The Bargain

Chapter 2

~AZRIEL~

"Moreno!" Coach Devlon's bark cut through the chatter in the locker room following the early morning practice Wednesday. The room fell silent for a beat and Azriel's head snapped up automatically. He knew what Coach wanted, and he had been dreading this moment. The weight on his shoulders grew, threatening to press down and down and down until Azriel didn't have the strength to hold it up any longer. Atlas only had to hold the sky; Azriel felt like that might have been a lighter burden.

A kind coach would have pulled him aside privately. An emotionally intelligent coach would have asked him if everything was going alright before diving right in. But Owen Devlon had never been accused of being either of those things. Owen Devlon won championships. He turned hockey programs around. He got results, produced future superstars, became a household name. And he did it all without ever needing to maintain a single, solitary ounce of empathy in his ice-cold veins.

Meeting his hard gaze, Azriel watched as Coach held up his right index and middle fingers and curled them in twice. A signal that he was to come. Without waiting to see if his summons would be obeyed, Devlon turned sharply and withdrew into his office. Because he knew his instructions were always followed; in fact, he demanded it. Activity in the room resumed at Coach's retreat.

Azriel sighed as he was struck with a blot of longing for his childhood hockey coach, Coach Cedric. Coach C had taught him to skate. Had taken him to the emergency room on more than one occasion. He had offered Azriel a job so that he could afford to keep playing hockey. He had even shown up to the father-son breakfast one year at school. Fuck. It would not do to get all sentimental right before a discussion with the man who was practically the antithesis of Coach C.

Azriel stood from the bench. Cassian Flanagan and Rhysand Rinn, Azriel's best friends and roommates, each shot him a sympathetic look. One that both simultaneously said 'sorry,' 'good luck,' and 'better you than me.' Although, that last sentiment may have come solely from Cassian. Azriel sighed and ran his hand through his black-blue hair, still damp from the shower. It was getting long and was prone to falling in front of his eyes when he was off the ice. But the ladies loved it, so he was loath to cut it.

It only took a few steps to cross to Devlon's office and Azriel found himself darkening the door far sooner than he would have liked. "Close the door," he snapped, in lieu of a greeting. He didn't even bother to look away from his computer screen. Azriel shut the door and took a seat on the opposite side of the desk.

"You wanted to see me, Coach?" If Azriel was about to face a firing squad, at least he would do it proudly. No crawling into Coach's office. No apologizing, begging, or pleading. His mother taught him that. Winnifred Moreno struggled after her husband walked out on them. She worked multiple jobs to make ends meet, but it never seemed to be enough. There had been times when their power had been turned off, nights when Azriel had gone hungry. But through it all, he knew two things. First, that when they had nothing else, they always had each other; they had love. And second, that he was going to make something of himself. Not for his father, not for the man who had abandoned them. But for her, for his mother, for Winnie.

He wanted to take care of her the way she had taken care of him. Azriel had visions of buying her the house she always wanted. Of making sure she never needed to work another day in her life, unless she wanted to. And hockey would make it possible. When Azriel had first stepped onto the ice, hockey had just been something to do. Something to keep him busy after school while his mom was working at one of her many jobs. He hadn't expected to like it. But the universe had other ideas for him. Azriel loved hockey; it was love at first ice.

He practiced every moment that he could. His mom helped him set up a net in their driveway so he could improve his shooting even off the ice. And Coach C kindly looked the other way when Az decided to sneak in some practice after hours before running the zamboni for the night; eventually handing him his own set of keys so he could keep at it long after Coach C wanted to go to sleep.