Sugar and Ice - RJ Scott Page 0,41
in to take photos. It hit me that the fact Vlad taking me home might look bad.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have driven me home, if they realize it’s your car—”
“I am captain bring home teammate,” he snapped, his Russian showing big time. “Tell me about Ten.”
“Huh?”
“Madsen-Rowe. You started, that if only he’d known…”
“Oh, well, he admitted he would have understood the reasons why I couldn’t properly look him in the face,” I finished. “And how he had this perpetual feeling that he’d made me angry about something. He said he always felt like number two at Dallas, and would never be first line, and he thanked me for it, said going to the Railers was the best thing that happened to him. I don’t think he realized that I pushed to be number one just to impress him.”
Vlad muttered something in a low voice, Russian; I couldn’t understand any of it.
He killed the engine, and turned in his seat.
“You are better than Tennant Rainbow Gay Madsen-Rowe.” He was utterly focused on me and I don’t know what he expected me to say.
“Jeez Vlad, given that you and I are… that you… fuck, that was insulting to Ten,” I finally managed to force out.
“Given that you and I are what?” he asked as if the answer didn’t matter at all.
I shriveled a little inside. “Tog—Sleeping together.”
Vlad huffed. “Tennant had his hands on you.”
What the hell was happening here? “He was telling me about this Layton guy who could help you with the emu situation—”
“I do not want help—”
“Maybe you need—”
“I need no one who thinks they can come into my life and tell me what to do. What about you? Do you want to tell me what to do, when you can’t even fix your own life?”
I stared at him and wondered exactly what the hell we were doing.
“Vlad, what are we even arguing about?”
He scowled. “Tennant—”
“That’s not it.”
“Colorado and his fucking emu will drive me insane—”
“That’s not it either. What is going on here? Are you trying to start an argument?”
He softened for a moment. “No.”
“Are you scared of something?” I asked, and wondered if I was more perceptive than I’d thought when that steely Russian gaze reappeared and his pale eyes were chips of ice.
“I will see you at the arena,” he said.
“Vlad—”
“At the arena,” he repeated, and this time he faced forward.
I was out of the car faster that Usain Bolt out of his blocks, and into my house with just as much speed and I never once glanced back at Vlad in his big-ass SUV, or as the gates opened, or even as they shut. I was inside my house, and fuck the big Russian for wanting to start an argument, because if he wanted to stop what we were doing then he needed to say it, not force me away with his misery and ice.
I showered, cursed a lot, stomped around my place, ignored three calls from the team lawyer, and one from Sam. The only one I answered was from Henry, who was just checking in. When I’d reassured him that everything was fine, and then the cell vibrated with a text from Ryker, I turned the damn thing off. I was done with the well wishes, the concern, and most of all I was done with the frustrating Russian who’d dumped me at my place and tried to make us argue.
Getting to the arena for practice was easy enough, despite the traffic. One thing about having tinted windows was that I could look out but no one would see it was me. People in other cars sang along to music, they were chatting, animated. I bet none of them had a psycho ex leveling accusations that they’d hurt her, or a sort-of-lover who wanted to start a fight with me for god knows what purpose. I had a memory of a moment, a flashback from when I was a kid, when I knew I was heading home to face the consequences of something I’d done. Maybe it had been a school prank, or low marks on my reports, but I would look into windows of houses we passed, and wonder if I could swap places with some other kid. One who wasn’t in trouble.
I pulled up alongside a van, a kid staring out at the passing cars, Raptors stickers in the windows. He was wearing a Raptors hoodie, and it hit me. I wondered how many people in cars here would see me and want