Alexei: Chicago Blaze #5

Alexei

I guess the party’s over—for now.When I wake up in the hospital after a DUI car crash, my new NHL team owner gives me an ultimatum – get sober or get packed for the minor leagues. So I talk the talk and go to rehab. I plan to breeze through, get sprung in 30 days or less and hit the road with my new team, the Chicago Blaze. All I have to do is charm my attractive, uptight rehab group leader into thinking I’ve changed—how hard could it be?

Graysen

I see right through Alexei Petrov.
My calling to save addicts from themselves before they self-destruct is deeply personal. Alexei’s hot and successful, sure. But he’s not okay, and he’s got a lot of work to do before graduating from my group. No one’s ever tested my boundaries like he does, though. I fight my desire and keep things professional, because the stakes couldn’t be higher—it’s not just my job that’s on the line, but also his life. The deeper we fall, though, the more he makes me question the mantra I live by: never trust your heart to an addict.

Chapter One

Alexei

I must have one hell of a hangover. My alarm sounds like it’s underwater and my eyelids feel like they’re covered in concrete.

I try to tune out the alarm blaring from my phone. When it doesn’t work, I try to reach over to my nightstand and grab the phone, but my arm won’t move any easier than my eyelids.

Maybe it’s not a hangover. Am I knocked out on the ice right now? They may have to cart me off with a stretcher because there’s no way I’m gonna be able to stand up. If Mason McAllister knocked me out, I’ll jump that fucker’s ass as soon as I can stand, though. He’s a winger for Toronto, and he’s had it out for me since he found out his sister took me home after a game up there last year.

“I volunteer to give him a bath,” a female voice says.

There’s a chuckle and another woman says, “Get in line.”

Well shit. Two female voices means this is the morning after a threesome, and from the way my head’s pounding right now, that’s two more women than I feel like dealing with right now.

I open my mouth to speak, but all I can get out is a grunt. And then, finally, after what feels like a fucking year, my eyes slowly crack open. The bright light shining in my face makes me squeeze them closed immediately.

“Well, hi there,” a woman says. “It’s good to see you awake.”

I force my eyelids open again, squinting at her. She’s middle-aged, with graying hair and a warm smile. I mean…she’s not unattractive, but she’s quite a bit older than I usually go for.

Fuck. I must’ve gotten really hammered last night. I hope I was good in bed.

When I try to sit up, I can hardly move. This is the worst hangover I’ve ever had. Maybe it’s alcohol poisoning. Or maybe someone slipped something in my drink and fucked me up. Whatever’s going on, I just want to get the hell out of here and go sleep this off at home. There’s no way I can make it to practice this morning. 

“Go get Dr. Harvey,” the middle-aged woman says to the one next to her.

I notice they’re both wearing pale green pajama tops and pants, kind of like scrubs. It hits me all at once—I’m in a hospital. The beeping wasn’t from my alarm, but from the machines I’m hooked up to. 

That’s all I can make out so far. And since I can’t remember how I got here, my first instinct is to frantically check and see if all my body parts are still attached. But I’m still so groggy and slow that nothing’s moving as fast as I want it to.

“Alexei, you’re at Austin Memorial Medical Center,” the woman left in the room says to me. “My name is Sherrie and I’m a nurse here.”

When I try to speak, my throat is so dry I can’t make the words come out. Sherrie holds a cup with a straw up to my mouth and I take a sip, clearing my throat.

“You were in a car accident,” Sherrie says. “You’ve been in a medically-induced coma for around seventy-two hours now. The doctors wanted to give your body time to rest.”

I clear my throat again, using all my energy to get two words out. “How…bad?”

Sherrie smiles. “I’ll let the doctor talk to you about that. Just try to relax for now.”

My hospital bed is stationed at a slight upward incline, and I turn my head to survey my surroundings. It’s a regular old hospital room, almost every surface either beige or white. There’s a dry erase board with my name written on the top in blue marker, and the date scrawled beneath it is four days after the last day I remember.

A tall doctor with short dark hair comes into the room. 

“Alexei, I’m Dr. Harvey. How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” I admit.

“Yeah, that’s to be expected.” He pulls a stethoscope from around his neck. “I’m going to look you over and then we’ll talk about your injuries.”

He pokes and prods me, and it’s all I can do to keep my eyes open. Sherrie looks on from the foot of the bed, and I realize then that we’re the only three people in this room.

My twin brother Anton’s not here. Martin and Laura, my adoptive parents, aren’t either. My coaches and teammates are also conspicuously absent.

Does anyone even give a shit about me? I’ve been in a coma for three fucking days and no one’s here to see if I wake up or not.

Typical. Anton’s always been the golden boy and I’ve always been the fuck up.

A car accident…I don’t remember that. The last thing I remember is driving past a bunch of cows on my way home from a bar.

Dr. Harvey puts the stethoscope back around his neck and pulls a chair up beside the bed. Not a good sign.

“You got lucky,” he says, his dark eyes loaded with judgment. “Broken wrist, dislocated hip, swelling on your brain and lots of cuts and bruises. But it should all heal.”

I look down at my right wrist, set in a cast, and decide it’s probably not the best time for a joke about being unable to jerk off. 

“Did someone call Anton?” I ask, my voice gravelly. “And my coach?”

Dr. Harvey nods. “Your coach has been coming by to check on you, and your parents have been here, too. They went to their hotel to get some sleep.”

“The Carrs? Martin and Laura?”

“Yes. They said they’re your parents. They are family, right?”

“Yeah. Adoptive parents.”

“How are you feeling?”

I manage a single grunt of unamused laughter. “Like I got run over by a truck.”

“Soreness?”

“Not really, I’m just foggy.”

“Good. We’ve got you on a slow drip IV pain medication.”

“How long until I can play again?”

The doctor looks away. “I don’t know. It’s hard to say for sure.”

“But you said everything’s gonna heal, right? I’ll be able to play after this?”

He sighs heavily. “You need to focus on getting better for now. And when you’re up to it, the police want to talk to you.”

“Shit,” I mutter.

“I’ll let them explain things—”

I cut him off. “No, just tell me. What happened?”

“From what I understand, you veered off the side of the road, driving around 70 miles per hour, and drove about a quarter of a mile through a farmer’s field…before you ran into his barn.”

“That explains the cows,” I mutter.

“Sorry, what?”

I want to answer him, but it’s taking all my energy just to keep my eyelids open. 

“Get some rest,” he says, standing up. “Bottom line is that you’ll be here for a few more days, and if all goes well you’ll be released into physical therapy.”

Not only can’t I answer him, I can’t even keep my eyes open anymore. Sleep takes over.

***

This time it’s easier to wake up. I blink as my eyes adjust to the light in the room. Then I wince at the sound of a loud, annoying female voice.

“You are a moron,” she says from the screen of the TV mounted in the top corner of my hospital room.

I sit up, trying to figure out where the damn remote is. 

“Good, you’re awake,” a man says from a chair in the corner of my room. “I thought Judge Judy might do the trick.”

He stands up and walks over to my bed. I take in the nicely combed hair and fancy suit, trying to figure out who he is.

“Are you a cop?” I ask, my voice still raspy.

He arches his brows, looking amused. “No. I’m Olivier Durand.”

I scrunch my face in confusion. “The Chicago Blaze owner?”

“That’s right.”

“Am I still sleeping right now?”

Durand laughs and pulls a chair up to my bedside. “No, why?”

“I just…can’t figure out why my brother’s not here but his team owner is.”

“Anton’s fairly well pissed at you, Alexei.”

I scoff. “So he sent you to see me instead?”

“No.” Durand’s expression turns serious. “The Comets released you when they found out about the accident.”

My heart starts pounding at a rapid pace, like a machine gun in my chest. “Released?”

“Yes.”

“I’m their first line center. No fucking way they’d—”

Durand pulls a cell phone out of his pocket, passing it to me. “You’re welcome to call Tim if you want to confirm it.”

When he mentions the Comets owner by name, shit gets real. Durand has no reason to lie to me about this. I wave off his offer, willing my heart to stop hammering so hard.

“You can report to their minor league team after your rehab is complete,” Durand says.

I give him a look of absolute horror. I can’t believe I’ve been dropped by my team—it’s unheard of to just release a first line player this way.

“I’ll pay for the damages,” I say, still in disbelief. “The barn I hit, and anything else. I’m not trying to get away with anything. Is that what they think?”

“It’s not about the barn.” Durand’s tone is smooth, unbothered.