Sugar and Ice (Raptors Book 4)

by RJ Scott

  He was staring right at me when he said that. I met his gaze steadily, and I saw a glimpse of disappointment when I said nothing, but I didn’t have the words.

  Vlad was quiet through the reaming, staring down at his skates. He didn’t add anything apart from leading by example, first back onto the ice, determination in every stride.

  And then it was game on.

  And the gloves were off in seconds, Vlad and Marco going at it like two bulls rutting, Marco was a smaller guy but wiry and young, Vlad was a towering beast who had a point to make. I knew it was Vlad’s role to get his team energized, but he wasn’t going for Marco with anything other than a blazing need to take the man down. They were shouting and both fell to the ice at the same time, to be split by the officials, both in the bin with penalties, the Dallas crowd roaring their approval.

  That left both teams one man down. And if there was one thing I knew well it was four-on-four hockey, and the passes between Sam, Henry and me were perfect, and in the time served we’d scored a goal and leveled the game.

  Back to full strength, the fight, the goal, the hockey gods, I don’t know what it was, but we played like the team we could be, winning the game in the final seconds from a lucky bounce off a Dallas stick into their own net. The hugs were relentless, but as Marco passed me he deliberately dragged his stick on my leg, enough for me to know he was there. I really needed to talk to the guy.

  Coach’s assessment of the game was a hell yeah mixed with a that was some dumb fucking luck. Vlad gave a small speech that built on the hell yeah, and then it was cool-down and showers.

  By the time we were out in the hall I was exhausted, a little high on the win, worried about the conversation I knew I needed to have with Vlad over what the hell happened with Marco, and not at all looking where I was going.

  “Tate?”

  I knew that voice, and I stopped dead, lifting my chin and spotting Lacey sitting on a chair outside the dressing room. Some of the other guys came out behind me, but after a glance from me they left, all apart from Vlad who I knew was behind me, but who remained quiet.

  “Lacey,” I murmured.

  “I miss you.”

  Shit. This was the last thing I needed. I thought we’d moved on from being an item. What should I say? Should I be sympathetic, or take a hard line? Was she getting counseling? Did she need my help?

  “Lacey—"

  She lifted a cat carrier from under the chair, and I could see Obi’s face peering out at me. My chest tightened. Was this some kind of test? A show and tell where she ended up taking Obi away from me. I loved that cat, and she knew that.

  “I wanted you to have him; he misses you.”

  “Lacey?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, that she was telling me, in a matter-of-fact fashion, that I was able to have Obi back? “For real?” I winced at my own question, aware of the vulnerability in the tone.

  “For real, Tate. It’s okay, I’m not here to mess with you. I wanted you to have Obi, and to tell you, I’m seeing a counselor.” She glanced around her to check the corridor, before moving closer to me. I sensed Vlad move nearer to me. “Can I talk to you privately?”

  “You can talk in front of Vlad, he’s with me,” I thumbed behind me, and she gave me a soft smile.

  “With you?”

  “We’re together.”

  She smiled then, but the smile was kind of sad. “Good. That’s good.”

  “Are you… is there… “

  “Anyone? Not right now. I think I need to focus on me. I don’t know what went wrong, but it was a mess from the start.”

  Guilt consumed me. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you needed me to be,” I offered.

  “You’re a good man, Tate, but my head… nothing was right. We weren’t right.”

  “No, we weren’t, but I should have—”

  “Stop.” She pressed a hand to my chest. “Being seen is what it was all about. The right makeup, the clothes I wore, the way I lived, and the number of followers I had, was everything to me. It was my messed up way of escaping the sadness in my head.”

  I took her hand and held it. “I’m sorry.” I knew all about the pressures of expectation.

  “You were my brilliance, Tate.” She stopped and bit her lip thoughtfully. “I mean, being with you, it gave me that extra shine. Almost as if I mattered.”

  “You do matter,” I said, and grasped her hand. “You mattered to me.”

  “And you mattered to me, but not in a healthy way, and I didn’t love you. I wanted to say it face-to-face, I’m sorry.” She leaned closer and whispered. “For the lies.”

  “Get away from him, Lacey!” Marco snapped from the corridor to the left, coming into the picture and placing himself solidly between me and Lacey, shoving me back. He had a high temper, and a blooming bruise on his left eye, as well as a cut to his lip that needed looking at. “Leave. Her. Alone.”

  Lacey took his arm. “There wasn’t a baby, Marco.”

  Shit. Why was she bringing that up now? No one had to know that she’d lied, I would never tell a soul if it meant she could have closure in her own mind.

  Marco blinked at her and then me. “What? Don’t lie for him, Lacey, he’s not worth it.”

  “I’m not. I wanted to keep Tate, and I lied, I think I was looking for… He never hurt me, Marco, but he was there for me when I needed him, and then I hurt him.”

  Marco raised a hand, I moved, Vlad growled, and Lacey tensed, but Marco wasn’t looking at me or Vlad, he was cradling Lacey’s face and then pulling her close in a hug.

  “Why didn’t you come to me? I need you in my life. You’re my little sister.”

  “I couldn’t, I didn’t want to, I’m so stupid but my head, sometimes nothing makes sense.”

  Marco held her and closed his eyes, before burying his face in her hair, whispering soft, low words. Vlad and I stood back a little, formed a barrier in case anyone else came out into the hallway, but it was blessedly quiet. When they parted he still held her, and then extended a hand to me, which I shook immediately.

  “She says you looked after her,” he said.

  “I tried.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” I said without hesitation.

  Marco released his hold of my hand.“ Vlad?” Behind me Vlad bristled and stepped closer.

  “What?”

  “You fight like a badass.”

  I bet he was back there preening like Frank on his perch.

  “Of course I do.” Vlad stated firmly. “I am Russian animal.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Vlad

  Tate and I rode back to the hotel separately on the bus, his cat in a carrier, purring so loudly I could hear it from where I sat.

  It was disappointing but there was no other option. If I sat too close to him I was compelled to touch him in small, territorial ways that still befuddled me. This jealousy and need to stake a claim was as foreign to me as American serving sizes had been when I’d first come to this country. Why must there be four hamburger patties—with bacon—on one bun? And turkey legs that look as if they were removed from an ostrich? Why?

  I watched Dallas passing by, working my jaw back and forth to ease the ache from a clip from Marco’s big fist. That had been a good fight. It had purged some worries from me, clarified things. What it said about me that violence was how I exorcised demons I did not wish to examine too closely. Still, it had served its purpose. The team had been energized and I’d been able to work out some issues. Unable to peek back to see Tate, I nonetheless heard him, his soft Texas twang rising above the masculine chatter. My ears picked it out, much like a mother can differentiate her baby’s cry even in a room full of other little ones.

  My phone buzzed. I dug into the front pocket of my suit jacket. A text from Tate.

  Can we talk? - T

  A tiny ball of concern welled up inside my chest. I wrote back that we could talk anytime and told him to come to my room with his vir
tual playbook. It rankled to have to pretend. He replied with a smiley emoji. I glanced out of the darkened window at the city lights, wishing for something that I suspected I might not have for quite some time. Freedom to be my true self.

  The bus rolled up to the hotel, a grand high-rise that seemed to touch the night sky. Truly, everything was bigger in Texas. Saying goodnight to the team as we filed into four separate elevators, I shifted my personal bag up on my shoulder higher and commented on some observation Henry was making about chili. Apollo’s chili. The boy was so in love. I envied him. Realizing that I grimaced, the taste of my envy bitter on my tongue. Obviously, I had many flaws to work on.

  Leaving Henry at the fourth floor, I went to my room, stripped off my suit and tie, and pulled on some rusty-red cotton shorts with the Raptors logo on the left thigh. I eyed the bar but removed a can of lemon-lime soda instead of a tiny bottle of vodka. Then I settled into my chair and waited for the knock. Memories of that first time Tate had come to me rose, sensual recollections that were making me half hard. I shoved at my swelling prick, willing it to go away. Tate wanted to talk, not fuck. I made myself think of my great-grandfather Petro and the time as a child my twin and I had seen him naked. He was an old, old man who hated to wear clothes that pinched his balls or any other part of his body. My father said he was off in the head. He died when we were five, but the memory of his saggy ass was enough to make my dick go soft.

  Just in time for the soft knock. I called for him to enter, then realized that I’d not propped the door open as I had previously. I rose and went to open the door. He gave me a wry smile, then entered, his tablet in his hand, the smell of his lemony-orange shampoo and body wash wafting off of him as he passed.

  “No sitting in the chair being all dom/sub this time?” he asked when he hit the small lounge area and turned to face me.

  “I forget to prop open the door. Were you hoping for that scenario?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Next time, Zvedva moya. Where is your cat?”

  “Sleeping on my bed. I left a do not disturb sign on the door.”

  I nodded, then waved at the bed before I dropped my sore, weary ass back into the chair in the corner. Marco had gotten a few good punches in. I felt them in my jaw and lower back. I would wake up with bruises which was business as usual. “Sit. You said you wished to talk?”

  He tossed the tablet to the tiny wooden desk, walked to me, fell to his knees, and placed his cheek on my thigh. It was an incredibly touching gesture, one that stirred up hot, slick yearnings. He was learning how to play me. I liked it although I would never confess to that. I ran a finger along his jaw, tracing the bone under the skin.

  “Have you come to tell me that you have decided my foolishness no longer appeals?” I gave voice to the screaming fear living deep in my breast.

  “No. Of course not.” His lashes fluttered as the tips of my fingers moved along the bridge of his nose. “We do need to talk about your jealousy. It’s flattering at first but then it becomes…”

  He let it dangle. I drew in a long breath through my nose. “Yes, it becomes problematic. I have been thinking about my insecurities when it comes to you.” His sleepy eyes flew open. “Don’t look so surprised, my star. No other man has captured my heart as you have so I had no cares what they did or with whom. You…” I outlined his sexy lips. His tongue darted out to flick at my finger as it moved across the seam. “You own me even though I am the one who is supposed to be in total control. I see you with younger men, men your own age, men who are able to be out, who could give you the life that you should have, and I fear. I fear that you will grow tired of me, of my inability to be an out gay man. Losing you would kill me.”

  He pushed up from the floor, his gaze holding mine, and straddled me. I cupped his ass as he sat on my thighs. His hands cradled my face. I stared into his eyes. Such gorgeous eyes. Bright and dark, they enraptured me.

  “I’m not going anywhere. I love you. What we have is private. I’m good with that, honestly, no don’t scowl.” He leaned in to brush his lips over mine. “It’s true. I’m all over being in the spotlight. I’m good keeping us to us. I know you being out might bring some hatred down on your family. That would kill me knowing that I’d been a pushy brat and demanded that of you. So, it’s just us being private for however long we have to be. If that’s when you retire, in like twenty years, then that’s cool. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “If you could feel the aches I’m feeling right now you’d say retirement should happen next week,” I joked weakly, giving his high, tight ass a squeeze. “I will work on being less stupid. Give me time to adjust to loving someone.”

  He swept his lips over mine again, a soft whisper of a kiss that said more delights were to come.

  “We’ll work it out together. Just the two of us.”

  “But there are others who know, Tate,” I reminded him, kneading the hard buttocks resting in my palms. “Eli, Colorado. Do others suspect?”

  His fingers rested on my cheekbones, his thumbs under my chin. “Maybe we need to talk to them. The ones who are going to see us together the most. Just our friends. Ask them to keep it quiet. They’d do that for us. For you especially. They love their captain even when he’s being a jealous asshole.” I must have frowned. Talking to others about personal things did not feel right to me. “Think on it while you try to be less of an a-hole.”

  “Ugh, yes, I must work on that as well. One would think when you were in your mid-thirties you would have fewer personal flaws to grow out of, not more. You make me crazy, Tate. What I feel is…I cannot put it into words but it is strong…so strong. It is love so strong. So damn strong.”

  He kissed me then. It was fire and wet tongues. There was no denying the man when he came to me hard and wanting. I stood, his ass in my hands. With a grunt he grabbed my neck, his lips coming back to mine. The trip to the bed was short but our passion burned for hours.

  October raced by as did the first half of November. Where the time went I wasn’t sure. It seemed to be a whirlwind of travel, hockey, and a massive pre-Halloween party at Colorado’s sprawling mansion. He and the younger players performed, in costume and on film, two songs from a movie that I’d only just seen two days prior, the Rocky Horror Picture Show. I had a small part as a man in suit with a pointer and a paper on a board with dance steps. My lines were about stepping left and right and making your knees come in tight. I felt moronic but then I saw Colorado in a corset and fishnet stockings belting out a song about being from Transylvania. I felt less silly after seeing that performance. The man had great legs for stockings and high heels. The team released the video on Halloween and it trended within an hour. All of our social media pages gained new viewers, or so Sebastian kept telling us via text. I did little on social media, preferring to keep my life private for obvious reasons.

  Not only were our social media pages scoring, we were doing so on the ice as well. Over the past month we’d slowly and methodically clawed our way to being well within a wildcard slot, if the playoffs were held now, which they were not. April was a long way off but we’d started clicking as a team. Perhaps I was biased but I credited much of it to Tate. He’d been that missing link, that final puzzle piece that we’d been searching for. With two big top lines and respectable third and fourth lines, we were chalking up the offensive stats. The defense was also doing well. Eli and I had second place in the standings for blocked shots, an honor that was obvious whenever we stripped off our clothes. We also were racking up high hits and a low PIM/G—penalty minutes per game—rating. Spending less time in the penalty box made Coach happy. I’d manage to sock in two goals in six weeks, bringing my grand total of goals to three for the season so far. As much as I would have loved to be one of those flashy offensive defensemen like they had in Harrisburg, Pittsburgh, and Washington, my cloth was a different fiber and I was happy being that big Russian everyone tried to avoid but few could. Although I would confess to enjoying the rush of scoring when
it happened.

  With Thanksgiving looming on the horizon, Tate and I decided to have a small gathering with the men who we were closest to on the team. We’d been able to keep things between us hidden but wished to let our friends know, swearing them to secrecy. It was much easier to light a small containment fire which we could control than to have someone say something offhandedly and ignite a roaring wildfire. With that philosophy in mind, we all decided to spend our last free day before the big American holiday together. Tate had arranged for one of his neighbors to tend to Obi as we’d be gone all day, the same person who checked in when the team was on the road.

  Thankfully, we were not slated to play on Thanksgiving. That honor went to the Railers who would be in New York City playing what was touted as a “showdown game”. Big city, big teams, big ratings. The Raptors were none of those things. Yet.

  With two Jeeps packed with food, beer, and rowdy hockey players, we roared out of Tucson early in the morning and headed to the Saguaro National Park. I had been to the national park a few times since coming to Arizona, but it was the first time for Tate. Rock music blared out of the speakers in Colorado’s blue Jeep. Alex had his own Jeep and was toting Ryker, Jacob, Eli, and Sebastian. Tate and I were riding in the back with a chattering Apollo Vasquez between us. Henry was riding shotgun, as the Americans called it, and Penn was driving. He drove much like he played hockey. Erratically but laced with greatness. It was a busy day at the park, due to the holiday, but we kept off the main trails.

  Tate marveled at the sights. The massive mountains, the towering Saguaro cactus, the birds and snakes and wildlife we spotted as we bounced along. His brown eyes were alive, his smile wide. I longed to kiss him simply for the joy seeing him so happy brought to me. But…