Chapter 126: Nico Park and Alaric De viller
Miller
I had never wanted to fight a piece of fabric more in my entire life. Every time Leo waves the obnoxious red Ferrari flag, I feel a vein in my forehead throb.
Leo, the man who usually speaks like he is reading a medical textbook and looks down on everyone for being illogical, is currently leaning so far over the VIP railing that he looks like an obsessed fan, all because of the blonde Filler boy.
"He’s not even looking at you, Doc," I snapped, tucking my hands deeper into the pockets of my hoodie. "He’s looking at the three thousand other people screaming the same thing. It’s statistically improbable that he has heard you even once."
Leo didn’t even turn around as he spoke. "Your grasp of acoustics is as shallow as your personality, Miller. Alaric has superior sensory perception. He knows I am here."
I rolled my eyes before responding. "Oh, he has superior perception now? Does he have X-ray vision too?" I scoffed, looking down at the track.
Alaric de Viller was currently standing by his car, his blonde hair catching the sun as he laughed at something a mechanic said.
He looked like he belonged on a billboard in Hollywood, not in a grease-stained pit lane. He was too perfect, and I found it annoying because after what happened between Leo and me two nights ago, I had claimed him as mine.
Beside me, Rhys was having a similar meltdown, though he was trying to be "alpha" about it. He had his arm wrapped around Kayden’s waist so tight I thought the kid might snap in half.
Every time Nico Park—the Red Bull star with the tattoos and the annoying Korean-American charm—glanced up, Rhys would stiffen like he was preparing for a face-off on the ice.
Well, his reaction was justified at least because their relationship meant something, but Leo still hasn’t said anything about us. To him, it was just a one-time thing, but that wasn’t the case for me.
"We’re going down," Leo suddenly announced, yanking his flag back and stuffing it into his bag with the same speed he used for his medical tools.
"Down where? To the pits?" I asked, my heart doing a weird, unwanted skip. "Leo, we’re supposed to be watching the qualifiers, not stalking the drivers."
"Nico texted. He has a ten-minute window before the final checks. We are going." Leo looked at me, his eyes sharp behind his glasses. "Unless you are intimidated by the presence of world-class athletes who don’t require a stick to be effective?"
"I’m not intimidated by a guy named ’Filler’!" I yelled.
"VILLER!" He yelled. "How many times do I need to tell you that his name is Viller?" he said through gritted teeth.
I rolled my eyes but said nothing as we moved through the back corridors of the hospitality suite, descending toward the row of garages.
As we stepped into the Red Bull garage, the noise grew louder.
Nico Park was there, mid-conversation with his engineer. When he saw us, his face lit up, especially toward Leo. He walked over, the top of his racing suit still tied around his waist, exposing those tattoos—a wolf and roses—that looked entirely too cool for my liking.
"Leo! You actually made it," Nico said, his voice carrying a slight Cali accent. He pulled Leo into a quick, rough hug, then turned his eyes to Kayden. "And you must be the star rookie Leo won’t stop talking about."
Before Kayden could even say hello, Nico pulled him into a "cousinly" hug that lasted about three seconds too long for Rhys’s liking. "I have been wanting to meet you, by the way. You are great on ice."
"You watch hockey?"
Nico nodded.
"Alright, that’s enough," Rhys muttered, stepping in and literally peeling Nico’s arm off Kayden. "In case you are wondering who I am..."
Nico grinned, flashing a row of perfect teeth as he cut him off. "I know who you are. Rhys Calder, captain of the Northern Avalanche, the man who has won the Stanley Cup for two years. Your name is very popular in the sports world," but he paused, eyeing Rhys.
"But what?" Rhys demanded.
"You look a lot grumpier in person. Do you ever smile, or does the ice freeze your facial muscles in that specific ’I hate everyone’ position?"
I snorted at that and got a glare from Rhys. "Sorry," I muttered.
"I smile when I’m winning," Rhys fired back. "Which is often."
Nico chuckled, followed by a dry and sarcastic sound. "That’s cute. In my world, if you’re only smiling at the finish line, you’ve already lost the crowd. But hey, keep that ’tough guy’ energy. It’s a great aesthetic for people who like grumpy old men."
"I can see how unfunny Leo’s family is," Rhys muttered to me, his voice dripping with venom. "Is it a genetic requirement to be this irritating?"
"Statistically, the probability of you finding us ’unfunny’ correlates directly with your rising cortisol levels, Rhys," Leo interjected.
I wanted to laugh again at Rhys’s face, which had turned red, but then I felt a presence behind me. A very tall, very blonde, very pompous presence.
"Leo? Is that you?" The voice was smooth, like expensive cognac.
We all turned.
And standing there was Alaric de Viller. His red Ferrari suit was unzipped just enough to show the gold chains on his neck.
He looked at Leo, then his eyes flickered to me with a look of pure aristocratic boredom.
"Hi, Alaric!" Leo waved at him, and he waved back.
I frowned, squeezing my face so tight anyone could see the irritation on it.
Leo had mentioned some time ago that they weren’t friends but had just bonded during Alaric’s recovery after a terrible accident, and he just happened to work at the hospital where he recovered, but there was an unpleasant settling in my stomach that showed Leo felt more than just a patient-doctor connection with him.
"Nico," Alaric sighed, leaning against the garage wall as if he owned the entire circuit. "I see you’re entertaining the common folk today. And here I thought Red Bull had standards for their guests."
Nico didn’t even look up from his gloves as he spoke. "Better the common folk than a guy who thinks a gold cross makes up for his lack of a soul, Alaric. What are you doing here? Did the Ferrari garage run out of mirrors for you to kiss?"
Alaric gave a hollow, elegant laugh. "The mirrors are fine, mon ami. I simply wanted to see if the rumors were true—that Leo Ackerman was actually bringing a pack of hockey players into a high-performance environment. It’s like bringing a tractor to a ballroom."
He turned his gaze to me, his lips curving into a smirk. "And who is this? One of your patients, Leo? He looks a bit agitated. Perhaps he needs a sedative?"
"He’s the center of the Northern Avalanche," Leo said, standing so straight he looked like he had swallowed a yardstick. "This is Miller Reid."
Alaric stepped closer, his cologne hitting me—something woody. He held out a hand, his hazel eyes dancing with amusement. "Miller. A pleasure. I’ve heard interesting things about the hockey world, even though I have never watched it. I heard it’s very primitive."
I stared at his hand. I looked at Leo, who was staring at Alaric like he was a god descended from Olympus, and the jealousy hit me so hard I felt sick.
"Nice to meet you, Filler," I said, intentionally butchering the name as I gave his hand a bone-crushing squeeze.
Alaric didn’t flinch. He just leaned in, whispering so only I could hear. "It’s Viller, mon ami. But don’t worry. By the end of the day, you’ll be screaming it just as loud as Leo was."
My jaw dropped, and before I could swing at him, Leo was already pulling me away.
"What is wrong with you?" Leo hissed as we walked back toward the seating area. "You almost caused a diplomatic incident with the House of Viller!"
"He’s a prick, Leo! A blonde, shiny, Monaco-born prick!"
"He is a masterpiece," Leo countered, his voice returning to that maddeningly calm tone. "And your heart rate is currently 110 beats per minute. Irritation doesn’t suit you, Miller. It makes your face turn a very unattractive shade of magenta."
I stopped in my tracks, glaring at him. "You’re the one who’s obsessed with him! Why do you even care if I’m annoyed?"
Leo stopped too. He looked at me for a long beat, his expression softening. "It’s not that I actually care, but Alaric is a fantasy," he whispered, "and you, unfortunately, are a reality I have to deal with every day." He let out a groan, letting go of my hand before I could ask what he meant.
Kayden and Rhys were ahead of us, and Rhys was still muttering about how Nico’s jokes were "pure trash."
I stood there in the heat of the pit lane, watching Leo’s retreating back.
I hated racing. I hated the Filler guy, and I really, really hated that I was falling for a guy who pretends not to care when he does.