Page 75 of The Last Inch Of Ice
When he finishes, it’s with a choked sound he buries in his forearm. His forehead presses against the pillow, his whole body trembling.
A name sits on his tongue, unspoken.Nazar.
For a long moment, he just stays there on his hands and knees, breathing hard, feeling pathetic and furious and completely undone.
Then his phone buzzes on the nightstand.
He forces himself to stand, his legs unsteady. Grabs the phone.
It’s a text from Liam, his brother:Dad wants you at the house Sunday for dinner again. Command performance. Can’t get you out of it this time, sorry.
Kai stares at the message.
Of course. Of course his father wants to see him. Probably to critique his performance tonight, to remind him that losing in a shootout is unacceptable, to make sure Kai knows he’s still not living up to the Callahan name.
He types back:I’ll be there.
Then he deletes it and types:Can’t. Prior commitment.
Then he deletes that too and just sends:Fine.
He drops the phone on the bed and looks at himself in the full-length mirror near the closet.
He looks exactly how he feels: wrecked. Used up. A mess.
This has to stop. This pattern of destruction he’s locked himself into. Where thinking about Nazar Rykov reduces him to this, to falling apart alone in hotel rooms.
Eighteen months of distance haven’t helped. Haven’t made it better. Haven’t made him want it less.
If anything, it’s worse now. The wanting has metastasized, spread through his entire system like a disease he can’t cure.
Kai knows what Mrs. Butterly would say if she were still alive. She’d tell him this is avoidance behavior. That he’s using fantasy as a substitute for addressing the actual problem. That he needs to either confront Rykov directly or find a way to genuinely move on.
But Mrs. Butterly is dead. And Kai is twenty-four years old and standing naked in a hotel room, having just gotten himself off to memories of someone who made it abundantly clear he doesn’t want Kai the way Kai wants him.
He climbs into bed, pulling the covers up despite not being particularly cold.
Tomorrow there will be practice. Tomorrow he’ll put the mask back on, play the part, pretend none of this happened.
But tonight—tonight he lets himself acknowledge the truth he’s been running from for eighteen months:
He’s not over Rykov.
He might never be over him.
23
Chapter 23 Kai
Two weeks later
The post-game press conference is a ritual humiliation that Kai has learned to endure with the same enthusiasm most people reserve for root canals.
Another loss.
And another series of predictable questions from reporters whose expressions range from performative sympathy to barely concealed glee at watching the Wardens’ slow-motion collapse. The media room at Arena is packed, cameras lined up along the back wall.
Kai sits at the podium, a team-branded microphone positioned precisely in front of him, and delivers the usual meaningless platitudes with the conviction of a hostage reading a prepared statement.
