So Over You (Chicago Rebels #2)(84)

Huge guffaws all around tempered the tension. It was no secret that the Cajun craved a family life on retirement and that his jambalaya was a thing of beauty.

“You’ve probably heard this rumor that I’m considered the unluckiest guy in the NHL. When I was traded to this piece-of-shit team, I thought it was just another sign I was cursed. But then a few things happened. We won a few games. We gathered some confidence under our skates. We started to play better. I—” He shook his head, a small smile on his lips. “Well, my life sure changed a whole lot.”

Remy was a man in love, with everything to play for. This, Vadim could appreciate, even if the object of his particular affections was unable to see his point of view. Fine. His anger would power his performance tonight, though this is what he had said for the last two games. Games they had lost.

Remy was still talking. “You all know I had a chance to leave a few months ago. I stayed. I’m here. And now we’re here on the cusp of something we haven’t seen for over fifteen years. A play-off spot. We can do it. We will do it. Bon chance, mes amis. Laissez-nous patiner.” Let’s skate.

They moved out, heading for the tunnel. Just outside the door, Vadim’s heart hammered triple time at the sight of a dark ponytail belonging to a stubborn head bent toward one of the trainers.

Close together, Isobel and Kelly discussed something on her iPad. Always with her charts and assessments. She raised her eyes just as he walked by. He saw something soft in there, something he could work with. She did not hate him completely, and this knowledge was like a bird soaring in his chest.

“Whore,” he heard in a loud mutter behind him.

Vadim closed his eyes briefly. Shay, you have chosen the wrong night to test me.

He turned and fisted the asshole’s jersey, yielding a satisfying yelp of pain. Leon Shay was dressed, but he had not been playing well and would likely not make a shift tonight. Less ice time fueled doubts and dimmed confidence—a vicious cycle. But these doubts did not change the man’s personality, which was as ugly as it had been on the first day Vadim met him seven weeks ago.

“What did I tell you about speaking, Shay?”

“Screw you, Petrov! Everyone knows you’ve got your spot because of your history with one of the team’s owners.”

All the players had stopped now. Isobel watched, her color rising, her eyes alive with concern.

Cade stepped in. “Shay, you’d best apologize.”

“Fuck that! I’m not saying anything that isn’t true. She might not be banging him now, but she sure as hell banged him all those years ago.” Shay glared at Vadim’s woman, and then dared to speak to her. “Should we take a number, Coach Chase? Make sure you rate us on all aspects of our performance?”

“Shut up, Shay,” Cade spat out with a guilty look at Isobel.

Coach Calhoun moved in, pretty quickly for a man of his lumbering bulk. “Get out on the ice. Now!”

When no one moved, Isobel took a step forward, only to be checked with a hand on her arm by Kelly. Vadim knew it was harmless—he knew his Bella would not have moved on so quickly—but he still saw only a red blur in front of his face.

His fist clenched. He raised it, but in half a heartbeat, found it covered by Isobel’s hand.

“Don’t, Vadim. Tonight’s too important.”

“Do not protect him. He has wanted this for a long time.”

But before they could come to blows, both Dante and Bren stepped in, ensuring that Vadim would have to go through several hundred pounds of pure muscle before his fist connected with its ultimate destination: Shay’s jaw.

Luck was on this dúrak’s side today.

Dante divided a look between the two men. “Anyone care to explain?”

No one was inclined to answer.

Coach Calhoun spoke up. “Petrov, Shay, if either of you would like to continue this conversation, then consider yourselves on an indefinite suspension that will extend into next season. That’s not to say it won’t already be happening, of course. We are in an all-or-nothing game situation, and you shitheads want to put all that in jeopardy over what?” He flicked a glance to the what in the room: Isobel herself. Returning his disgusted attention to the entire team, he yelled, “Get out for warm-up now!”

“A word, if you don’t mind, Coach Chase,” Dante said to Isobel.

The team headed out, except for Vadim. He couldn’t leave Isobel, not after what Shay had said.

“Bella.” He grasped her arm and pulled her aside, making it clear that they had a deeper relationship than player-coach. He no longer cared.

“Does everyone know about what happened between us years ago?” She lowered her voice, though this was pointless. “And now?”

“The before . . . yes, they know. The now, they may have guessed.” The perceptive stares of Dante and Kelly affirmed this.

She balled her fists and held them to her temples. “How did they know about before?” She waved a hand at him. “Because the only other person who knew was Violet. And you.”

“I was not the one who overheard your conversation with your sister. It was Shay. That is the source of our enmity, among other things.”

“So he told you and—”

“Cade, Erik, and Ford.”

She shook her head in resignation. “Well, it doesn’t matter, I suppose. It’s just one more shit brick in this giant, steaming wall of shit.”