Page 85 of These Wicked Games
I take my place next to Colton, who I get along with the best—locker buddies—and he gives me a soft smile that eases my nerves a bit. “My brother is queer,” he says quietly.
Um, I don’t know what to say to that. “Cool?”
He laughs, slapping me with his towel. “I guess that was my poor attempt at telling you I’m an ally. I mean, you and Oli are a shock but . . . I don’t care.”
“Um, thanks. I appreciate that.” I concentrate on changing, trying to keep my mind focused on what I have to do and not on the eyes that are definitely trying not to be obvious.
We almost get off without an issue until Mikael Stüber runs his mouth. “So, are we going to talk about what we’re not talking about, or are we going to pretend it’s fucking normal for our captain to be fucking our goalie?”
The room falls silent. Oli turns, and fuck, I usually love when that lethal gaze rakes over me, but now I’m almost afraid for our teammate. “What Andre and I do in our personal life is no one’s fucking business.”
“Oli,” Sev says gently. “I don’t think we care that you’re queer.” He looks around the room, and I can tell there are a few who do care, but they fall silent and try to busy themselves. “I think we’re more upset that we didn’t know, that you guys felt you couldn’t tell us. Andre, fine, we’re just getting to know him, but you’ve been our captain, our family for years now.”
Oli swallows thickly, sighing as he pulls on his gear. “Look.” He turns to the room. “I am sorry I didn’t tell anyone, but this is . . . this is new. For me. For him.” He looks at me. “We’re not even sure what’s happening right now.” My stomach clenches, and I don’t know why. I know what this is. Yes, things have changed over the last month, but still. At the end of the day, maybe I am just a hole for him to relieve some stress in.
“But something is happening?” Ryker asks.
Again his eyes land on me; they watch me and don’t let go. Then I feel hope—just a little—as those eyes settle on me, soft and hazy. “Yes.” The word is simple, but it lands and swells, encasing me in this fucking warmth I want to covet. He turns his eyes to the rest of the room watching us. “All of this now needs to be put to the side. We’re going to win this fucking game. We’re going to show everyone who we are as a team,” he says. “If anyone has any appropriate non-invasive questions, we can answer them after. Deal?” He throws his hand out, and it takes a minute but Grey, Atlas, and Ryker put their hand on top. Slowly the rest of the guys join. “Let’s show them why we’re going to the playoffs this year. Why we’re the best team in our conference.” Finally I stand, looking at them all and placing my hand on top.
“Let’s show them why we’re going to the playoffs this year. Why we’re the best team in our division.”
twenty-five
Andre
Goalie gear is a pain in the dick to get on. I do it easily now, but I still feel like the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man when I have everything on. Landon was supposed to play tonight, but Coach thinks it’s a good idea to put me in. I don’t mind, I’m actually excited to play. I’m not sure why this adrenaline is flowing through me. It’s not the normal game-day high; it’s something else. Something so light and free dances behind my rib cage.
I’m ready to kick some ass tonight . . . show all the assholes who think being queer is wrong. Before we get onto the ice I have one thing to do, though. I don’t see Oli—he was talking to our coach a little bit ago—so I walk up to Viktor who’s on his headphones, his thick fingers tapping on his knee, his eyes closed, head nodding to whatever he’s listening to. I tap on his shoulder, and he flinches, looking up to see me. “Oh hey, Andre.”
“Can I, uh, ask you a question?”
“Uh, yes.” He looks around. This behemoth of a man is quiet most days.
“Can you tell me whatzaykameans?” He looks around for help, but I’m not giving this up. Yes, I could figure out the spelling and probably google it, but I don’t want to in case it fucks up the translation.
“Why?”
“Don’t worry about why? What is it?”
His brows pinch as he looks beyond me, and I turn, seeing Oli now pulling his jersey over his pads. He gives me a wink. Oh, that asshole. “No, don’t look at him. Look at me! What does it mean?”
“Does Oli call you that?” He smiles
“What Oli and I do in the privacy of our—” His brows rise. “Yes, okay! What does it mean?” Instead of answering me he stands, towering over my six foot two inches. Why is he so damn tall? And wide! All he does is chuckle. Why is he chuckling?! “Hey! Tell me.”
Instead he pats my head. “Good luck tonight, littlezayka.”
Oh, what the fuck! “Viktor! Viktor, get back here!” Ignoring me, he walks away, and I walk to my stupid fucking boyfriend who’s smirking like the proudest dick on the planet. “You’re an asshole.”
His eyes go molten. “Mm, why now?”
“I will find out what it means.”
“Google, baby,” he whispers. “Just google it.”
Baby? The endearment heats my skin. Don’t get distracted! I want someone who speaks Russian to tell me. “You’re a dick.”
“Yeah.” Oli looks back, and yeah, I can feel eyes on us, but I don’t even care. I’m so happy despite our privacy being leaked. I feel free. Yes, I’m angry, and those photographers will get what’s coming.I know Jessica won’t rest until she has vengeance on our behalf. They’re going to have to keep their identities a secret because I have no doubt Oli will want a word with whoever did it too. Right here, though . . . right in this moment with Oli’s soft blue eyes on me, I know we can make it through whatever. “You’re going to do great tonight, Dre.”
