Page 73 of The Last Inch Of Ice
A familiar, impossibly broad-shouldered silhouette standing near the concierge desk.
Rykov.
Ice floods Kai’s veins.
Not only did they just lose, but now this bastard has materialized here. In his hotel. In the lobby of the hotel where Kai is staying.
No. That’s impossible.
The Comets are staying at the Shangri-La. Kai knows this because he checked. He made absolutely certain. He has a Google alert set up for the Comets’ travel schedule. He’s planned his entire post-season around not being in the same places at the same times.
What the hell is Rykov doing here?
Did they change hotels last minute? Why would they do that? The Shangri-La is perfectly fine. Did Rykov request a different hotel specifically? Is he—
No. That’s insane. Paranoid thinking.
Kai spins on his heel, his mind racing, already calculating the fastest route to the service entrance around the corner on Wellington Street.
But just then, the hotel’s ridiculously cheerful concierge steps out from under the awning, blocking his path.
“Mr. Callahan! What a pleasure to have you back with us!” Jean-Paul’s smile is professionally enthusiastic, the kindthat comes from years of hospitality training. “Quite the game tonight, eh? Tough loss in the shootout. And chilly one out here! You must be frozen.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Kai can see Rykov turning. His gaze sweeps the lobby in that methodical way he has, checking his surroundings.
Kai watches him look through the glass. His head stopped moving. His entire body goes still as his focus locks onto Kai standing outside.
“Yes, lovely weather,” Kai says through a smile so forced his face hurts. “Always such a pleasure to visit in November. Really captures the city’s charm.”
He tries to sidestep Jean-Paul, but the man is determined to complete his customer service obligations.
“Will you be needing anything sent up to your room? Extra towels? We have a new pillow menu if you’d like to—”
“No, thank you, Jean-Paul. I’m all set. Really. Just need to get inside and warm up.”
But it’s too late. Through the glass, Kai sees Rykov start moving toward the doors.
Fuck.
Kai makes a split-second decision.
He turns and walks away from the main entrance, his stride deliberately casual, like he just remembered something he needs to do. He rounds the corner onto Wellington, the rain soaking through his hood now, and heads for the service entrance he knows is back here somewhere.
It takes him three tries to find the right door—one leads to a loading dock, another to what looks like a mechanical room—but finally he locates the staff entrance.
A housekeeper is coming out, and Kai catches the door before it closes, giving her his most charming smile.
“Thanks. Left something in the restaurant earlier.”
She nods and continues past him without question. The perks of being recognizable.
He takes the service elevator up to the seventeenth floor. It’s a petty act of avoidance that feels both childish and absolutely necessary.
* * *
In his room Kai paces like a caged animal.
The sheer audacity of Rykov, showing up at this hotel. Being in the same hotel at all feels like a violation of the unspoken agreement they’ve had for eighteen months.
