Page 16 of The Last Inch Of Ice
“Then maybe that’s the point,” Rykov says. “Charity shouldn’t be about cameras and cocktails. It should be about helping people who actually need it.”
Kai’s jaw tightens.
Of course. Of course Rykov would turn this into a moral grandstand. Let’s all look at how pure and noble Nazar Rykov is, rejecting the empty glamour of charity galas while the rest of them drink champagne.
Frida looks unconvinced. “I don’t think the league will approve it. The logistics alone—”
“It’s a good idea,” Kai says, stepping forward.
Both of them turn to look at him.
“Callahan,” she says, her tone cautious.
Kai smiles, the kind of smile that’s all teeth and no warmth. “Rykov’s right. These events are hollow. Empty. Repugnant, even.” He glances at Rykov, who’s staring at him like he’s trying to figure out what game Kai is playing. “So why not do something real for once? Go to Millbrook. Play a charity match. Make it mean something.”
Rykov’s jaw clenches.
“You’re serious?” Frida asks.
“Absolutely,” Kai says. “And I’m sure Rykov will bring cameras and a microphone, since he loves talking in public so much.”
Rykov’s hands curl into fists at his sides.
Frida looks between them, clearly sensing the tension. “I’ll… consider it. I’ll need to talk to the league.”
“Great,” Kai says brightly. “Let us know.”
He walks away before Rykov can say anything.
* * *
By the end of the evening, Kai is exhausted. The smiling, the small talk, the pretending—all of it takes more energy than a full game. He steps out onto the balcony, the cool night air a relief after the stifling warmth of the ballroom.
He leans against the railing, his cocktail—this one’s blue with gold flakes—dangling from his fingers. The city stretches out below him, lights twinkling like stars.
He can’t resist the urge to find Rykov one more time. To provoke him. To see that flash of anger in his dark eyes.
But before he can move, he hears footsteps behind him.
“Trying to get drunk and finally get kicked off the team?”
Kai flinches, spinning around. Rykov is standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable.
Damn it. This happens all the time. How can someone as big and muscular as Rykov move so quietly?
“Jesus, Rykov,” Kai says, his heart still pounding. “Do you practice sneaking up on people, or is it just natural talent?”
He doesn’t answer. He steps onto the balcony, the door clicking shut behind him. “You didn’t answer my question.”
Kai holds up his cocktail. “This? It’s a mocktail. No alcohol. Just sugar.”
“Right.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“I don’t care,” Rykov says. “I want to know why you agreed to the Millbrook match.”
Kai takes a sip of his drink, savoring the sweetness. Secretly, that’s one of the reasons he loves these pompous events—the opportunity to drink fun, creative cocktails. “Why do you care?”
