Reese Halston-Vale | RW 13 | M: teammates, staff

Just when Reese didn’t think things could get any worse, here he was again, back in fucking Switzerland. As he trudged through the slush that was rapidly melting from a fluke summer storm they’d had in these higher altitudes, it was difficult not to think about all of the ways he’d been wronged in the past six months, even harder not to think of a way to escape a fate that would’ve found him no matter what. The Volture Corporation funded the Verimont Volt, and both were owned by Antoine Volture, a friend and business partner of his father. In fact, Julien Halston had essentially sold the entire town of Verimont and the rural wilderness around it to Antoine in a business deal that had become the scandal of the century. It had occurred through his father’s penchant for telling lies and tearing families apart, beginning with their own–the only reason he’d had the connections in the first place was due to his wife’s infamous family and the reputation that Valeur fashion had in Switzerland. And now no one in his family were on speaking terms, Reese included.

It wasn’t a shock that Reese had been drafted to Antoine’s team. In fact, Antoine had promised him years ago that he would do everything in his power to make Reese a member of his hockey club. What was a shock was that he had been drafted second in a year when centers were a dime a dozen and he was the first natural right winger with superstar numbers in almost twelve years. His father was drunk that night, and Reese knew that if he hadn’t had his hand on the masterclass deception that occurred at his draft, he would’ve gotten a liquor bottle thrown at his head. So, in some way, Julien had created this–had chosen this–and had the power to tell him what was happening in advance. But that would’ve been too easy.

For only a second, Reese felt relief at the prospect of going to some nowhere town in the American Southwest. Everyone in the league hated to play the Nocturnes because of their horrible reputation, their incapability of keeping the team anywhere for more than a few years, and the drama that resulted from chronic instability. Yet, any of that sounded better than being a puppet on a string for his father’s friends to control. Being a member of the Volt meant he was vulnerable and under the iron fist of his father, just less directly than he had been for his entire childhood. He’d gotten into hockey to distance himself from his family, and somehow, he’d only ended up having them more involved in his life. That was how he knew Antoine was going to pull something, how he wasn’t surprised when they announced a trade in the draft, how it was infuriating but expected that both he and Elliot Hawthorne were going to Verimont, but they’d chosen him second on whatever whim they typically made decisions on. Maybe his father had even chosen it–to get the last word in, to humble him, to remind him that he was nothing without the shadow his father cast over him. That wasn’t the only reason he stormed off the stage and out of the building before the press could gather him for interviews, but it was definitely one of them.

Since the draft had occurred in late June, Reese had taken to gallivanting around the world, remaining in perpetual movement in order to remain on a continent that his father wasn’t. He’d spent the first part of the summer packing things up in Maine, and before he knew it, he’d woken up from a night of partying on the floor in his parents’ mansion in Ontario, and he hadn’t left until news spread that his father was coming to Quebec on business. His mom typically spent the summers abroad, traveling to wherever the latest fashion trend was emerging and cleaning up the messes her husband made, and this summer was no different. He’d specifically avoided any of the places his mother may find him, and had been lying low in Bosnia and then Moldova until he found out from a magazine that she’d made it to Buenos Aires, and he’d caught a flight same-day from Tiraspol to Zermatt, alerting the staff that he’d be moving in a few days early due to a change in schedule. It wasn’t shocking that he was met by the townspeople with the same fury and backlash that had found him on the night of the draft, but Reese found the lack of security astounding. They’d given him the room right off the elevator, no guards, just the same eerie cameras and monitoring devices that they had everywhere else. It gave him the distinct impression that they wouldn’t intervene if someone killed him, but they would have sufficient evidence to prosecute them following his death. He wasn’t hurt by this, simply surprised that they would be willing to risk losing the prospect they’d traded their only key piece for. It seemed like a bad business decision.

Four days was plenty long enough to learn a lot of things about living in the new facilities. For one, everything was controlled and structured, from the bland cubes of protein they called meals to the extensive data they collected on each of their players. He’d met with Dr. Marcoux twice in the first two days, then a third time after learning he’d failed his interior assessments–as she’d called them–twice. He was placed on some sort of remedial plan which involved diminished access to everything except his residential suite and the dining hall. He’d also learned that the sound of people using the elevator all day and night was enough to drive a man insane, even if there were claims that he already was and that was preventing him from doing anything other than listening to the sound of said elevator.

It was day five when news reached Reese that Elliot had arrived on the property. Many of the core guys had arrived back a day or two after Reese arrived, all older veterans with a desire to have as much time as possible to adjust back into the routine of living here after spending time with their families for their prolonged summer vacation. The only players even remotely close to Reese’s age were the second and third goalies, Emil and Artyom, but they were already as much of a bonded pair as the forward had ever seen, and who was he to mess with goalies and their routines. The former GM of the Volt had been fired after years and years of trading talent and first round picks and prospects for old veterans and fourth-liners that never got the team anywhere, and this summer they had replaced him with the coach’s brother-in-law, a young man whose sports career and business career had both respectively been cut abruptly short by his reckless decisions. From what he’d gathered after spending a few days overhearing hallway conversations and elevator talk between players was that nothing had changed, and everyone still felt they were a dice roll away from ending up on a different continent by the morning. It was all politics.

Four turned into eight in the morning, and although sleepless, around eleven Reese finally decided to get up and work out. Someone would likely be in the training facility by now to let him in, and even if he could find things to do to occupy his time, he was thoroughly enjoying making Dr. Marcoux’s life a living hell the way that she’d done to him.

“Élodie,” he said, looking directly into the security camera outside the facility, pausing on pushing the biometric lock that flashed and set off a siren every time he touched it, as if warning of some imminent danger, then resuming setting it off. Her office was at the bottom of the mountain, but she’d warned him that she had access to the information surrounding who was where at what time.

“Élodie,” he said again, hearing the door click open and sighing in relief, choosing to press it one more time just to piss off anyone who may have been watching. To his surprise, a gruff man swung open the door, studying him with an unamused expression on his face. Luca Ferraro, the longest tenured head coach in league history with so little to show for it.

“You keep doing that and you may find your limitations expanding past merely psychological,” he warned, waiting until Reese entered the building to walk out, leaving the skill forward to wonder what he’d even been doing up here to begin with. No one was on the ice and, as far as he knew, Ferraro only held private meetings for new players. He was the only staff with two offices, one in the upper facility and one in the lower, but even still, the brunet had rarely seen him in the past week, even when he was looking for him. He wondered what had him out of whatever rock he crawled under, and if it had anything to do with the undeserving first overall that had allegedly arrived but he’d yet to see. He would’ve asked, but he and Luca were quickly establishing a you-don’t-like-me-and-I-don’t-like-you rapport, which primarily consisted of poorly-concealed threats and overall avoidance.

Demonstrating such avoidance and allowing any annoyance he felt to roll off his back, Reese continued onto the gym, spotting a few individuals in various areas either exercising or doing some sort of recovery routine. He avoided eye contact with all of them, letting his legs carry him until he ended up on a bike in the farthest corner of the gym, a place he’d come to enjoy. It allowed him to stay out of everyone’s sight while still allowing him to spy on them and quietly judge the old vets’ workouts. Plus, with all of the things that were making him feel like spiraling, he’d been primarily sticking to cardio workouts as of late, something that allowed him to work out his frustration in a way that couldn’t become yet another sports world scandal. Falling into the routine he’d begun to become accustomed to, Reese pushed hard on the bike, allowing his body to take over so his thoughts could roam elsewhere for a while. Eventually he’d have to come to terms with the reality of it all, but it was nice to escape, if only for a moment.

Reese Halston-Vale | RW 13 | Elliot, teammates

Following the mid-day workout, Reese spent the remainder of the afternoon holed up in his room, attempting to maintain enough of an internet connection to watch a movie on his phone before giving up entirely. It was abundantly and rationally clear that Reese Halston-Vale was the most unlucky man in the world–in his mind, anyway. He’d been shipped off to a team with the oldest average age and the lack of technology to go with it. They’d given him some sort of basic communication device called a VoltLink–whatever that was–some band that felt like it was burning into the skin on his wrist. Apparently it could be used in place of a phone for group communication and emergency alerts, but it wasn’t like it could make calls or stream movies. Which, the movies thing was far more devastating to Reese than the calls, for while he should call his sister more he never calls her enough, and he’d been living essentially completely off the grid since Everton. Being trapped in the mountains of Maine was no joke, and even they had television.

After Reese had resigned himself to his fate and went limp in his bed for several hours doing no more than allowing passive thoughts to idly float through his stream of wavering consciousness, a buzzing at his wrist caught his attention and he looked down to see that the screen of his black band had manifested words.

General Announcement: Unofficial review of last season and preseason strategy meeting following team dinner. Meet at the Grid at 6pm.

Deciding that he had literally not one better thing to do than go to that, and that Luca may actually bench him for the season if he didn’t show up, Reese threw on a quilted jacket and warm pants, deciding at the last minute to shove a toque in his pocket in case he decided he couldn’t stand the temperature. The sun was just starting to lower and it was above freezing for now, but Reese wasn’t convinced it would stay that way for long. Dressed in the golden glow of the late afternoon light, he joined a few guys who were making their way over to the nutritional hall, and smiled casually as they ruffled his hair and teased him for one thing or another, keeping his composure. Augustine and René seemed to have a love-hate relationship, but both gravitated toward him due to their shared culture, and they were far less annoying than Brody in Reese’s mind. There were others that Reese admired, that Reese found too distant and cold to be annoying, but he didn’t have the courage nor the wherewithal to attempt to befriend them. He spent the brief walk listening and responding in short answers when one of the men quizzed him on his French, German, and Italian, feeling like a fish out of water with men who were nearly double his age.

Dinner should have felt homely to Reese, despite the fact that it was everything but. The lights in the hall were far too bright and made him feel exposed, while the pressure of interaction had him feeling like he was going to implode. Everyone had a question or a comment for him, and those that didn’t seemed to resent his existence on the team, perhaps feeling like he was just another band-aid that would fall off easily and expose the gaping wound that was this team’s functioning. The captain had barely spoken two words to him, and René and some of the others had grown cold toward him after satisfying their initial curiosities. He was sure that he might’ve gotten on better on any other team, and that thought caused him to feel even more hollow than he normally did.

Despite his own concerns, he felt slightly less miserable to see the misery of another. Elliot Hawthorne came into the building late–late enough to draw all the eyes on himself. A few men made jokes about him already fitting into the team, already being on “Volt time,” which Reese recalled seeing on the whiteboards in the living facilities. Everywhere there was a time listed for a practice or a meeting, someone else had messily scribbled in casual handwriting the words “Volt time” and a time a few minutes later than the official time posted. It seemed to be a running joke, and Reese had wondered if it had anything to do with the ages of the men, some joke about older men moving less slowly than they had in their prime or something like that. He didn’t care to have it explained to him, it wasn’t like he’d be included in any of the team affairs anyway. He was here for one thing: to score goals. That was the only way they’d make an effort toward him, and even then, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted any attention from anyone. He enjoyed keeping to himself, it was more peaceful that way.

Still, it was fun to observe others, and Reese spared no expense in judging the looming figure as he shifted awkwardly on his feet, eyes scanning the crowd for an empty chair to sit in. When he met Reese’s eyes, his gaze seemed to linger, and Elliot blanched, a curious behavior that made Reese want to put him under a microscope like a squashed bug. He still had that same atrocious dye job to his hair that he’d had a few months prior at the draft, and he’d seemed to have gained a few pounds of muscle over the summer. It wasn’t surprising, he needed to bulk up if he was going to be a top line center in this league. As it stood now, he’d be thrown around like a ragdoll by some of the league’s heaviest hitters, and Reese didn’t envy that. He was in the same boat in a sense, but they expected less out of him as a skill winger than they did from their 1C. He observed the poised walk, the floaty elegance, the signature smile that he presented everyone. He was charming, there was no doubt about that, and it disgusted Reese. Perhaps because it reminded him of his family, and the way they forced him to act. That was why it confused him when his gaze followed the man to the far end of the table on its own accord, feeling the Swede’s gaze burning on the side of his neck until he occasionally gave in and turned to meet his gaze, the center’s gaze then falling away and onto his food, which couldn’t have possibly been as interesting as he made it out to be. Reese was failing to shove it down himself, bland cubes of protein and vegetables that appeared to be more of a science experiment than a meal.

Grateful for the opportunity to push his plate aside and scrape the remaining half into the waste bin as they exited, Reese found himself lost in the crowd, intrigued by Elliot’s interaction with him thus far but not seeking answers. The Swede had avoided him for his entire youth career, he wasn’t sure why things would be different now. And, while Reese had always been intrigued by the other man’s questionable behavior toward him, he’d always brushed it off as something that didn’t involve him. Reese had always been treated the same way by Elliot’s father at Everton, the head medical person somehow always finding an excuse or a way to avoid treating him if he needed assistance. Reese had always just chalked it up to his family having opinions about the Halstons or the Vales, and gone about his life as he did in every other circumstance. Which was why it was weird that the Swede was walking toward him, ever-serious, feet falling in stride with his as they walked with the group across the way toward the small auditorium meant for group meetings such as this.

“William,” he greeted curtly, using his given name instead of the one he insisted on others using. He wasn’t even sure that they’d ever spoken before. Not the night of the draft, when they exchanged poorly-concealed glances across an audience of thousands before Reese vanished, not in juniors, and not at any point in between. He wasn’t sure why the other man would want to change things now, but it was an interesting enough venture to find out.

Reese | RW 13 | Elliot, others

“I have been trying to track you down all summer.”

Out of all of the words Reese expected to hear come out of the Swede’s mouth, that combination was not even a thought in his mind until it manifested in the chilly evening air. Reese shuddered beneath his hoodie, used to the cold but not yet adjusted to it here, not when he’d spent the last several months primarily in warm or moderate places. The wind whipped across his cheeks, and in the dim lighting that existed in the walkways, Reese could see the red forming across the other man’s cheeks as well. He sounded rather annoyed, which only piqued Reese’s interest more. At least, the part of him that wasn’t irritated at the intrusion.

“What are you, my ex-girlfriend?” Elliot had paused, so Reese took the opportunity to get his dig in. Frankly, he wanted to make this interaction as irritating as possible to prevent the possibility of additional interactions. The man beside him clearly couldn’t comprehend the idea that some people just don’t want to be found.

“I’m sorry,” were the next two words out of his mouth, and this surprised Reese even further. Before his imagination could wander further, he continued. “I didn’t mean to glower at you over dinner. I have something of yours, and I don’t want it anymore.”

“Oh,” Reese replied, analyzing each word that the Swede gave him with so much effort that he forgot he owed him a response. He was like this sometimes, so lost in his own thoughts that he failed to form a proper response. It was part of why he preferred to remain silent, few individuals in his life ever cared enough to wait for him to collect himself to speak. Usually, by the time he decided what he really wanted to say, the moment was already gone. “I don’t mind, glower away,” he replied meekly, still concentrating on the latter half of the sentiment. What the hell could he have possibly had that was so important? It was probably some worthless trinket from the draft that he would’ve discarded in the nearest dumpster had he been handed it personally, and Elliot seemed one of those types to come off as too good and obey a command with his life, even if it was something trivial. He didn’t get to ask before he turned to find himself alone, aware of the absence before his eyes trailed the figure that was retreating, glancing back over his shoulder to meet Reese’s curious gaze.

By the time he entered the meeting, Elliot was surrounded by teammates on both sides in the small auditorium, and Reese had to take the third row on the opposite end while the older man was all the way at the top row. He found a seat between Cormac and Luka, two men that Reese had already identified as agents of chaos for this otherwise boring team. They seemed to be rather close in age and personality, and someone had made a comment about the pair of them having their roommate privileges taken away, indicating to the second overall that they shared space together often on the road. At the time, it had caused Reese to wonder what the rooming arrangements would be for him, and if they would even let him choose or if he would just be assigned whoever did not have a consistent roommate. He assumed that he’d likely just get thrown in with Elliot, things were easier that way, but Elliot didn’t seem to like him very much. He assumed that if Elliot had the opportunity to make this preference known, he would, not that Reese thought management here would care much.

The other part of him thought that management may require them to room with veterans their first year, some teams didn’t like to have two rookies left unattended. He supposed he would find out sooner or later, but contemplating it for the better part of an hour to pass time in a meeting that had nothing to do with him was preferable enough. The only time he paid much attention was when Cormac and Luka made little comments back and forth during the meeting, some of them more humorous than the others. At one point, they invited Reese to go with some of their teammates to the tavern at the bottom of the mountain after the meeting, indicating to him that he should go to get to know some of the guys better. He knew it was a thinly-veiled test of character, but he played it off distantly anyway. It was easier to keep interactions at arm’s length.

At the end of the meeting, Reese caught Elliot’s eye. He was the one to approach this time, knowing full well of his responsibility to get whatever item Elliot had of his from his room. Still, he was starving, and he assumed it wasn’t a bomb–time was not of the essence in the way that Elliot seemed desperate to convey. Surprising himself with his show of inclusion, Reese pulled him aside and murmured in a flat tone, “I’m going with some of the guys to the bar in Viremont. I’m assuming they sell real meals there, which I would like. You barely touched your food, you should come too.”

–

The journey down the hill was exhausting, not because they walked but because the interactions between the different men were so rapid and intriguing that Reese hardly had time to catalog them all into his brain. No one had vehicles but Cormac and Luka had convinced Matias to come and he’d agreed to drive one of the team vans down, although that meant everyone had to cram into the small white bus. That had created even more of a distraction because now he had Elliot pressed up against his side, warmth seeping into him, Reese’s brain short-circuiting every time the man flinched or made any subtle movement at all. He seemed to be on edge, as if he were waiting for something horrible to happen. Reese assumed he didn’t like Matias’ driving and left it at that, feeling annoyed once again at the intrusion on his space but secretly glad for the additional warmth.

They arrived at the bar not too long after they set out to leave, a handful of men piling into the open bar while Reese had a polite exchange with an older woman who seemed to be working as a waitress. She had a French accent so Reese spoke the language first, impressing the woman with his fluency and fighting the woman’s nosy requests for more information about him with a succinct summary of his background that was vague enough to keep her from getting any further than the fact that he seemed to look familiar. Anyone with his appearance and last name would look familiar around these parts, his mother’s family was Swiss-Italian royalty and lived only an hour or so from Viremont. Shifting uncomfortably and feeling the Swede’s gaze burn into him for a few moments at a time when he was not pretending to take in the scenery of the small local watering hole, Reese redirected the conversation brusquely and got the pair of them a table in the dining area, which resulted in the pair of them being chirped by the team for eating something that wasn’t on the diet plan and not indulging in alcohol with the rest of the men who’d come with the team. For the most part, Reese ignored them or chirped back casually, walking with the dark-haired boy to a table for two in the back corner of the mostly empty dining area, sliding into one of the tall chairs so that he was facing Elliot, his back to the kitchen door.

Taking off his heavy coat and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt to give himself a more tidy appearance, Reese combed a hand through his messy hair before giving up, unsure of why he felt so self-conscious. For whatever reason, with the dim lighting and the ambience of the room and the table setup, Reese couldn’t get it out of his mind that it felt like he was on a date, despite his best efforts to think rationally and avoid that line of thinking. As if he would ever be on a date with William Hawthorne, he thought incredulously. Reese never enjoyed the women he was seen with at whatever events his family requested his presence at, but they were nothing like him. They were supermodels, actresses, celebrities, and nepo babies like himself. Not that Elliot didn’t have his fair share of nepotism, but he was different. For some reason, to Reese, he was different.

After the waitress came to take their orders, Reese studied Elliot’s face unabashedly, failing to turn his gaze away even when he was caught staring. Some sick and twisted part of him enjoyed watching the Swede’s carefully built facade unravel under his sharp gaze. It made him feel powerful, when few things did. The fact that Elliot had even come tonight reminded him that he had power to wield, a fact that often surprised him after living the life that he lived. Without turning his gaze away, Reese felt inclined to speak, finally able to voice his curiosities now that he had Elliot with him, trapped and alone.

“So, what exactly is it that you have of mine, fan mail?” His tone was flat and sarcastic, but there was a mischief in his eyes as he said this, studying the figure across from him for any tells as to what exactly he was in for.