Russian Roulette

“You should tell him,” Geno insisted in Russian, pacing back and forth in the secluded room. He felt as though he had been arguing this matter for hours now and was still getting nowhere. He knew his companion could be stubborn, but Geno felt as though he was looking out for the best interest of everyone involved. “Doesn’t he deserve to know?” he added on when he got no response.

The blonde curled up on the sofa hated when her good friend was right, or at least when him being right implied she was wrong. Her small hands clutched the red fleece blanket, which Geno had thrown over her body earlier, tighter. “But he’s going to hate me,” she mumbled into the blanket, her voice muffled as she watched Geno’s movement.

“It’s not like it is something you can control,” he pointed out, glancing over at her and stopping his pacing. She smiled lightly, knowing he was right, but frowned when he continued. “But, you should have told him from the start.”

She groaned, pulling the warm blanket over her head, shielding herself from the world around her. She wondered how she even got herself in this situation, or why she had to be attractive to him. “What do you think he is going to do?” she asked, knowing Geno knew him better than most people.

Geno took a seat next to her on the couch, Anastasia scooting over closer to the back of the couch to make room. “Well, he might be hurt, confused that you didn’t tell him at first, but I don’t think he will be too mad, as long as you don’t wait too long to tell him,” he notified her.

“He’ll hate me,” she repeated, pulling the blanket from over her head so that she could see his face. Her lips slipped into a frown, wanting, needing him to assure her that everything will work out in the end.

Geno lightly rubbed her leg in comfort. “He will not hate you.” He reached over, brushing some stray blonde hair away from her face, tucking it back behind her ear.

“Do you hate me?”

Her words surprised him, the volume of her voice barely over a whisper. Her big grey eyes stared up at him, waiting for him to give her an answer. She watched as his large hand reached up to scratch his nose, before dropping back down in his lap. She followed his lips as his mouth opened. “I do not hate you.”

She shook her head, moving her body around slightly on the couch to get more comfortable. Her hands still held tightly to the blanket, feeling the warmth radiating from it. “You must,” she insisted. “You must hate me… after everything, and then on top of that, this. I didn’t mean for you to get in the middle of this, but you sort of have.” She straightened out her legs and then rebent them.

“No, Anya,” his tone never more serious, “I could never hate you. What happened… happened a long time ago. We friends now.” He bent down, hovering over her as he placed a brotherly kiss on her forehead. And despite everything, he knew he truly meant every word.

--

The mostly red crowd was alive with excitement as the home team faced off against Team Switzerland. Anastasia could not help but smile as number 87 took the ice at the Canada Hockey Place. Sidney’s eyes scanned the crowd, but clearly came up blank, much to Anastasia’s pleasure.

Surrounded by her brother and his teammates, who it was pretty safe to say were all rooting against Team Canada, Anastasia clapped her hands in excitement. She felt nervous for Sidney and his team, but despite what her brother wanted, she wanted them to win.

Alexander eyed her, surprised by her abrupt enthusiasm. “What is with your sudden support for Canada?” he questioned in Russian as the puck dropped and the game began. “You don’t have another crush on a player do you?”

Alexander Semin, Semyon Varlamov, and Evgeni Malkin’s ears all seemed to perk up at Ovechkin’s words. She could feel all three pairs of eyes glued on her as she fought back a bitter laugh. “You caught me, Sasha” she spoke with a roll of her eyes. “I have the biggest crush on Eric Staal. I mean, have you seen that beautiful blond hair and those gorgeous brown eyes? That boy is good looking,” she gushed out.

Sasha raised his eyebrows. “He’s married,” he pointed out, not quite picking up on his little sister’s sarcasm. He crossed his arms across his muscular chest, a frown clear on his face.

“Like that’s stopped you before,” she muttered under her breath; although he didn’t seem to hear her, Geno let out a brief snicker on the other side of her.

She felt Semin and Varlamov’s gaze on her for most of the game and she wondered if Varlamov had mentioned anything about her and Sid to Semin. She was more than prepared to inform her brother of Varlamov’s adventures at the Russian Training Camp if necessary, though she thought it was safe to say Sasha was none the wiser as of this point. Hopefully things would stay that way a little longer.

Despite her desire to run off and speak to Sid after the 3-2 win in overtime, she figured it would be best to wait. Canada would be disappointed they weren’t able to finish the game in regulation and get three points in the standings, but at least they did in fact win the game.

Anastasia discreetly sent a text to him, congratulating him on the win, before following the large crowd up the stairwell. It was difficult to stay in close proximity to Sasha and the other guys, especially with obsessed fans spotting “Alexander the Great” and the rest of his Russian teammates.

“Our pre-game skate starts soon and then the game starts at nine,” Sasha reminded her once the confusion was over and the crowd had passed. They were all just hanging out in the lobby, many of the players discussing their game that started in just a few hours with each other. “You better not be rooting for Slovakia.”

She shook her head lightly. “Why would I root against you?” She stopped walking, causing him to stop walking. She pulled him into a hug, then kissed his cheek in a sisterly way. “I love you, brother,” she whispered. “You’ll always be my favorite player to root for.”

He smiled, swinging an arm around her shoulder as the two of them continued on the way. “You don’t really have a crush on Eric Staal do you?”

--

Anastasia’s face lit up when she spotted the back of Sidney’s curly, black hair. He had been talking with one of his Team Canada teammates. Their tones were both serious as they went through a couple plays of the game that had just taken place not a half hour before.

Patrice Bergeron stopped talking when he noticed her presence. He raised his hand in a brief wave, causing Sidney to turn around. He nodded his head in greeting but did not say anything.

“Hello,” she greeted quietly, her hands dropping into the pocket of her jeans as she shifted her weight to the other leg.

“Hi,” he spoke, simply.

“Well, I’m, um, just going to go,” Patrice spoke awkwardly, his French-Canadian accent coming through his words, before saying goodbye and heading out of the team’s locker room.

“What is wrong?” she questioned, taking a few steps closer to him before stopping. Anastasia could sense the uneasiness between the two of them, but couldn’t understand why.

“What d’you mean?” he replied back, scratching his head.

She hesitated. “You seem… different… mad, maybe. I do not know?” Brushing back the blonde hair from her face she gave him an unsure smile, trying to figure out where they hit the bump in the road.

“What’s up with you and Ovechkin?”

She froze at his question. “What do you mean?” she repeated his previous question, not sure where this had come from.

“I saw you with him a little while ago,” he began. “You were hugging him, kissing him….” His chocolate brown eyes were filled with so many emotions—hurt, confusion, betrayal. “What happened to not being a fan of his? Not being attractive to him?”

“I was hugging him, I gave him a kiss on the cheek. Are you not overreacting just a little?” she reasoned, her arms crossing against her chest. Sidney’s eyes fell down to where her arms now were, before slowly bringing them back up to her face. “I never said I was not a fan of his and just because I did hug him and give him a kiss on the cheek does not mean I’m attracted to him.” She could feel her voice rising slightly, angered by his accusations, but she knew it was still partly her fault.

“Then what does it mean?” he asked, taking a step closer to her. He sighed, thankful the locker room had long been emptied by his teammates. “Why didn’t you tell me you were friends with Ovechkin?” Sidney added on.

“I said I knew Russian team,” she reminded him, struggling to continue talking in English rather than switching to her more comfortable Russian.

He nodded his head up and down. “But there’s… there’s nothing going on with you and Ovechkin? Nothing at all?” he wanted to verify.

She smiled. “Nothing, at all. And there never will be,” she promised causing him to smile. She remembered Geno’s words from earlier and wondered if she should say anything about it now, but she didn’t want to mess up such a good thing right now.

“Good, I want you all to myself,” Sidney mumbled into her lips before he connected his with hers.

No, she couldn’t take the chance of ruining this perfect relationship she now had with Sid.