Neon & Nets (Venom Next Gen #1)

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Knight

Tristan tilts his head to the right. “So, your plan was to spend more time with Sofia while she works on her thesis, thereby winning her affection.”

I nod. “Correct.”

He bobs his head to the left. “But her plan is to make you do a bunch of things that turn her off and make her bits dry as the Nevada desert… as part of her thesis.”

“Correct again.”

Tristan licks his lips. “How’s that working out for you, buddy?”

I give him two thumbs up, and what I’m sure is a slightly manic grin. “She doesn’t hate me yet!” Fingers crossed that yet is not the operative word in that sentence.

Tristan grabs his helmet in one hand and his stick in the other. “I wish you the best of luck, my friend. Any idea what you’re going to do next?”

I nod. I went through the list last night and have already decided on my next course of action. “I need to find someone who will hit me with their bike.”

Tristan stops in the middle of the locker room. “What? That’s a terrible idea.”

I shrug. “It’s on the list.” The full line describes the ick of poor reflexes; the subject getting hit with a bike is just one of the examples Sofia cited.

“You are crazy for this girl, I know, but this is not a good idea. If she is worth your time, she will not want to see you hurt.” Tristan seems genuinely pained by my plan. “Besides, no one who can call himself your friend will hit you on purpose.”

Damn, there goes my plan to enlist Tristan’s help. I’m not going to leap into traffic or anything but staging a bike accident sounds perfect. “I’m not saying that I want to end up with a broken bone or anything. I’m thinking we could make it funny. I’ll hold up both hands like, Oh, nooooooo! and pretend it’s happening in slow motion. It would be a bit.” Guys who turn everything into a bit is also on the list, for the record.

Tristan is already shaking his head when someone throws an arm around my shoulder. Viktor jabs me in the ribs with his other hand. “Hey, buddy, did I hear you say you want someone to mess you up? Bike, brick, bat, I’ll hit you.”

“Really?” I’m not sure I trust Viktor to have my best interests at heart, but I do trust Noah to kill him if he actually hurts me.

“Any time. Are you doing this to win Sofia’s heart?” Viktor wiggles his eyebrows. “Chicks love hurt/comfort, man. There’s a reason it’s a major trope in romances.”

“You read romance novels?” Tristan asks.

“My mom owns a bookshop. I read all kinds of shit.” To me, he adds, “I’ll rough you up a little on my bike where Sofia can see, and I guarantee you she’ll drop her panties like that.” Viktor snaps his fingers.

“Have some respect,” I scold him.

“Okay. Respectfully, I promise that my brand of roughhousing will get you laid.” Viktor slaps my back a few times. “Because when it comes to pussies in general, I am the expert. Now, come on. Coach is waiting.”

He leads us out to the ice. Just before practice starts, I smack Tristan’s shoulder. “Hey, what happened with that woman from the fundraiser the other night? ”

“She was nice,” Tristan says. “We talked for a little while.”

“Did you get her number? You should ask her out.”

He sits down to pull on his skates. “Knight, you have been nothing but nice to me, and I say this with the utmost respect… I’m not taking romantic advice from a man whose plan to woo the girl of his dreams involves a staged cycling accident.”

Well, when he puts it that way, it doesn’t sound great. “Noted.”

The whistle blows, and we hit the ice for warm-ups. Skating laps around the rink, the three of us fall into a natural rhythm.

Viktor glides up beside me, jabbing me lightly with his stick. “So, Knight, are we staging that bike accident before or after practice?” he teases, his grin wide and mischievous.

Tristan snickers on my other side. “Maybe we should practice our slow-motion reactions, you know, for authenticity.”

I shake my head. “You guys are real pieces of work, you know that?” Then I push the pace a little faster.

Viktor shrugs, his expression mock-serious. “Hey, I’m just looking out for you, buddy. Plus, if it works, you’ll owe me big time. Never know when I might want to collect.”

We continue our laps, the banter easing some of the tension from the upcoming drills. There’s a comfort in our back-and-forth, a sense of camaraderie that makes the ice feel like home. Coach McTiernan’s whistle cuts through the air again, signaling the start of the real work, and we all straighten up, ready to prove ourselves.

Coach has us split into pairs for passing drills, and naturally, I end up with Tristan. Viktor pairs off with one of the veterans, though he’s still close enough to throw out the occasional quip. “Hey, Knight, don’t forget to keep your eyes on the puck, not on Sofia’s—what was it—dry bits?” Viktor’s voice rings out as he effortlessly handles a pass.

Tristan chokes back a laugh as he sends the puck my way. “Ignore him,” he says, though his grin is wide. “He couldn’t get a woman wet with a firehose. Hence, the reason your sister hates him to the point of violence.”

I roll my eyes but can’t help smiling as I send the puck back with a quick flick of my wrist. “You know, if you spent half as much time practicing as you do talking, you might actually be as good as you think you are,” I call back to Viktor.

He winks at me, receiving another pass. “You’d be lost without me, Hale. Admit it.” The drills pick up pace, the chatter fading as we focus on our passes, but the easy banter continues in the spaces between, building the kind of trust that only comes from knowing your teammates have your back—on and off the ice.

Next up are the shooting drills, where things get competitive. The goal is simple: hit the top corner of the net as many times as possible in a minute. Viktor, naturally, goes first, and he’s good—damn good. He sinks shot after shot with deadly accuracy, grinning like a maniac each time the puck hits the target.

“That’s how it’s done, boys,” he crows, skating back to us with his stick raised in triumph.

Tristan steps up next, his expression serious, and he’s no slouch either. His shots are clean and precise, and he hits the target nearly as often as Viktor, though he’s quieter about it.

“Not bad,” I admit as he skates back to us.

He shrugs, modest as always. “Just doing my part.”

Then it’s my turn. The pressure’s on, but I thrive under it. My first shot finds the corner, as does the second. The third skims the post, but I quickly recover, sinking the next two with ease. Viktor and Tristan watch with approval, and as the drill ends, Viktor claps me on the back. “Looks like you’re more than just a pretty face. But not as pretty as mine, for the record.”

“I try,” I reply, breathless but grinning.

Coach blows the whistle again, signaling the breakaway drill. This one’s all about speed and precision—starting from center ice, we each take turns charging the net, trying to outmaneuver the goalie. Viktor goes first, his speed impressive as he weaves through imaginary defenders. He dekes left, then right, and fires a shot just over the goalie’s glove.

“Too easy!” he shouts, skating back with a cocky grin.

Tristan’s approach is more calculated. He doesn’t have Viktor’s flash, but his movements are smooth and deliberate. He fakes a shot, then slips the puck between the goalie’s pads with a small, satisfied smile.

“Not bad for a guy who won’t take my advice on dating,” I tease as he skates by.

Tristan laughs. “Maybe I’ll start listening if you ever get your girl to look twice at you.”

Finally, it’s my turn. I dig in, pushing hard off the center line, the wind rushing past my ears. I zigzag toward the net, feinting right before cutting sharply left. The goalie bites, and I slip the puck into the open corner.

“Nice one,” Viktor calls. I can’t help but smile. It feels good to have chemistry with my teammates and have my professional life start falling into place. As practice winds down, Coach McTiernan calls for a cool-down skate. The three of us take slow laps around the rink, the adrenaline ebbing away but the camaraderie still strong.

“So, about this ridiculous plot,” Viktor starts, his tone teasing but with a hint of concern. “I was just giving you a load of shit in the locker room. Are we really doing this?”

Tristan chuckles. “You know, I’m still not convinced it’s the best idea, but I have to admit, it’ll be one for the books.”

I sigh, shaking my head. “You guys are unbelievable. But yeah, I’m sticking with it. It’s on her list, and I’m going all in.”

Viktor laughs, slapping me on the back. “You’ve got guts, buddy. I’ll give you that.”

Tristan nods, his usual calm demeanor back in place. “Just don’t forget the part where you actually talk to her, Knight. You know, before you end up in the ER.”

I roll my eyes, but there’s a warmth in my chest that wasn’t there at the start of practice. “That’s the plan.” As we skate off the ice, I can’t help but feel like things are finally starting to fall into place—both on the ice and off.

* * *

Sofia stops by my place at four o’clock that afternoon. Before I answer the door, I drop a quick message to Viktor.

KnightInShiningArmor: All systems go. The plan is underway. Repeat, the plan is underway.

He responds with two emojis, a bike and a baseball bat. I close my screen and step out onto the porch, where Sofia is waiting with a nondescript box.

“Hey, stranger,” I say. “Whatcha got there?”

She holds up the box. “A present.”

“Is this part of the experiment?” I reach for the box and tug at the tape that holds the flaps together.

“For now, it’s best to assume that the answer will be yes.”

I laugh when I see what’s inside. A pair of fuzzy animal slippers bear a surprising resemblance to Ranger’s ancient rescue dogs. Underneath that is a terrycloth headband, the type that girls use to hold their hair back during makeup tutorials, with a smiling lamb’s face embroidered on the front. It even has floppy little ears.

“Thank you so much for these beautiful gifts.” I kick off my shoes and stuff my feet into the slippers. The headband goes on next. I strike a pose and flutter my eyelashes at her. “Is this icky?”

Sofia’s shoulders tremble with laughter. “No. It’s actually adorable.”

I hop down the steps and frolic down the walkway. “Is it adorable if I’m skipping down the sidewalk?”

Sofia is laughing so hard she has tears in her eyes. She shakes her head.

“How about if I do a cartwheel?” I am terrible at cartwheels, for the record. I do something that looks more like a somersault, land on my ass, and scramble to my feet, spreading my arms and tucking my heels together as if I’ve just stuck an Olympic-worthy landing. Bragging about things you’re bad at was high on Sofia’s ick list, so I go full ham. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but I got an A in cartwheels back in third grade. Coach said I could have gone pro, but I was too good, you know? I didn’t want to embarrass the other athletes.”

“Stop,” Sofia wheezes.

I straighten my headband. “What’s that? You want to hear all about my cartwheel experience? Maybe I could teach you a thing or two about cartwheels, young lady.”

She’s still cackling when Noah’s garage door opens. Viktor emerges, kind of like one of those old-time gladiators, riding his electric bike. He nods at me, and I nod back. Time for the bit.

We talked this out in detail earlier. Viktor’s going to bike over at a leisurely pace while I pretend to be terrified of getting hit but make no attempt whatsoever to get out of the way. He’ll slow down at the last minute, and I’ll fling myself out of the way. For added effect, I’m going to roll around in the grass and wail, the way soccer players always do during World Cup matches. Men whining about every little cut like it’s the end of the world is an ick I can get behind. It’ll be hilarious. Sofia will love it.

At least, that’s what we planned.

In reality, Viktor reaches the end of the sidewalk, turns toward me… and guns it.

Motherfucker.

Under other circumstances, I would be able to leap aside, but I’m already leaning into the bit, begging for him to spare me even though he should, in theory, be moving at about four miles an hour.

By the time I realize what’s happening, it’s too late. The bike crashes into me. I go one way, and the bike goes the other. Viktor ends up sprawled in the road while I go flying into my dad’s beloved yard.

“Knight!” Sofia cries.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!” Viktor pops back to his feet and limps toward me. His bike lies on its side, the wheels still spinning from the momentum of his movement. “Are you okay? Fuck, that was an accident, please don’t be dead, dude.”

“I’m alive,” I croak, lifting one feeble thumb toward him.

Viktor drops onto his knees beside me. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen genuine fear on his face. That, combined with the fact that he’s more worried about me than his precious bike, is enough to convince me that this really was an accident.

“What the hell, Viktor!” Sofia stomps over to us, her finger stabbing in Viktor’s direction. “You could have hurt him!”

The door of the house bangs open, and Dad comes rushing out. “Noah!” he bellows. “Come get your kid before I kill him.” He crouches beside my head and peers into my eyes. “Are you okay, kiddo? How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Three.” I lift myself up on my elbows. “I’m fine, Dad.” I’m shaking, but I think it’s mostly adrenaline at this point.

“You’re bleeding.” Sofia has her hands pressed to her mouth. “This is all my fault. Oh my God, I’ll never forgive myself.”

I look down at my battered body. There are a few scrapes on my arms, but nothing serious. “Eh. I’ve done worse. You should have seen me after practice the other day.”

Dad glares at Viktor. “You have two seconds to explain.”

Viktor lifts both hands in self-defense. “I’m sorry. Knight asked me to hit him with my bike, but I forgot I changed the gear settings—”

“He did what?” Dad leans toward Viktor. “He asked you to hit him?”

“He did it for me.” Sofia’s the one shaking now. “He did it for the ick list. Uncle Cash, I’m so, so sorry.”

Sofia looks tragic, and it’s killing me. I just want to pull her close and make it stop. Seeing her like this—so rattled—is doing something to me I can’t shake. I hate that she feels like this, that she’s apologizing when she shouldn’t be. This is all my fucking fault. All I can think about is how badly I want to wrap my arms around her, steady her, and tell her it’s going to be okay. But I can’t do that with my dad standing here looking so pissed.

Dad looks at each of us in turn. “The ick list,” he repeats. “The fuck?”

“I’m helping Sofia with her master’s thesis. Like a human research lab. It’s a whole thing.” I gesture to my headband and fuzzy slippers. “It wasn’t supposed to go down like this, but Viktor’s right. This was my idea.”

Dad looks down at his lawn, and I realize that all four of us are on his precious grass. Taking the heat for this misadventure might have higher stakes than I previously anticipated.

After a long moment, Dad sighs and gets to his feet. “Get your bike, dipshit,” he says as if Viktor’s five years old instead of twenty-five. “You’re going home.”

Dad pulls one of his water pistols from the back pocket of his jeans and squirts Viktor right in the face.

Viktor lets out an indignant yelp, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “What the hell, Cash? Need I remind you that your son asked me to do this!”

“Mind your tone,” Dad says, shaking his head. “You were the one who didn’t check your gears to make sure the prank would be safe. I’m taking you home. And don’t think for a second I’m not going to tell Noah and Molly what you’ve been up to. Your mom deserves to know when you’re acting like a jackass. I don’t care that you’re technically an adult.”

Viktor deflates, looking a little like a scolded kid. For a guy who’s been in the NHL for years, he still lives at home with Molly, and Dad knows exactly how to make him feel like he’s five. I don’t think Viktor’s ever fully outgrown having someone to take care of him. Sure, he bought a luxury condo once, but the developer went bankrupt, and he lost a bunch of money. Now he’s too gun-shy to make a move, worried he’ll get burned again. He likes it at home, where he can let his mom pamper him, though he’d never admit it. Even when he indulges in a hook-up, he stays over at her place so he gets coddled. He’s got some growing up to do off the ice.

Now that he’s in trouble, I can practically feel his glare burning into me like he’s planning his revenge. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that Viktor doesn’t let go of a grudge easily. And I’ll be the one paying for it. When they’re a few paces away, Dad says, “We’re not done talking, Knight. When I get back…”

Well, shit. We’re both in trouble. Despite two multi-million- dollar contracts, it’s high school all over again.

Dad walks Viktor home while Sofia helps me to my feet. “Let me take you home and clean you up.”

It’s a short walk to the pool house on the Rossi property, but Sofia takes it slow. I’m not that hurt, but I also don’t mind how much she’s touching me as she croons and fusses. She leads me inside, gets me settled on the sofa, and retrieves a first-aid kit from her bathroom.

“I can’t believe you did that,” she says as she dabs antiseptic on my scraped arm.

“I can’t believe Viktor didn’t remember to check his gears before he got on,” I reply. “My dad wasn’t wrong about that part.”

Sofia cleans my cuts and spritzes them with Bactine. She blows on my arm a few times. “Is that better?”

“It feels nice.” Everything about her feels nice. Her fingers on my arm. Her breath on my skin. The place where her leg is pressed against my thigh. This would be the perfect time to make a move… if I wasn’t wearing fuzzy slippers, a sleepy sheep headband, and sweats with fresh grass stains. I shake my head at how absurdly this experiment has gone. My own willingness to make a fool of myself has become my non-human cockblocker. “How are we feeling about data collection right now? Does this give you the ick, babe?”