Page 22 of Playing Her Game

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

Reznik looks at him briefly, then returns his attention to me. “I heard what happened.”

“She has a concussion and six stitches,” Lenzin says, his voice flat. “Because your fans decided to finish what you started on the ice.”

“I didn't start anything.”

“You threw the punch.”

“After Kilovac…”

“Stop.” My voice comes out sharper than I expect.

I push myself upright. The movement pulls at the tender skin around my eyebrow, and the room gives a small, unpleasant lurch. Both men move toward me at once.

I lift a hand.

“Just stop.”

They do.

That, more than anything, surprises me. Two professional hockey players who looked ready to tear into each other a moment ago fall silent because I asked them to.

I turn toward Reznik. Up close, he's even more imposing than I'd realized. His eyes move over my face again, stopping at the stitches. There's anger in his expression, but it isn't directed at me. I can see that much.

I can also see that he's holding himself back.

“I'm going to make this right,” he says.

“How?”

The question hangs between us.

“I don't know yet. But I will.”

“Your fans invoked your name while they cornered me. They said Kilovac was dirty and you were justified. They said Brooklyn cheats.” I hold his gaze, though it takes more effort than I want him to know. “So, tell me how you make that right.”

He doesn't answer immediately. His hands curl at his sides, then relax.

“I can't undo what happened to you.”

“No. You can't.”

Aleks shifts his weight. “You should go.”

Reznik turns his head. “I'm not leaving until I know she's okay.”

“She's not your concern.”

“She's a person who got hurt because people claiming to support me decided they could do whatever they wanted in my name.”

His eyes return to mine.

“And I care that she's hurt.”

The words are simple. They shouldn't make my pulse stumble, especially when I'm sitting in a hospital chair with a throbbing head and blood drying on my clothes.

They do anyway.