Page 125 of The Last Inch Of Ice
The moment he steps inside, he realizes he was very, very wrong about the quiet afternoon.
The small living room is packed with bodies. Sam is sprawled on the couch that’s definitely too small for his frame. Vyachovsky is examining something on the mantle—probably one of his grandmother’s ceramic figurines that she’s inexplicably proud of. Miller is in the kitchen doorway, and Armstrong is—
“Nazar!” His grandmother appears from the kitchen, her face lit up. “Finally! Come, come. Your friends are starving. I told them to wait but they keep looking at the food like wolves.”
“We’re not wolves!” Sam protests. “We’re very patient guests.”
“Patient.” She snorts, swatting at him with a dish towel. “You asked me three times when the food would be ready.”
“That was just me making conversation!”
Nazar stands in the doorway, his brain trying to process the scene. His grandmother’s house has somehow absorbed half his former team.
And Kai is nowhere to be seen.
“Where’s Callahan?” The question comes out more abrupt than he intends.
“In the garden,” Vyachovsky says without looking up from the figurine. “He’s been out there for like twenty minutes. Said something about tomatoes.”
“He’s helping me pick the ripe ones,” his grandmother adds, bustling back toward the kitchen. “Good boy. Very gentle with the plants. Not like you, breaking branches when you were young.”
“I was seven—”
“And destructive. Now, everyone sit! Food is ready. Nazar, go get Kaisyn from the garden. Tell him to wash his hands first!”
The players immediately start moving toward the dining area—which is really just an extension of the living room with a table that seats six uncomfortably.
Nazar has no idea how his grandmother plans to feed all of them, but knowing her, she’s somehow prepared enough food for a small army.
Bonifazio appears from somewhere and winds between Nazar’s legs with a demanding meow.
“Yeah, I missed you too,” Nazar mutters, reaching down to scratch behind the cat’s ears. Bonifazio purrs, then immediately bites his hand. “Still an asshole, I see.”
He doesn’t wait for propriety. Just heads straight through the kitchen—dodging his grandmother, who’s carrying a massive pot of something that smells incredible—and out the back door.
The garden is exactly as he remembers it. Small. Meticulously maintained. His grandmother’s pride and joy. Rows of vegetables, a few fruit trees, the small greenhouse where she starts seedlings in early spring.
And there, crouched near gazebo and the tomato plants, is Kai.
He’s wearing jeans and a soft gray sweater. His hair catches the late afternoon light, and he’s completely focused on examining a particularly large tomato, his expression serious like he’s performing surgery.
“You planning to propose to that tomato, or are you going to pick it?”
Kai doesn’t even flinch. Just turns his head, a smile already forming. “This is a very important tomato, Rykov. It requires careful consideration.” He stands, brushing dirt off his knees. “And no, you can’t have it. I saw that gloomy expression the second you walked in. The juiciest tomato goes to people with positive attitudes only.”
“Gloomy.” Nazar moves closer. “Well, I’m not gloomytoday.”
“What, are you upset that I invited everyone?”
“You should have called all the referees too. Really pack the place.”
“Don’t be a smartass.”
Kai’s eyes are bright, teasing, and before Nazar can respond, Kai moves—fast, hooking his foot behind Nazar’s ankle and pulling.
Nazar goes down.
Or he lets himself go down.
