Page 42 of Dice & Dekes

I look up as he pulls back the chair across from me. He’s got a mug of his own, one with the Stanley Cup embossed on the side.

“Chamomile,” he says. The words are accompanied by a sad smile. “I know you like it.”

I reach out for the reassuring warmth of the mug. “How?”

He shrugs. “I saw it at the pool house one time, decided to try it. I sometimes struggle to wind down after games.”

“Oh.” I frown at the tea. “That’s… Thank you.”

“Can you tell me what happened tonight?” he asks. My face must do something weird, because he backpedals at once. “Not the details, I don’t need that, but I just need to know if you’re okay. I mean, you’re notokay-okay, but for all I know, you knifed a guy during a secret two a.m. mafia shakedown, and I’d like to know if his don is coming after me.”

I can tell that he’s trying to lighten the mood with humor, but he’s out of his depth. I smile anyway. “You think Dante called me in for some emergency shady dealings?”

He shrugs again. “It’s not outside the realm of possibility.”

I don’t have it in me to banter, so I skip the jokes and go right for the truth. “I had a life flight tonight. Two kids. One of them, uh. I don’t think she made it.”

Viktor sucks in a breath. “Goddamn. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were still flying for LifeSource. You don’t talk about it much.”

“Yeah, ‘cuz it’s a fucking bummer.” I can feel my equilibrium returning. “They only call me if one of their regular pilots can’t make a difficult landing.”

“Maybe tonight is a bummer, but you save people.” Viktor sounds almost awed.

I wave him off. “Ihelpsave people. EMTs do the real work. I’m basically a glorified Uber driver of the skies.”

His brow furrows.

“What?” I demand.

“Nothing.” He takes a sip of his tea. I do the same. There’s a sweetness on the finish; he must have added honey.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” I ask him, in part, to change the subject. I shouldn’t be this comforted. I shouldn’t want to crawl into someone else’s warmth and hide. But the tea is warm. Viktor is warm. And for once, I’m not alone with my guilt. I don’t need him acting like I’m some sort of hero for this LifeSource thing. If anything, it’s the opposite. I’m paying penance.

Viktor rolls his eyes. “Believe it or not, some people actually think I’m a nice guy.”

“When you want something, maybe.”

He grimaces, but doesn’t argue.

He’s wrong. I don’t think people see Viktor as a nice guy. They see him as the charming one. The screw-up. The party boy who can’t commit. I know the stories. I helped write them.

But the man sitting across from me right now? He’s the one who got out of bed in the middle of the night, barefoot and worried, just to come scoop me off the pavement. That’s not charm. That’s heart.

“Shit.” I cover my face with both hands and lean my elbows on the table. “I’m sorry. I keep doing that. You’ve been really nice to me during one of the shittier weeks of my life, and I keep lashing out. I’m the asshole.”

“No,” Viktor corrects, “you’re the woman who woke up at two a.m. to try to save a stranger’s life.”

I want to argue. I want to deflect, make a joke, roll my eyes, bite his head off. But I can’t. Because he means it.

And that might be the most terrifying thing about him. He means it.

He sees the worst of me and doesn’t flinch. He stays.

I peek between my fingers at him. His voice lacks that mocking lilt that I know so well, and there’s no hint of teasing in his expression. He’s not trying to make me feel small. He’s being…kind?

“Although you were a little bit of an asshole just now,” he amends.

I let out a snort of laughter. “Screw you.”

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