Page 63 of The Last Inch Of Ice
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Chapter 19 Nazar
He feels like a tuxedo-clad animal in a zoo at the League Awards, and he hates every second.
He makes the rounds because that’s what you do at these things. Shaking hands with GMs who remember his statistics better than his name. Deflecting questions from agents who want to know if he’s “happy in Vancouver” in that specific tone that means they’re fishing for trade interest.
Sharing a stiff, awkward exchange with a Bruins defenseman he tried to put through the boards three weeks ago—they both pretend it was just good clean hockey, nothing personal.
“Rykov! Hell of a season you’re having.” Some retired player whose name Nazar should probably remember claps him on the shoulder. “You know, back in my day, we didn’t have these fancy analytics, but I always could spot talent when I saw it…”
Nazar nods along, making appropriate sounds while his mind wanders. He’s reached that stage of the evening whereall the conversations blur together into a meaningless drone of hockey clichés and humble brags.
Then a shift in the room’s energy snags his attention.
Kai Callahan has arrived.
He’s not alone. At his side is a man who shares his aristocratic bone structure and easy grace, but has dark hair slicked back in that way that screams “I have a corner office and a Patek Philippe.”
He’s older than Kai—maybe thirty—and moves with the predatory stillness of someone who’s spent his life in boardrooms.
Kai’s older brother, Nazar realizes. The heir to the Callahan empire.
They stand by the bar, and Kai’s brother says something that makes Kai throw his head back and laugh. A real laugh—uninhibited and bright. So different from the sharp, sarcastic sounds Nazar is used to, the defensive armor Kai usually wears like a second skin.
His brother reaches over and ruffles Kai’s perfect blond hair, messing it up deliberately.
Kai looks happy. Relaxed. Younger, somehow.
It’s a version of him Nazar has never seen before, and the sight of it lodges in his chest—a strange, uncomfortable mix of envy and… something that feels uncomfortably close to grief for a version of Kai he’s never been allowed to know.
“That’s Liam Callahan,” the retired player is still talking. “The smart one. Running half the family business now. Word is Doyle’s grooming him to take over the whole operation. Unlike the younger one, who’s too busy being a—”
“Excuse me,” Nazar interrupts, already moving away. He doesn’t need to hear whatever derogatory comment is coming next.
He keeps his distance but finds himself tracking Kai’s movement through the crowd like he’s reading a play on ice. Watching the way Kai works the room—all charm and practiced smiles, but with his brother as a buffer. Liam seems to run interference, subtly redirecting conversations when they veer too personal, cutting off questions his brother doesn’t want to answer.
They cross paths several times throughout the night.
A near-miss by the silent auction table, where some idiotic charity is auctioning off signed jerseys and “exclusive experiences” that are just awkward dinners with players who don’t want to be there.
Kai’s eyes meet his over the rim of a champagne flute. Just for a second. Long enough for Nazar’s heart to do something stupid in his chest.
A brush of shoulders in the crush of people near the stage when they’re announcing some lifetime achievement award that requires everyone to applaud politely. The contact is brief, electric—a shock that leaves the skin on Nazar’s arm buzzing like he’s been hit with static.
Everyone else is oblivious, caught up in their own conversations and politics and networking. But Nazar is hyperaware of every time Kai moves, every time he laughs at something his brother says.
He wants him.
The knowledge that they’re surrounded by more than half the hockey world—GMs, coaches, agents, journalists, the entire infrastructure of the league—only makes the wanting sharper.
More impossible to ignore.
At one point, he catches Kai standing alone by one of those floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the skyline. His brother is temporarily caught in conversation with a league official twenty feet away, and Kai has taken the opportunity to escape. He’s juststanding there, champagne in hand, staring out at the city lights with an expression Nazar can’t read from this distance.
Lonely, maybe. Or just tired.
Nazar can’t take it anymore.
