alone, or maybe it was seeing London’s smile during the second intermission as we walked back to the ice, but I was solid.
Fuck that. I wasn’t just solid. I was on fire.
I’d taken forty-three shots and blocked every single one.
Axel and Brogan scored two of our goals, and Caspian brought home two of the others, with Maxim putting that fifth one up on the scoreboard. Damn good game.
I was all smiles after fielding a few questions from reporters and was more than ready to get out of there so I could celebrate with London as I walked toward the players’ entrance.
“You’re actually proud of that performance?”
I knew that accent.
Looking up, I saw Sergei—that’s all he was to me—up in Maxim’s face at the end of the hallway. My stomach hit the floor. If I turned around now, I could avoid this shitstorm all together, but there wasn’t exactly another exit into the players’ lot.
And besides, it wasn’t like Sergei Zolotov had ever altered his life around me.
I gripped my keys in my hand and kept walking.
“I had three points, Dad,” Maxim argued as Mila and Evie came out of the hallway just ahead to my right.
“Assists don’t count,” Sergei snapped, folding his arms across his chest just like Maxim. Shit, the two were so much alike it was uncanny, right down to the way they were glaring at each other.
“Assists don’t count to you.” Maxim shook his head.
“You’re slow, your footwork is sloppy, and even worse, you’re unfocused,” Sergei accused. “Do you know how many players would kill to be at this level? And you’re just content to skate by in mediocrity!”
Damn, that was harsh. Was this how he treated Maxim after every game? Sure, he’d come after me twice with those kinds of insults, but I wasn’t his son. Not really. Not in the ways that mattered.
Mila’s footsteps picked up, Evie keeping pace with her as they hurried toward the pair.
“I don’t know what you want from me!” Maxim flung his arms out to his sides.
“I want you to play like you’re my son!” Sergei jabbed his finger at him. “I flew all the way here to watch you do what—pass a puck you could have scored with if you’d just skated the damn thing up!”
“Daddy.” Mila got there and inserted herself between the two.
“This doesn’t involve you, Mila,” Sergei barked.
“Well, isn’t this the little family reunion,” I said as I reached the end of the hallway. There was more tension per square foot in this little area than in my entire childhood. Weird.
“Keep walking,” Maxim growled, sweeping Mila behind his back in a movement so natural I knew he’d done it countless times before.
A sick, nauseating stone settled in my gut.
Sure, the two Zolotov men were equal in height, but they hadn’t always been, and Sergei had at least twenty pounds on Maxim now.
Sergei turned and swept his gaze over me in a quick inspection before pivoting back to Maxim. “You let that no-named bastard show you up in front of your father.”
What the fuck is wrong with this guy?
No kid deserved to have a parent ride him that hard when it came to sports, and that’s exactly what Maxim was in this moment, Sergei’s kid. I’d seen it time and again growing up—the parents who lived vicariously through their children. The parents who screamed at refs and belittled their players after the game—or worse—during it. Mom had always stepped in for those kids, no matter how big or loud the other parents had been.
I blocked out what he’d said about me. That was the only way I was going to make it through this moment.
“You saved my ass in the third,” I said to Maxim as I stood behind Sergei. “Not sure I could have stopped that breakaway if you hadn’t skated back so quickly to pick up defense during the line change.”
Sergei spun back around, rage burning in his eyes. “And as for you—”
“Oh please, like I gave you one fucking thing to pick on tonight, Dad.” He wasn’t anything even resembling that word, but damn was it fun to throw it in his face. “I blew even your best performance out of the water, so think twice about coming at me with your bullshit. Or better yet, just stay the fuck away like I told you after the last two games.”
Maxim stiffened.
“You’re not worth it. You’ve never been worth it,” he said every word slowly as if he wanted to make sure I knew he