Page 15 of The Last Inch Of Ice
His father has been dissatisfied with him his entire life. Contrary to public opinion, Doyle doesn’t love that his youngest son plays hockey. He hates it. Hates that Kai chose the sport, hates that Kai isn’t good at staying quiet and invisible, hates that every headline with Kai’s name in it reflects back on him.
So Kai shows up. Every time. And he smiles for the cameras.
Tonight, he’s nursing a cocktail—something bright pink with edible flowers floating in it—when he sees Nazar Rykov walk through the entrance.
He nearly drops his glass.
Rykov never comes to these things. He’s the type who considers charity galas a waste of time, all performance and no substance. The kind of guy who’d rather write a check quietly and move on with his life.
But here he is, dressed in a dark suit that fits him too well, his expression as grim as ever.
Kai orders himself to stay away.
Their encounters never end well. Rykov always wants to appear righteous, like he’s got the moral high ground on everything. And Kai’s eyes flash with anger every time he remembers that the good, silent Rykov—who barely speaks to anyone—was not so restrained with one person.
Him.
Rykov made that comment to the press a few years ago, and ever since, Kai has made it his personal mission to ensure he regrets it.
He takes a long sip of his cocktail and turns away.
The evening drags. Speeches. Applause. Rich people congratulating themselves for being generous. Kai smiles through all of it, shaking hands and making small talk with people whose names he’ll forget by morning.
Sam Kowalski is here too, looking uncomfortable in a suit that’s slightly too big for him. He’s standing near the bar, nursing a soda and looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.
“First gala?” Kai asks, sliding up beside him.
Sam jumps slightly. “Yeah. Is it always like this?”
“Worse,” Kai says. “Wait until they start the auction.”
“There’s an auction?”
“Silent auction. People bid on signed jerseys and dinner dates with players. It’s as awkward as it sounds.”
Sam grimaces. “Great.”
Kai pats him on the shoulder. “You’ll survive. Just smile and don’t drink the champagne. It’s amazing.”
He’s about to head back into the crowd when he sees Rykov again. This time, he’s talking to Frida Ivorly, the head of Very Important Charity Committee and general manager of the team. Frida is in her fifties, sharp-eyed and sharper-tongued, the kind of woman who doesn’t suffer fools.
Rykov is speaking to her with the kind of intensity that makes Kai pause.
He shouldn’t eavesdrop.
He does anyway.
“—before Christmas,” Rykov is saying, his voice low but firm. “A charity match. For the orphanage in Millbrook.”
Frida raises an eyebrow. “Millbrook? That’s in the middle of nowhere.”
“Exactly.”
“You’re serious.”
“Completely.”
Frida folds her arms. “Most of these events are about visibility. Millbrook doesn’t have visibility. It’s a small town with no media presence.”
