Page 114 of The Last Inch Of Ice
“KAI-SYN CALL-A-HAND—” The rhythm is infectious, spreading through sections of the crowd like a virus. The words that follow are too vile to repeat, but they’re loud enough that the broadcast mics are definitely picking them up.
His hands tighten on his stick until the carbon fiber creaks in protest.
He’s on the verge of skating to the penalty box and demanding the officials do something.Aha, an act that would accomplish nothing except getting him kicked out of the game and probably fined.
During Kai’s goal celebration, Nazar sees Kai turn on the ice after another wave of the chant. Sees him adjust his helmet with movements that are too controlled, too precise.
He’s going to do something. Nazar recognizes that energy. Has seen it before.
Nazar skates over on instinct, putting himself between Kai and the boards where the chanting is loudest.
“Don’t,” he says, his voice low enough that only Kai can hear. “It’s not worth it.”
Kai doesn’t look at him. His eyes are fixed on something beyond the glass. “Get out of my way, Rykov.”
“Kai—”
But Kai is already moving, skating around him with that explosive speed that makes him so dangerous. He heads directly toward the boards, right in front of the loudest section of fans. The ones with their faces painted, their signs held high, their voices raw from screaming obscenities.
The officials notice. One of them starts skating over, probably to prevent whatever incident is about to happen.
Kai stops at the boards. Turns to face the crowd directly.
Then, with a deliberate movement that somehow manages to be both aggressive and elegant, he lifts his glove. Makes a fist. Holds it there for a long, silent moment—a gesture of pure defiance.
Then he turns and skates away.
The arena goes absolutely wild.
Half the crowd is booing louder than before. But a pocket of Wardens fans — outnumbered but loud — starts screaming his name. “KAI! KAI! KAI!”
Someone in the upper deck unfurls a rainbow flag. Security immediately moves to confiscate it, but not before the cameras catch it.
Kai looks absolutely magnificent. In a single silent gesture, he’s taken their ugliest insult and turned it into a symbol of power. Reclaimed the narrative. Made himself untouchable not through denial or deflection, but through complete, fearless ownership.
A fierce, possessive desire washes over Nazar so intense it makes his vision narrow.
He wants to take all of Kai’s worries, all his pain, and swallow them whole. Wants to find whoever started that chant and personally rearrange their face. Wants to wrap Kai in something that keeps the world from hurting him while still letting him be this brave, reckless, beautiful thing.
And a darker, more selfish part of him wants to skate to center ice and tell the entire fucking arena that yes, if anyone is going to be touching Kaisyn Callahan that intimately, it will be him. Only him. And everyone else can go to hell.
But he doesn’t. He just watches Kai skate to the bench, head high, and feels something shift in his chest.
Something that might be pride or love or both tangled together.
* * *
A few weeks later, they’re at another charity event. This one’s on ice. A skate-with-the-pros thing for a local children’s hospital.
One of those mandatory PR obligations that everyone doeswith varying levels of enthusiasm.
Nazar is going through the motions, pushing smiling kids around the rink, helping them with their stride, making sure no one falls and cracks their head open. Standard stuff.
Then he sees Kai in the corner, surrounded by a small group of boys maybe eight or nine years old. They’re all staring up at him with that particular brand of hero worship only children can manage.
A few other players have drifted over to watch. Even some of the coaches. Whatever Kai’s doing has drawn an audience.
Nazar skates closer, pulled by that invisible magnetic force that’s governed his movements since he was nineteen years old.
