“I am sorry, but—”
“We’ve had to get all our information from ESPN, for fuck’s sake. I was just on the phone with Mack. We were about to storm the damn hospital.”
“I am not there anymore.”
“Where the hell are you?”
“Home.”
“Who took you home? Someone from the team? Jesus, man. We would’ve done that.”
“It was not someone from the team.”
“Why the hell do you keep cutting us out like this?”
“Colton, please—”
“You can’t just ghost us like this anymore, man. We’re your family, and we know you need us, so why are you—”
“Because Elena is here!”
Silence. The deafening kind.
Colton made a dramatic play of clearing his throat. “I— What did you say?”
Vlad puffed out his cheeks and let the air seep out. “Elena is here. She came to help. She is the one who drove me home.”
“Like, she’s here for the day, or . . . ?”
“She is going to stay for a while and take care of me.”
This time, in the silence that followed, Vlad could almost hear the gears turning in Colton’s brain and his lips curling into a grin that meant he was already reading way too much into it. “Well, well, well.”
“It is only temporary.”
“If you say so.”
“I do. But I still need your help with something.”
Downstairs, the front door opened and closed again. He didn’t have much time before she came back upstairs.
“Anything, man,” Colton said. “Just name it.”
“Can you give me a bath?”
Colton laughed and then sobered. “I’m sorry, but it sounded like you said you need help taking a bath.”
Vlad groaned and leaned back against his pillows. “That is what I said, yes.”
“But I thought your wife was there.”
She was, and from the sound of it, she was in the kitchen now. “I cannot ask Elena to do it.”
“Why not?”
“You know why!”
“Because of the divorce? I hardly think she’s going to mind, given the circumstances.”
And for the second time that night, Vlad blurted out something he wished he could take back. “Because she has never seen me naked!”
Silence again. Longer this time. And far more ominous. “Okay, first of all, neither the fuck have I. But more importantly, why exactly has your wife never seen you naked?”
“Please, Colton. I cannot explain over the phone.” Elena’s footsteps padded softly on the stairs. “Just . . . please. Can you come over in the morning?”
Colton made several noises under his breath that sounded like very dirty words. He finally returned to the phone. “I’ll be there. But believe me, I’m not coming alone.”
He hung up before Vlad could protest but also just in time, because Elena chose that moment to walk back in. She had a bottle of water, a plate of cut-up fruit, and the information Madison had given them.
“I know you said you aren’t hungry, but I think you should eat something. I was reading the information about the painkillers they gave us, and it says the pills can make you nauseous if you take them on an empty stomach.” She stopped short. “I—I’m sorry. Are you on the phone?”
Vlad lowered his cell to his lap. “I was talking to Colton.”
“I can come back.”
“No, it’s fine. He hung up.”
“Everything okay?”
“The guys are coming over in the morning.”
“Oh,” she said, blinking rapidly. “Okay. That’s good. I’m sure they want to see you.”
“They’re going to help me take a bath,” he blurted.
Her cheeks turned a soft pink of understanding.
“I didn’t want to impose on you,” he said.
She set down the plate of fruit on his nightstand. “No, of course. I understand.”
“I just thought it might be embarrassing since, you know . . .”
The pink became the color of a Detroit Red Wings jersey, and he cursed himself. There was no need to be specific, as if she didn’t know as well as he that the most intimacy they’d ever shared was a single kiss on their wedding day.
Her movements were stiff as she backed away from the bed. “That is very considerate of you. It would probably be embarrassing for both of us. And I need to get groceries tomorrow anyway, so maybe I’ll do that while they’re here.”
“Good idea.”
She backed up farther. “You should eat and then try to get some sleep. I know you didn’t get much last night. I’m going to unpack my stuff, and then we can turn the game on.”
He cleared his throat. “That’s not necessary.”
“You really do need to get some sleep.”
“No, I mean, the game. I’m not going to watch it.” He looked away from her and from the inevitable questions in her eyes. If she voiced them, he wouldn’t be able to answer. Not coherently. Not in a way she could possibly understand. But he just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t watch his team play without him.
“Vlad—”
“No game.”
A moment passed before she nodded. “Okay. No game. I’ll check on you in a little while.”
She retreated, her footsteps leaving tiny indentations in his carpet. Though she was just across the hallway, she felt a million miles away suddenly. Which was ridiculous. She’d been a million miles away from him for forever, it seemed, and absolutely nothing about that had changed just because she was here. He strained to listen to the sounds of her in her room, just like he’d done every night during the four months she’d lived with him after she came to America. Every slide of a drawer, every creak of her mattress, every splash of water in her bathroom. They were nails on the chalkboard of his psyche.
That smile she’d given him earlier had filled up his room with light, and now it was dark again. The fact that her smile was already a source of emotional vitamin D for him was all he needed to know about why this was a bad idea. Soon, she’d be gone for good, and it would be like the sun burning out completely. He’d endured that particular kind of winter before. He wouldn’t survive it again.
If he was going to get through this, he would need a distraction, more than just the daily job of rehabbing his body. Something he could disappear into to avoid the reality of his situation. For the first time in months, Vlad opened the drawer to his nightstand and withdrew the pages of his manuscript.
He traced his thumb across the title, Promise Me.
His story with Elena was on its last chapter. If he couldn’t have his own happy ever after, maybe he could try again to write one.
Promise Me
March 1945
Ninth Air Force Base
Erlangen, Germany
“It’s almost over, isn’t it?”
Tony Donovan sucked on his last Lucky Strike and then snuffed out the glowing butt with the toe of his size 10 boots. It melted a speck of frozen grass before extinguishing in a final puff of smoke.
Almost over. They’d been saying the same damn thing since D-Day. We’ve got ’em on the run, boys. Germany’s beat. Just a few more days. Nothing left of Jerry but young boys and old men.
Usually, the declarations were uttered with enthusiasm. But his jeep driver, Private Rogers, spoke the words with the disappointed whine of a kid who was afraid of missing the fireworks on the Fourth. Tony understood on one level. The kid was eighteen years old—a jittery, impatient type who got in line to enlist the minute he met the legal age requirement. But instead of storming the beachhead of his hero-fevered dreams, he found himself saddled with the inglorious task of driving around a weary war correspondent who’d seen more combat than half the soldiers in the army.
But that’s where Tony’s empathy ended. Private Rogers had no idea what he’d been spared. The sounds and smells and images of war would forever haunt Tony’s sleep. The horror of what man could do to man. He’d seen enough to know that no one should ever have to see it. But Tony would still give anything to trade his pen for a rifle.
But since a pen was the only weapon he was allowed, he had vowed at the beginning of the war to wield it until the end. And now he was about to set out on what could be one of his most dangerous assignments yet. With Allied forces pushing through Nazi Germany from the west and the Russian Army clearing a swath from the east, rumors were spreading of prisoner of war camps being evacuated by the SS all across Germany and Poland. The prisoners—most of them American and British airmen—were being force-marched through the bitter conditions to places unknown. Reports had been trickling in of prisoners dropping dead of exhaustion and starvation. He needed to get on the move, but his goddamned photographer was late.
Not just any photographer, though.
Anna Goreva.
There wasn’t a GI in the European campaign who hadn’t heard of her. Beautiful and brave, she’d once distracted her own jeep driver so much by simply smiling at him that he crashed into a ditch. Some people dismissed the story as gossip, but Tony knew it was true. He’d been in the back seat.
When his boss told him that she’d be accompanying him on this assignment, Tony had argued to no avail.
“You need a photographer who speaks Russian and has been on the front before,” George Burrows, his editor, had told him. “You’ve got one. Now go. She’ll meet you in Erlangen.”
Tony shoved his hands in his coat pockets and stamped his feet to stave off the now-familiar sting of cold. He should have fought harder. He should have been more up-front about the reasons for his concerns. Like the cold air, the memory of their parting a year ago stung like a slap in the face.
A gust of wind knocked her bag from her hands. It opened at her feet, and she lunged for several pieces of paper that fluttered out. One landed on the toe of his boot. He grabbed it before she could and turned it over. The gentle face of an American airman stared up at him. Anna swiped the photo from him and shoved it back in her bag.
“Who is he?”
“Nobody.”
“I doubt you would carry around the photo of nobody in your bag.”
Her body language gave her away. He was more than a friend. Someone important. Tony had to unclench his teeth. “Is he one of your lovers?”
“That is none of your business.”
“Isn’t it?” Jealousy raged inside him, hot and irrational. He had no right to feel any claim on her. They’d shared nothing more than a single passionate kiss, and that had been the result of a near-miss with a German mortar. “I’m your boss, Anna. The last thing I need is some khaki-whacky Jane at my side who wants to wage her own personal charm offensive across Europe—”
“How dare you!” She planted her hands on his chest and shoved. He stumbled more out of surprise than from her strength. “How dare you judge me when you know good and well that you’re perfectly fit for service. I’m doing everything I can for the war. What about you?”
“Tony.”
The sound of his name from that unforgettable smoky voice brought him around and into a collision with brown doe eyes and red bow lips that he hoped he’d never see again. “You’re late.”
“I had to stop at the hair salon first in my charm offensive across Europe.” Sarcasm dripped like hot tar from her voice as she threw his own words back at him.
She extended a gloved hand to Private Rogers. “Anna Goreva.”
The poor kid turned red and stammered like he’d just met a Hollywood starlet. Christ.
“Go get the jeep and come back for us,” Tony barked.
As the private sauntered off, Anna eyed him coolly. “I see your personality hasn’t improved since the last time I worked with you.”
He inched closer to her, as close as he dared. “Let’s get one thing clear, Anna. I didn’t want you on this assignment, so if you hope to stay on it, you do what exactly what I say.”
“No.”
“No?”
“I’m here because you need me. I speak Russian. You don’t.” She cocked a hip and raised an eyebrow. “This time, we’re doing things my way.”
CHAPTER SIX
Three things in life terrified Vlad.
A flare-up without a bathroom in sight.
Running over an animal with his car.
And this. Waking up to find his friends circling his bed, their arms crossed and eyes narrowed in matching expressions of resistance is futile.
He was about to get book clubbed.
Vlad scooted high on the mattress against the headboard and prepared for the onslaught. At the last second, he grabbed a pillow to hug. “Where is Elena?”
“She left a note on the counter that she went out to get groceries,” Noah said.
“Which is good,” Malcolm added, “because it would be best if she weren’t around to hear what we have to say to you.”
Vlad gulped.
“You have no idea how pissed we are at you,” Mack said. “And since we’ve never been pissed at you, even that pisses us off.”
“I’m sorry—”
Malcolm cut him off with a point as a single, intimidating eyebrow arched over his eye. “First, we bathe you, because, damn. And then you tell us everything.”
Vlad nodded. There was no point in doing anything else.
Malcolm looked at Colton and Del and then nodded with his chin. “Help him into the bathroom. I’ll get the water started.”
Colton and Del each took a side and helped Vlad out of bed. Colton whiffed and grimaced as they helped him to the bathroom. “Jesus, man. You really stink.”
Vlad scowled. “I am a hockey player, and I have not showered for two days.”
“Damn,” Del said, pretending to gag. “And I thought baseball players stank.”
Gavin hovered closely behind. “I’ve actually heard that baseball clubhouses are way smellier than any other professional sport.”
Malcolm snorted. “Who the fuck told you that?”
Gavin shrugged. “A reporter told me that once.”
“There is no way that is true,” Vlad said, voice straining as he eased sideways to squeeze through the bathroom door. “Hockey gear? It smells like rancid bear.”
Malcolm turned on the water in the tub, so Gavin had to raise his voice to be heard. “Yeah, b-but baseball players are out in the hot sun for hours.”
Colton eased Vlad down on the edge of the tub. Yan picked up the conversation and looked at Malcolm. “What about football players?”
He shrugged. “We can peel the fucking paint from the walls.”
“Boys, trust me, you’re all equally rank,” Colton said. “Can we just get Vlad hosed off, please?”
“You don’t have to wash me,” Vlad grumbled. “Just help me in and out.”
“No way, dude,” Gavin smiled. “I want to wash your hair.” He made a scrunchy gesture with his fingers. “All that thick, glossy luxuriousness.”
“Fuck off,” Vlad growled.
“Okay, stank ass,” Colton said. “We gotta stand you up and strip you naked.”
Vlad grabbed Colton’s outstretched hand and stood on one leg. Balancing, he lifted his T-shirt and tossed it. Someone wolf-whistled, and Vlad growled again.
“Now the pants,” Colton said. “Just whip ’em down and get it over with.”
After some awkward maneuvering, he managed to pull down his shorts one-handed just enough for him to sit back down on the tub. Gavin stepped forward and pulled them off his legs, and then Vlad spun around on the edge of the tub. He lowered the foot of his good leg into the water. Once again holding on to his friends, he stood so he coul
d inch forward into the tub. But before he could move, Yan whistled. “Damn, man. You could bounce a quarter off that ass.”
Vlad looked over his shoulder. “Why would you throw a quarter at my ass?”
“It’s a phrase, nut sack,” Colton said. “Means you have a nice ass.”
“Of course I do. I am a hockey player. I have hockey butt.” He crouched with their help so he could sit in the water.
“What’s hockey butt?” Gavin asked.
“From skating,” Vlad grunted, easing farther into the water. “We get big thighs and butts compared to the rest of our bodies. Makes it very hard to buy pants.”
Del nodded. “I’ve actually heard that before.”
“Whatever,” Colton said. “Can we talk about the body hair? You gotta do something about that.”
Vlad glowered at him. “What is wrong with my hair?”
“It’s not supposed to be everywhere.”
Vlad gestured at his body. “This is how I am made. I am big, and I have a lot of hair.”
Colton shrugged. “I’m just saying a wax treatment on your chest every now and then wouldn’t be a bad idea.”
Malcolm smacked his head. “Knock it off, Colton. Body-shaming is unacceptable.”
“I’m not body-shaming. I’m saying the dude has a hairy chest.”
“Yeah, that is body-shaming. A man can’t help how much hair he’s born with any more than a woman can control whether she has a thigh gap. All bodies are beautiful.”
Vlad squeezed his eyes shut and thanked God that Elena wasn’t around to overhear any of this.
“Okay, we got your magnificent ass in the tub,” Malcolm said. “Do your thing, Gavin.”
“I can wash my own hair,” Vlad grumbled.
Mack pointed at him. “Shut up and let us take care of you.”
Gavin crouched on his knees next to the tub. “Someone hand me the shampoo.”
Vlad heard the creak of the glass shower door, and then Del handed Gavin a blue bottle of men’s shampoo and conditioner combo.
“Dude, that cheap shit will dry out your hair,” Mack said as Gavin squeezed a large dollop onto Vlad’s head. “You should be using a regular conditioner at least once a week.”
Isn't It Bromantic? Page 8
