Chapter 10 10: The Fragile Truce
Saint's shoulders sank fractionally. "Listen," he said. "We both have things to lose. THC is watching. Your night could cost both of us everything."
Baby's laugh this time was humourless. "And what, you're here to save me? To teach me morality at two a.m.?"
Saint was quiet for a beat, then something almost like pity softened his expression. "I'm here because someone needs to keep you from making a mistake you'll never forgive. Not because I care about your image. Because—" he cut himself off, grinding his teeth. "Because you're my co-captain. Because if you fail, I fail. Don't make this harder than it already is."
That admission landed heavier than any shove. Baby stared at him, searching for condescension and finding, disconcertingly, sincerity. He wanted to ridicule, to push Saint back into his untouchable pedestal. Instead, his voice came out small. "Why do you even care so much about THC? You've always had everything handed to you."
Saint's mouth twitched, almost a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Because my choices are the ones that don't belong to me. Because my life has been chosen so many times I forget which decisions were mine." He looked at Baby, really looked, as if trying to see the person behind the gleam. "This… this is the first time I actually want something."
The words were ridiculous. They were incendiary. They were also painfully true.
Heat crawled up Baby's neck. He shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to find footing on terrain that shifted every time Saint moved his gaze.
"You make everything complicated," he said, softer than he intended.
Saint moved closer, hand hovering as if to steady Baby on the railing. For one absurd moment Baby imagined the hand resting there, then travelling up an arm, then—he slammed the thought away like a puck.
"Complicated is a fair word," Saint admitted. "But we have a job to do. We have to be professional when it matters. After that—" he hesitated, then barked a short, humourless laugh. "After that, you can throw whatever party you want, as long as it doesn't involve other people getting hurt."
Baby's posture changed. Pride fought with something else, and he let the latter win, just a little. "Deal," he said, because saying anything else felt like losing the last of his dignity.
They stood there, two captains on a narrow balcony, the city humming beneath them. The moment could have ruptured into violence again—hands clenched, words sharp as skates—yet instead it frayed into a fragile truce.
Saint's hand tucked his duffel strap back over his shoulder. "We start practice early," he reminded, the leadership slipping back into his voice. "Sleep. Don't party. Show up."
Baby snorted, but it had the ghost of a smile in it. "You show up too, saint-boy. Don't pretend you won't."
Saint's lips twitched. "I never miss practice."
As Saint turned to leave, Baby called after him, quieter, the streetlight catching the edge of his defiance. "Don't be a saint."
Saint paused, arm on the doorframe, and without looking back said, "I said I'm no saint."
Then he closed the door—and the apartment exhaled, the party noise muffled suddenly into nothing.
Baby stayed a long time on the balcony, hands jammed into his pockets, feeling oddly hollow and oddly full at the same time. Whatever this partnership was shaping into, it wasn't simple. It never would be.
___
"Fucking hangover," Baby muttered as he pressed his head against the cool metal of his locker.
"Mine is even worse... you're still double in my vision. How the fuck am I supposed to decipher which puck is real or fake?" Cam slid down his locker across Baby's, hiding his face between his raised knees.
"Who did we actually punish, fucking Saing Kross or our fucking selves?" Baby drummed his finger on the locker, closing his eyes to shut out the banding headache.
"The latter, Baby, the latter. I'm never partying again," Cam wailed, covering his face with his hands.
"Call in sick," Cam suddenly snapped his head up, "Call in sick, Baby, the coach wouldn't mind. Please, I can't feel my legs," he cried.
Baby you laughed, sliding down on the floor to face his friend.
"Look at us, so early like we could afford to walk three steps without tumbling and falling on our faces," Baby chuckled.
"Fuck alcohol!" Wong suddenly stumbled into the locker room, his eyes red like he had never slept a wink last night.
Baby and Cam burst out laughing, watching Wong casually lie on the bench and immediately start to snore.
One after the other, the teammates trooped in, each finding a comfortable spot to nap it off.
Suddenly, a banging sound tore scrubs the quiet locker room.
Baby, who had been pressing his hands on his forehead took them to his ears as someone used a stick to hit against a locker.
"Everyone on the ice! You have sixty seconds or run a hundred laps! Out now!" Saint's voice boomed across the locker room, forcing the guys to scramble up to their feet, groaning and grunting as they jigged out of the room.
"Fucking Saint," Baby murmured under his breath.
He didn't move, trying to weigh his headache and check if it's actually something he could manage.
He heard Saint's footsteps approaching him and regretted the conversation on the balcony. He shouldn't have gone soft in the end, the guy was still a first-class ass. Saint knew Baby was hung over yet he commanded the practice to hold.
"Consequences must follow, Baby. I told you so," Saint said, looking down at Baby's covered face.
Slowly, Baby removed his hands from his face and winced as he stared up at Saint.
"Save the sermon, asshole," Baby grunted as he stood, shrugging past Saint.
"Baby," Saint called, reaching out to catch Baby's wrist.
Baby sighed and turned, "What?" He asked, frowning as he stared down at Saint's hand gently wrapped around his wrist.
He drew it out of Saint's hold, refusing to form any kind of friendship bond with his rival.
"I thought we reached some kind of truce last night?" Saint asked, "I thought we could spare the curses –"
"Fuck your thoughts. Last night, I got to your stupid, proud nerves and that's all that matters, now, stay away from me, Mr. Perfect. Don't mess with me, I'll do more to make sure you leave my school, I hate your parents. And I hate you," Baby stated and turned away, walking away proudly.
"Fuck!" He suddenly doubled over and held his aching head, resting his side on the wall for support.
"Well then, hurry up, the game needs to go on," Saint said and walked out without sharing Baby a glance.