Line Brawl: The Dartmouth Cobras #8

by Bianca Sommerland

  “I know, but it’s getting hard to believe the game means anything.” Vanek’s shoulder bowed as he stared at his socked feet. “If this is what you want me to do, I’ll do it, Raif. Just don’t hate me.”

  “Kvragu! I don’t hate you, my boy. Come here.” Zovko sighed as he gathered Vanek in his muscular arms. “You are stubborn and you are driving me insane. But I will always love you. I only want to see you…” Zovko inhaled sharply. “To know you are doing all I wish I could.”

  “If it’s that important to you, I’ll go.”

  “I need it to be just as important to you.” Zovko released Vanek, turning at the sound of Vanek heading down the hall, probably to grab his stuff. He shook his head and rubbed his hand over his face. “This is difficult for him. I have no idea how to make it easier. Please watch over him, Pischlar.”

  “You know I will.” Shawn squeezed Zovko’s forearm.

  Carter and Demyan came in, struggling to get through the door with the boxes loaded with dog stuff, Carter tripping over the dog bed that he had under one arm. The thing was basically just a huge black and beige pillow, but it was awkward to carry one handed.

  Making two trips would have been smarter, but no one had ever accused the mouthpiece of being overly bright. Shawn rolled his eyes and took the dog bed.

  Thora chose that moment to show Carter how much she appreciated all the treats he’d gotten her. Rushing toward him, she rose up on her hind legs, putting her big paws on his chest and knocking him right off his feet.

  Into Demyan.

  Both men hit the floor and Thora barked, sounding like she was laughing as the stepped over them. She licked both their faces while they struggled to get out from under the mess they’d made.

  Chicklet burst out laughing. “You boys are adorable. Can we keep them, Raif?”

  “I think their Masters might object.” Zovko smirked at Demyan’s grumbled protest. Then Zovko’s expression became serious. “Thora. Come.”

  The dog immediately stopped licking Carter and trotted over to sit at Zovko’s side.

  He smiled and patted her head. “Good, girl.”

  Halfway across the room, carrying his sports bag, a small rucksack, and a suit bag, Vanek stopped with his gaze fixed on Zovko and the dog. He met Shawn’s eyes, then inclined his head.

  Seeing the dog respond so well to her new Master, to his, seemed to finally give him the assurance he needed that Zovko would manage without him. Shawn thought he understood why. Yes, Chicklet was here, but she would only give Zovko what the man asked for. She’d watch him like a hawk, but she respected him too much to force him to take any assistance he didn’t want.

  Thora would be by Zovko’s side whether he’d admit he needed her, in the same way Vanek likely was. She would provide support, affection, and likely still remembered enough of her training to know if Zovko was in any danger and alert Chicklet—or Laura, when she was home.

  And no matter what he said, that was probably the root of Vanek’s fear: That Zovko would be hurt, and no one would know. He’d likely seen himself as the only one who could watch the man enough to keep him safe.

  “She’s got him, Vanek.” Shawn met Vanek in the hall, grabbing the suit bag and the rucksack so Vanek’s hand would be free while he said his goodbyes. “I promise, he’s gonna be fine. Now promise him we’ll make him proud on the ice.”

  “I will.” Vanek swallowed and gave Shawn a shaky smile. “Thanks for coming, man. The guys are awesome, but I’m not sure they get it. They think Raif is tough and are like, what am I worried about?”

  Shawn nodded. Putting himself in Vanek’s place wasn’t difficult. Ian had gotten in a lot of fights, and every single time, Shawn wondered if this would be the one that ended his career. That fucked up his head so bad that he might fall asleep and not wake up.

  He’d sat by Ian’s side in so many hotel rooms, watching the man for any signs of concussion, waking him up every two hours on recommendation from the doctors. His throat tightened every time it took a bit longer for Ian to open his eyes.

  “I get it. It’s hard to be there, but not overdo the ‘I need to take care of you’ instinct. Just remember that, as hard as this is for you, he’s the one that’s dealing with his whole life changing.” Shawn didn’t want to be cruel, but Vanek needed someone to be straight with him. “Seeing you give up everything you love puts more pressure on him. I know you don’t mean to, but sometimes, the best thing you can do is show some things won’t change.”

  Vanek bit his bottom lip and inclined his head. “Yeah…makes sense. I’ll try harder.”

  “That’s all you can do, kid.”

  Heading outside to put Vanek’s stuff in the car, then wait there with Carter and Demyan so the young man could have a few moments alone with his lovers, Shawn took the time to think over the advice he’d given the kid. Maybe that would be the best thing he could do for Ian while they figured out how their relationship would work.

  Show him all the ways nothing had changed.

  They were still best friends. Ian was still one of the most important people in his life. Hot sex wasn’t worth losing that, but even if they fucked like a pair of horny teenagers, they didn’t have to lose what already worked for them.

  Chicklet hinting that someone else had caught Ian’s attention might make that a little more difficult, but in the end, what he had to do remained the same.

  He loved Ian.

  No matter what came next, he always would.

  Now he just had to prove it.

  Chapter 13

  The coach must absolutely hate Ian. There was no other reason for him to sit him next to the baby of the team on the flight. The kid was a mute. Like, seriously, Ian wondered if Ladd spoke English at all. Sure, he’d heard him speak short sentences in interviews, but maybe he’d just memorized the words the PR told him to say?

  Naw, he’s said stupid shit that got him in trouble. He can talk just fine when he wants to.

  For some reason, he didn’t seem to want to talk to Ian during the two-hour flight. Or close the window cover when Ian said he really didn’t want to watch them crash.

  He’d laughed a little at that. Like he thought Ian was joking.

  But he didn’t say shit.

  Fucking obnoxious little fucker, aren’t you? Ian shut his eyes as Ladd pressed his face against the window, not even putting on his damn seatbelt, even though the flight attendant had reminded them to. The kid was gonna get sucked out the window or something, then Ian would feel bad for thinking he was annoying.

  Thankfully, the plane landed without killing them all. Ian grabbed his bag from the overhead compartment, standing in the aisle as the team slowly made their way off the plane. He spotted Pisch a few seats ahead of him and wondered if the man was pissed that he hadn’t met him for coffee. Or talked to him before the flight. He’d planned to talk to him during the flight, but Callahan and Coach Shero had been all moody about some of the guys showing up late and had rushed them around, not giving anyone any time to chat.

  They’d made the flight, and were back on schedule, so hopefully things would be cool now. They’d go to the hotel, chill for a bit, then head to the rink for the pregame warm-up.

  Except, things were never that simple. There were always fans that managed to find out where the team was staying, and the media obviously got as up close and personal every chance they got. Which meant when their bus pulled up in front of the hotel, Cam—Dominik Mason’s younger brother, who worked security for the Cobras—and Cort were the first ones off, clearing the way for the team.

  Callahan stood at the front of the bus, looking out then glancing back with a stiff smile. “All right, guys, you know the routine. ‘No comment’ is all you have to say. If they want interviews, they’ll wait until we get to the Air Canada Center in a few hours. Until then, get to your rooms and get rested up.”

  Ian nodded, like the rest of the guys did, and made his way off the bus. There were security gates set up and even a few cops st
anding with Cort and Cam, keeping the crowd contained. They had a bit more trouble as the guys started walking toward the side entrance of the hotel.

  “Carter! Carter I love you!”

  “Max Perron! Oh my God, you’re my favorite player! Please, can you sign my jersey?”

  “Where’s Zovko? Vanek! Vanek! Didn’t he come with you?”

  A few feet ahead of him, Vanek stumbled. Both Demyan and Carter slowed to steady him and Ian quickened his pace, moving up behind Vanek to lend his support and help the kid get into the hotel a little faster.

  Mason held back, herding the rookies who were overwhelmed by all the attention. He had to physically pull Ladd away from a few girls the dumb kid had stopped to give autographs to. With a wild crowd like this, you didn’t stop. Ever.

  The boy had probably learned his lesson though. Ian actually felt bad when he saw the kid’s pale blue dress shirt was ripped, and he had scratches on his face. Fuck, he hadn’t seen a crowd this nuts in a long time.

  He stood outside the door of the hotel, looking over the players that still hadn’t gotten in. He hadn’t seen Pisch.

  Then he spotted his man, standing by the barrier with some big dude who had a firm grip on his wrist. Neither security nor the cops seemed to notice. They were distracted by the teenage girls trying to get over the barriers as Ramos passed.

  Bower came off the bus last, and the crowd got even worse. Ian squeezed past Kral and Brends, ignoring Kral when the man asked him where the fuck he was going.

  Pisch was speaking to the guy that was so fucking huge he was either a pro wrestler or some kind of body builder. Ian wasn’t exactly small himself, but looking at the massive muscles bulging in the guy’s arms, completely bared by the wife beater he wore, Ian wondered if maybe he should be spending more time at the gym.

  Either way, the guy didn’t scare him. Pisch was trying to twist free.

  The man wasn’t letting him go.

  Ian latched onto the guy’s thumb with one hand and his throat with the other. “Back off, pal. Or I—”

  A fucking boulder cracked into Ian’s jaw. Or maybe it was just the guy’s fist. He wasn’t sure, but he stumbled back as his head rung and blood filled his mouth. Red flashed across his vision. A firm grip on his arms stopped him from tackling the man, which he fully intended on doing once he got loose.

  “Bruiser, let’s get the fuck out of here.” Kral shouted in his ear.

  There was a big black shirt, right in his face. Cort shoved him back. “I’ve got this, man. Get the fuck in the hotel.”

  So many words, but they did nothing to dampen Ian’s rage. Where was Pisch? If that man still had Pisch, he was going to fucking kill him.

  “Ian, come on.” A soft voice in his ear, so calm and steady, so familiar. He swallowed as he met Pisch’s eyes, and the man grabbed him by the back of the neck, touching their foreheads together. “I’m fine, okay? I need to take care of you now.”

  Me? Ian wasn’t sure what Pisch was talking about, but he let him and Kral lead him inside.

  One of the trainers gestured to them, leading them to a small room past the receptionist’s desk.

  Mason and Ladd were already in there. Another trainer was cleaning the deep scratches on Ladd’s face while Mason paced.

  “Why is it so difficult for you to follow simple instructions?” Mason’s dark face had a red tinge, and he looked damn mad, but when Ladd hissed in pain, he sighed and sat beside the rookie. “You’re lucky that crazy chick didn’t take your fucking eye out. You good, kid?”

  Ladd nodded. “Yeah. Bloody hell, I’ve never seen them this bad.”

  “It’s the playoffs. You never know what to expect.” Mason shook his head. “Your sister is gonna have my head. I promised I’d take care of you.”

  The rookie’s lips quirked. “She’s a scary little one, isn’t she?”

  “You’re telling me!” Mason chuckled. Then looked over at Ian. “How you doing, Bruiser?”

  The trainer was poking at Ian’s lip, but with the adrenalin rushing through his veins, he didn’t feel much of anything. He shrugged then looked at Pisch. “Who was that guy?”

  Pisch shifted his gaze away, his jaw hardening. “An old…friend. From back home. He came all this way to see me. I guess he expected me to be a lot happier than I was.”

  “How’s your wrist?”

  That got the trainer’s attention. He grabbed Ian’s hand and had him hold some gauze against his mouth as he gently undid the button of Pisch’s light gray dress shirt to expose his wrist.

  There were already dark bruises forming in the shape of the man’s fingers.

  “I’m going to go kill that guy now.” Ian spoke as calmly as possible as he stood.

  Unfortunately, Callahan came into the room right that minute. He glared at Ian, pointing at the chair.

  Ian sat.

  Callahan glanced over at Ladd, seemed satisfied that the rookie was in good hands,then turned to Pisch. “The cops grabbed that guy and want to know if we want to press charges. I’m trying to avoid getting White too involved. He’s still on probation.”

  Already shaking his head, Pisch pulled his chair closer to Ian. He looked pretty calm, but the hand he placed on Ian’s knee was shaking. “No. It was a misunderstanding. Please tell them to let him go.”

  What the fuck? Ian couldn’t look away from the bruises. A misunderstanding?

  “Easy, you need to be honest with me.” Callahan crouched down in front of Pisch as the trainer prodded at his wrist. “Is that guy gonna be a problem?”

  “No.” Pisch’s lips thinned. “And that’s all I have to say on the matter.” He turned to the trainer. “I’m fine. White’s the one who needs your attention.”

  The trainer put a couple of small butterfly bandages on Ian’s lip and told him he was good to go. Callahan took off, probably to talk to the cops. By the time they left the room, the hotel lounge was quiet and their teammates had all disappeared into their rooms.

  Pisch had gotten both their room keys from Coach Shero. He handed Ian one when they reached the team’s floor. Hesitated after they got off the elevator, like he wanted to say something, then turned away.

  No fucking way am I leaving things like this. Ian cleared his throat. “Sh—Pisch. Can you—”

  “Call me Shawn if you want, Ian.” Pisch turned to face him, his lips curving up slightly. “I’ve fucked things up between us with all my rules. I’m not sure getting into it before the game is a good idea though. You don’t need the distractions.”

  “You fucking disappearing on me is gonna be more of a distraction than anything.” Ian’s jaw throbbed, and he wondered if he should go take one of the painkillers he always kept handy. They made him tired, which wasn’t a bad thing, since he needed a nap before the game anyway, but he needed to clear things with Pisch first.

  With Shawn. He smiled, even though it hurt. Something had changed if Pisch was letting him use his first name.

  “What do you want from me, Ian?” Shawn moved toward him, his eyes on Ian’s lip, his brow furrowed. “Damn him for hurting you. I’m sorry.”

  “Why are you sorry? He did it, not you.” Ian double-checked his room number. The coach had gotten one of the guys to bring his bags up. He wanted to change out of this damn suit and crash in some fresh jogging pants for a bit. But not alone. “You wanna come chill in my room?”

  Shawn smiled. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

  A weight seemed to evaporate from Ian’s chest. He led the way to his room, his eyes watering as the pain in his lip increased. Nothing he couldn’t handle, but he wasn’t gonna try to be tough and manage without the meds. Shawn was right. He didn’t need any distractions.

  Of course, Shawn was the biggest distraction of all, but one he couldn’t avoid. Didn’t want to.

  If Shawn was with him, he could handle pretty much anything. That had been true for as long as he could remember.

  And it meant more than he could say that at least that hadn’t changed.<
br />
  After getting a bottle of water for Ian from the vending machine down the hall, Shawn watched Ian take a couple of painkillers and reclined on the bed when Ian insisted he’d sleep better with Shawn close.

  Focusing on Ian made it easier not to think about what had gone down outside, but once the weight of Ian’s head on his arm let him know the man had fallen asleep, all he could do was lay there and let the memories play back, dragging him right into the paralyzing fear and confusion he’d felt when he saw Steve standing at the other side of the barrier.

  Shock apparently wasn’t the reaction Steve had expected.

  “Aren’t you happy to see me?” Steve reached out like he wanted to hug Shawn, then lowered his arms when Shawn stopped a few feet away. “Say something.”

  “What are you doing here?” Shawn ignored the fans yelling at him, only hearing noise all around as his heart hammered in his chest. The last time he’d seen Steve, the man had beaten the shit out of him with his football buddies. He’d spit in Shawn’s face before walking away, laughing.

  Did he really believe Shawn would forget that?

  “Look, I know things ended badly between us, but that was almost thirteen years ago. I was a stupid kid. You freaked me out, and I reacted badly.” Steve smiled, as though his words alone could erase what he’d done. “That’s in the past. I looked you up a few months ago. Found out your team had made the playoffs and wanted to come show my support. My wife and I have tickets to tonight’s game. And to a couple in Dartmouth. She’s been bugging me to travel for a while, and I figured this was perfect.”

  Shawn planted a stiff smile on his lips. “I hope you enjoy the games. Thank you for coming.”

  Before he could move away, Steve grabbed his wrist. “Not so fast, pal. I want to see you tonight.”

  Shawn wasn’t surprised. Steve had fucked chicks because that was what was expected of him, but he didn’t enjoy them. He was gay. And deep in the closet. Not all gay men ever came to terms with their own needs, and he’d accepted Steve never would a long time ago.