Free Empty Net by Avon Gale Page B

his son’s arm hard enough to make Laurent wince.
    When Misha saw St. Savoy grab Laurent and saw Laurent’s automatic response, Isaac knew things were dangerous. Misha muttered in Russian and then stepped forward and said, “You may see your son on his time, not mine. The bus, Laurent, Isaac. Now. ”
    He didn’t touch Laurent, but when St. Savoy let go of his arm, he deliberately put himself between them. Samarin was taller than Denis and about a thousand times more dangerous.
    Laurent’s face was pale and his dark eyes wide as he looked between his father and his coach. Isaac waited not one second longer and nudged him toward the bus. He knew instinctively that Laurent didn’t want to be touched, but he also knew that he would physically drag Laurent away if necessary.
    St. Savoy was clearly going to try and say something about it to Coach Samarin, but Samarin just turned his back and walked away. That enraged St. Savoy, who shouted something at his son in French, and whatever it was, it made Laurent inhale sharply next to Isaac.
    Everyone was talking on the bus. A few people had seen the altercation, but Coach Samarin’s face made everyone pause. He looked infuriated—the exact opposite of how he should look after a shutout win over their rivals. But then he sat down next to Coach Ashford, the engine turned on, and the bus was on its way.
    Isaac looked out the window and could just see Denis St. Savoy’s figure, alone in the parking lot.
    He resisted the urge to wave. Or maybe flip the guy off.
    Laurent sat next to Isaac and trembled.
    “What did he say?” Isaac asked in a low voice. He was surprised that Laurent wanted to sit next to him, but glad they could talk without anyone overhearing. “Saint?”
    As always the name seemed to reach through whatever dark fog held Laurent in its grip. He gazed at Isaac. “I’m not telling you.”
    “Why? Dude, I know he’s a prick. You can say it to me.”
    “No. I promised I wasn’t going to say that stuff to you anymore.”
    Isaac made a face. “That bad, huh?”
    Laurent slumped down in his seat. “I can’t do that again.”
    “Talk to him? You don’t have to,” Isaac promised, though he had no idea how he was going to keep it.
    “No. I mean. Play like that,” Laurent said, drawing in on himself. “It’s too…. He’ll make me come back.” He looked around, visibly panicked. “He’ll expect that, but I’ll do it, and he’ll hate it. He can’t stand when I’m good. He can’t stand when I’m not good. He can’t stand me. ”
    “Hey.” Isaac was worried. He expelled a breath and thought about what he could say. “He can’t make us trade you. We’re not going to. Okay?”
    Laurent gave a wild, trapped laugh. “You don’t know anything, Drake. You think you do, but you don’t. You have no idea what he can do… what he’s done.”
    “Well, I know Coach Samarin could beat him up,” Isaac said seriously.
    Laurent stopped talking. He looked at Isaac. “He could get Coach Samarin fired. And that’s what he told me he was going to do. He hates him. Because he stood up for me.”
    “I don’t think he can do that,” Isaac said, trying to be soothing. “On what grounds? That Coach Samarin told his player it was time to get on the bus?”
    Laurent opened his mouth, but suddenly Hux loomed over the seat in front of them. He held some comics in one hand and a graphic novel in the other. “Hey. Saint. Your dad sucks balls. Here’s your comics.” He handed over the Demon Detective series.
    “And I don’t know if you’ve read Judge Dredd, but it’s awesome. Here’s the first one. He’s like, a dude that doesn’t smile and never takes his mask off. Like you, kinda. I mean you take your mask off, but you know.”
    Laurent reached up and took the graphic novel. He blinked and then looked at Isaac.
    “Anyway I don’t know what your problem is, but after seeing your dick ex-teammates on the ice, I figure you’re just not used to like,