The Rival Between Us

Chapter Eight

The second round of the playoffs opened at home, and Elena found herself back in the press box at Titans Arena, laptop open, watching Roman skate warm-up laps with the particular ferocity he seemed to bring to every practice since Montreal, as if he were trying to outrun something that kept catching up to him regardless of speed.

She hadn't seen him since the jacket, since the wordless exchange of care that neither of them had acknowledged out loud. Three days of radio silence, broken only by the occasional professional nod in hallways, had left Elena with entirely too much time to overthink every possible meaning behind a black jacket and a bag of flu medicine.

She was still turning it over in her mind when Adrian Cross slid into the press box seat beside her, notebook in hand, grinning like he'd won something.

"You look distracted, Hart."

"I'm working."

"You're staring at the ice like it owes you money." Adrian followed her gaze toward the far end of the rink, where Roman was running a shooting drill with mechanical precision. "Ah. I see. Still thinking about the mystery pharmacy bag?"

Elena's head snapped toward him. "How do you know about that?"

"Noah Bennett has a big mouth and an even bigger appreciation for gossip. It's a small hockey world, Hart. Word travels." Adrian's grin softened slightly, losing some of its usual performative edge. "For what it's worth, whatever's going on between you two, it's clearly not nothing. I've covered this team for three years. I've never seen Volkov look at a reporter the way he looks at you when he thinks nobody's watching."

"There's nothing going on."

"Sure." Adrian didn't push it further, which surprised her, though he did add, more quietly, "I'm not trying to dig for a story here, in case that's what you're worried about. I actually like you, Hart. As a colleague. Occasionally as more than a colleague, though you've made your feelings on that abundantly clear." He held up a hand before she could interject. "Purely professional interest at this point, I promise. But if you ever want to talk about whatever this is - off the record, as an actual friend - I'm around."

It was, Elena thought, a surprisingly decent thing for Adrian Cross to say, and she found herself softening toward him slightly, some of her usual wariness easing. "That's... surprisingly kind of you."

"I contain multitudes." He flashed his usual grin, but there was something more genuine underneath it now, and Elena filed the moment away, a small note that maybe Adrian Cross wasn't quite the stereotypical rival she'd initially assumed.

The game itself was tense, a physical, grinding affair that stayed scoreless until midway through the second period, when Roman finally broke through with a goal that sent the arena into a roar Elena felt in her chest even from the press box. She watched him celebrate with his teammates, the rare unguarded joy on his face reminding her painfully of the boy she used to know, before the mask came back down and he skated back to the bench with his usual controlled intensity.

The Titans won 3-1. Elena filed her game recap by midnight and lingered in the arena longer than she needed to, ostensibly finishing quotes, actually just delaying the walk to her car through the mostly empty parking garage.

She was three floors down when she heard footsteps behind her, unhurried but deliberate, and turned to find Roman standing several feet away, still in his post-game suit, tie loosened, looking at her with an expression she hadn't seen since before everything fell apart.

"You stayed late," he said.

"So did you, apparently."

"I had extra media obligations." He gestured vaguely, though something in his tone suggested that wasn't the whole truth. "Your car's over there?"

"You don't have to walk me to my car, Roman."

"I know I don't have to." He said it simply, without his usual defensive edge, and fell into step beside her anyway, close enough that she was uncomfortably aware of the six inches of space between their shoulders. "Doesn't mean I'm not going to."

They walked in silence through the echoing garage, and Elena found herself fighting the urge to ask him directly about the jacket, the medicine, the granola bar that meant he remembered details about her life five years later that she'd assumed were long erased. She settled instead for something safer.

"Good game tonight."

"Thanks." A beat. "You looked good in the press box. Focused."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"I don't really know what it's supposed to be," he admitted, and something about the honesty in his voice, the unguarded c***k in his careful armor, made Elena's chest ache in a way she wasn't prepared for. They reached her car, and he stopped a respectful distance away, hands in his pockets, watching her with an expression she couldn't quite read.

"Elena." Her name in his voice, after five years of hearing it filtered through memory instead of reality, hit her like something physical. "Why did you leave?"

The question hung between them in the cold garage air, simple and enormous all at once. Elena's hand tightened on her keys.

"I can't," she said quietly. "Not here. Not like this."

Something in his expression closed off again, the mask sliding back into place. "Right. Of course." He took a step back. "Goodnight, Elena."

He was gone before she could find any words to call after him, and Elena sat in her car for a long time afterward, engine off, hands still trembling, wondering how much longer she could keep the truth buried before it broke loose entirely on its own.

After the game, Adrian caught up with Elena in the parking garage stairwell, falling into step beside her with his usual easy confidence, though something in his expression suggested genuine curiosity rather than his typical performative flirtation. "You've been different today," he observed. "Distracted. Good distracted or bad distracted?"

"I don't know yet," Elena admitted, surprising herself with the honesty. "Ask me again in a few weeks."

"Cryptic. I respect it." Adrian held the door for her, and for once didn't push further, letting the silence between them settle into something almost companionable rather than combative.