Page 19 of Dice & Dekes

I mouth along with him, a ventriloquist dummy in boots and humiliation.

The crowd cheers at the end. Some of them think it was a bit. A joke. A skit, maybe. I force a smile and wave like I haven’t just died inside and come back as a ghost.

As the usher takes the mic back, I mutter, “I’m going to kill him.”

“Marco?” Dad asks, genuinely confused.

“No. Viktor.”

Dad raises a brow. “That doesn’t sound like Viktor. That little shit is a lot of things, but cruel isn’t usually one of them.”

I shoot a look toward the bench—blessedly empty now. “We’ll see.”

Mom joins us in the suite and hugs me tightly. “You were brave. I’m proud of you.”

I nod, my throat still burning. “Thanks.”

But inside? I’m plotting revenge.

And this time, I’m not missing a single damn note.

Chapter Four

Viktor

I’m not really expecting Knova to come with us to the Puck Drop, the official bar-slash-restaurant of the Vegas Venom, which Cooper Harrison, a former player, owns. He and his wife, Toni, live in our parents’ neighborhood. We’ve spent a lot of nights here. Hell, our baby pictures are hung on the walls. But I could tell from how Knova glared at me during her humiliating rendition of the National Anthem that she had no interest in hanging out tonight.

Even knowing that the odds of seeing her are low, I’m still disappointed when I arrive at the Puck Drop and she is, indeed, absent. How am I supposed to convince her to give me a chance if she won’t eventalkto me?

“What a shitshow,” Knight says, flopping down into the empty seat beside me. The rest of the players are still trickling in to celebrate our first win of the season. Briggs and Layla sit at one of the other tables, along with the other parents, many of whom still work for the team. Including my dad, who’s been the Venom goalie coach for years.

Cam sits down with his usual golden-retriever energy, followed by Tristan, who slides in like he’s allergic to enthusiasm.

“What part?” I ask him. “I thought we did well. We won our home opener.”

“Oh, yeah, we killed it. I was talking about my sister’s performance.” Knight cocks his head. “Are you guys in a fight or something? She couldn’t take her eyes off you during that awful song. Her glare was lethal.”

“She wasn’t supposed to be up there,” I remind him. “And we both know she’s not musically inclined. Never has been.”

Lenyx winces. “Brutal.”

“You’re the one who called her performance a shitshow! I’m not making fun of her. I just think, with her parents being musical, people expected her to be like them. Imagine if people had grown up expecting us to be great at hockey, like our dads, and we couldn’t skate for shit?”

Knight pauses to consider this, and after a beat, he smirks. “Can’t even imagine it. We came out of the womb with better puck control than half the league.” He rubs his thumb over his lip, watching me too closely. “You and Knova have always been tight. Just wondering if things are… changing.” One eyebrow raises. “You seeing her? Or is this just one of those weird soulmate-but-we-don’t-talk-about-it things?”

I groan. “None of the above.” Technically true, though he’s right: it’s always been complicated with the two of us.

Lenyx shakes his head and lets out a disappointed sigh. “That’s a missed opportunity, my man.” His palm strikes my back twice, hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs, before he pops up from the table and rushes over to do some complicated hand drive with one of our wingers who just walked in.

I sit at the table, mulling over his words and considering just how poorly today has gone. Once again, I failed to score any meaningful time with Knova. I don’t even know how to approach her after today. She was upset by the anthem fiasco on the ice, but I also got the impression that she was mad at me personally.

I open my phone and start scrolling through gifs I can send her. I start typing a message—something real, something like “You okay?”—but I delete it before I even finish. Better to be funny than honest. Funny doesn’t get you hurt. When all else fails, use a meme. I’m trying decide between a heartfelt gif telling her that this will blow over soon and a picture of that weird crying cat with the caption,This Will Be Funny in Ten Years.I know the cat one will make her laugh since she’s a cat person, but I don’t want her to think I was laughing ather.Hm. Decisions, decisions.

“Hey, Viktor.” Coach Metcalfe leans across the table and jerks his thumb toward the bar. “First round’s on the team card. What can I get for you?”

Tristan lifts his head from where he’s been quietly demolishing a burger. “Don’t let Coach buy you anything. He’ll act like it means you owe him your firstborn.”

Coach snorts. “You’re not wrong.”

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