scuffed up. A fresh home sweater, the purple and white gleaming. I run my hand over the sleeve, swallowing hard.

I asked the Sharks’ general manager for the weekend to get everything in order. I didn’t outright say no to the offer; when I tried, the words wouldn’t leave my mouth. It’s Saturday. Monday, I have to tell them that I’m not going.

I’ve never wanted to do anything less.

Cooper glances at me as he straps his shin guards. “For the record—”

“Don’t,” I interrupt. “Please.”

“Fine.” He pulls on his skates with a scowl. “But Izzy is right.”

“What, don’t you want me around for the rest of the season?” I keep my voice low; I don’t want to attract anyone else’s attention. Thanks to a tense night with Isabelle, I’m barely rested for the game, much less for more unwanted opinions about my future. I’d break poor Micah’s heart if I told him I was turning down a shot at the NHL. “You need me for the playoffs.”

“Gentlemen,” Coach Ryder says, clapping his hands as he strides into the room. “If I could have your attention for a moment, we have a guest.”

I glance at the doorway, and the rest of the room promptly fades away.

My father smiles at me. “Hello, Kolya.”

My palms go slick as he says my name. Ryder keeps talking, but I can’t hear him over the ringing in my ears. I let out a breath as I back against the bench.

He’s here. Really here, in my locker room. He looks a little leaner, a little grayer, but his eyes are the same. My eyes. My hair. My jawline. The older I get, the stronger the resemblance. He shakes Coach Ryder’s hand, says something in accented English, and walks across the room to me. Cooper doesn’t bother hiding his scowl, but I slip into autopilot, trying for a smile. Anything to keep up appearances, to shove down the white-hot rush of panic racing through me.

I need to breathe.

Of course he came at the end of the season, after all. And of course he chose this game, this shot for my team to win the division. I fucking knew he’d take the opportunity to trade his status as a professional hockey player for a public appearance with me. I know how he operates, I’ve seen it in action, and yet I let him orchestrate this moment perfectly. I can play the good son, or I can look like an ungrateful asshole in front of my team. He’s giving me a choice, but it’s not really a choice.

And despite all of that, under the layers of anxiety, my heart stutters at the sight of him.

I steel myself with the memory of bruises on my mother’s face. That night on New Year’s Eve.

“I know I should have called,” he says, still in English, for the benefit of my teammates and coaches, “but I thought you’d appreciate the surprise. I’ve missed you, son.”

He holds out his arms. I hug him mechanically. Even if I told him to leave in Russian, it would cause a scene. I just have to grit my teeth and get through this. Then the game. After that... I don’t know.

“Thanks, Dad. I’ve... missed you, too.”

“I’d wish you luck, but I know you don’t need it. I trained you well.” He breaks off the hug, looking through my locker. He halts momentarily as he stares at the name on the back of my sweater, but just adds, “The entire team has been impressive all season.”

“We’re a close group,” Cooper says flatly.

Dad glances at him before turning his attention back to my sweater. I can’t tell if he’s genuinely hurt, or just pissed. Either way, it makes my stomach lurch. He doesn’t say anything about the A on it, naturally.

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