Isn't It Bromantic?

by Lyssa Kay Adams

  “Her office is just up the street, actually. You probably passed it. Her name is Gretchen Winthrop. I’d be happy to let her know you might be calling.”

  Elena filed the name away in her memory as she nodded. “That would be incredible. Thank you.” She laughed self-consciously again. “You’ve all been so nice to me when you didn’t have to be.”

  “Are most people not nice?”

  “In my world, yes.”

  “Well,” Alexis said, laying a gentle hand on Elena’s arm. “You’re in a different world now. And we care about one another in this one.”

  Once again, before she could formulate a response, Alexis plunged forward into the next subject. “Anyway, I have been seriously dreaming about your blinis from the party. They were so good.”

  She tugged Elena toward a table.

  “I will make you some more, if you’d like.”

  Alexis beamed. “That would be awesome.”

  Elena hung out at the café for a half hour, and then she walked up and down the street to visit some shops to kill time. Finally, Vlad texted her that he was done. He was waiting for her just outside the parking lot when she pulled up. She helped him get in, and as soon as she returned to the driver’s side, he leaned across the console, wrapped a hand around the back of her head, and kissed her.

  “How fast can you drive?” he rasped.

  She drove very, very fast.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “Something smells good.”

  The next morning, Elena looked up as she pulled a tray of biscuits from the oven. She’d woken up early to make some breakfast before Vlad had to leave for rehab. Colton was going to take him, because they apparently had a book club meeting afterward, but she wanted to feed him first.

  When Vlad crutched into the kitchen bringing all his morning sexiness, though, she wished she’d stayed in bed and woken him up another way.

  “Good morning,” she greeted. He reached around her to grab a biscuit.

  She batted him away. “They’re too hot. They’ll lose their shape.”

  “But I’m hungry. We didn’t eat much last night, remember?”

  He stood behind her, lips on her shoulder, hands on her hips.

  “Can I help?”

  She pointed to a stool on the other side of the island, a very safe distance away. “No. Sit. You need to take it easy on your leg today.”

  “You’re as bad as the trainers.” He winked as he said it, though. He grabbed a bag of ice from the freezer and sat on one of the stools to balance it on his knee.

  “You okay?”

  She looked up at his tone. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  His cheeks pinked. “I got a little aggressive when I woke you up in the night.”

  Wonderfully so. And more than once. Last night had been incredibly eye-opening about how much her tenderhearted husband had learned from the pages of romance novels.

  Elena bit her lip. “I liked it.”

  “Yeah?” That lazy smile returned, and so did her libido. He removed the ice from his leg, stood up, and crutched around to stand behind her again. His lips nibbled her earlobe.

  She laughed throatily but tipped her head to the side to give him access to that tender spot where her pulse betrayed her dirty mind. When his hands snuck up the front of her shirt, she turned into a hussy. “How much time do we have?”

  “More than enough.”

  Elena spun in his arms and peeled her shirt from her torso. Vlad didn’t need any more encouragement. He wove his fingers in her hair, tilted her head back, and commandeered her mouth. All the while, his other hand caressed her until she whimpered.

  She was halfway to oh, God when the back door opened.

  * * *

  * * *

  “Not a single word.”

  A half hour later, Vlad slid into Colton’s front seat and slammed the door shut.

  Colton threw his hands up. “Why the hell didn’t you check your texts? I told you I was going to be early.”

  “Because I was busy. And I’d still be doing it if you hadn’t walked into my house without knocking.”

  “I did knock. No one answered. Why was the door unlocked?”

  Because he’d been too torqued up yesterday to remember to lock it. Christ. Vlad had managed to cover Elena’s body with his own before Colton could see anything, but he’d seen enough. And heard enough.

  “But, I mean, it seems like things are going well—”

  “Not. One. Word.”

  Colton did a bad job of not laughing as he started the car.

  “You are going to apologize to her in an appropriate way that doesn’t further traumatize her. You violated her privacy. You violated my privacy. And you abused the boundaries of friendship. Are we clear?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Are. We. Clear?”

  Colton sulked silently for a moment. “I don’t like it when the Russian is mad at me,” he said.

  “I don’t like being mad at you either.”

  They shared a tense glance, and then Colton grinned. “Things are good, though, right?”

  Vlad groaned and banged his head against the seat. But then he stopped and felt his own mouth curl into a matching grin. “Yes, it is good.”

  “Look at you, Fabio.” Colton peeled one hand from the steering wheel and punched Vlad’s arm.

  The drive to the arena took longer than normal because the city had detoured traffic an entire block around the arena. Vlad had Colton pull up to one of the police officers at the barricades. He was about to introduce himself when the cop said, “Holy shit. You’re Vlad Konnikov.”

  The officer reached through the open window with an open palm. Vlad accepted the bro-shake.

  “How’s the leg? Damn, I can’t believe you’re not playing.”

  “I’m here for rehab. I’ll be back out there next season.”

  The officer pounded the door and waved them through. Colton laughed. “I never knew what that felt like until now.”

  “What what felt like?”

  “Being totally ignored next to someone famous.”

  “He’s obviously more of a hockey fan than country music.”

  “Blasphemy.” Colton pulled onto the parking ramp and found an open player’s spot close to the door. He helped Vlad get out and walked slowly to keep pace with Vlad’s slow crutch.

  “What are you going to do while I’m here?” Vlad asked.

  “I’ll find another college girl to thrill with my presence.”

  Vlad glowered. Colton laughed. “I’m kidding. I have a book to read.”

  He left Colton sitting in one of the massage chairs and met the trainers in the rehab room. An hour later, he was pretty sure they were actively trying to kill him.

  Vlad grunted through pain as Madison hovered nearby and ordered him to do one more rep. Vlad growled in her direction and she rolled her eyes. “You don’t scare me, Vlad. I used to work for the Red Wings.”

  He let out an argh and pushed through the last rep. Then he collapsed on his back on the floor in a heap of whimpers. Being injured sucked. Of course, most of his weakness this morning was from lack of sleep, and he wouldn’t trade that for anything.

  Madison handed him a bottle of water, and as he sat up to gulp it down, a shadow appeared next to him. He looked up to find his coach, Sawyer Mason. It was the first time Vlad had seen him since the injury.

  “Just thought I’d come check on our boy,” Coach said, holding out a hand to help Vlad to his feet. Or, rather, foot. Madison was waiting with his crutches.

  “I am good. Things feel good.”

  “Madison and Doc have been keeping me posted.”

  Most people, including Elena, figured a coach would be more closely involved when a player got hurt, but a head coach was like the CEO of a corporat
ion. He was in charge of everything and relied on his lower-level staff to deal with the daily operations. So, Vlad was touched that Coach had taken the time today of all days to come see him.

  “I hope you’re coming tonight,” Coach said.

  “To the game?”

  “No, to my daughter’s ballet recital,” Coach snarked. “Yes, the game. It will be good for the team to see you there. Bring your wife. Use the owner’s suite.”

  Vlad’s heart pounded. “The owner’s suite?”

  “There’s plenty of room, and Rudolph would much rather have you to talk to than his asshole family.” Miles Rudolph was the team’s owner.

  Coach didn’t give Vlad time to refuse. “I’ll tell them you’re coming tonight. Don’t let us down.” Then, with a hearty pat on the shoulder, he left.

  Vlad found Colton facedown on a massage table getting a shoulder rubdown from the same trainer as the other day.

  He cleared his throat. “I’m done.”

  The trainer jumped back, face red. Again. Colton thanked her and sat up before she raced off. Vlad waited by the door, and when Colton approached, Vlad smacked him upside the head. “She is too young for you.”

  “She offered to help with the kink in my neck.”

  “I bet.”

  “The guys are already at the diner,” Colton said.

  Malcolm, Mack, and Noah were at their regular table when Colton and Vlad arrived. Del, Gavin, and Yan were on the road with the team and wouldn’t be joining them.

  “Well, well, well,” Mack crooned. “Would you look at that, boys? Someone’s got a smile on his face this morning.”

  At Mack’s teasing, Vlad quickly lifted the enormous menu to hide his red cheeks.

  Mack tipped it back down. “You’re not getting off that easy. Spill it. How are things going?”

  Colton clapped his hands. “Oh, let me tell, please?”

  Vlad scowled at him, but it quickly became another goofy smile. The entire table broke into laughter.

  “Seriously?” Mack gaped.

  Vlad’s cheeks got hot. “Things are going well.”

  “Oh, they’re better than well,” Colton snorted. “When I walked in this morning—”

  Vlad pointed. “No.”

  Mack lifted his eyebrows. “What happened?”

  “Let’s just say I walked into the kitchen at the wrong time.”

  “Hey,” Vlad snapped. “That is my wife you are talking about.”

  “The kitchen?” Mack snorted. “Damn. You’re not wasting any time.”

  Vlad sheepishly shrugged, and his cheeks heated.

  The guys clasped their hands in front of their hearts and let out a collective awwww. The entire restaurant swiveled to stare and then quickly looked away. Most of them were regulars, too, and were used to the weird shit that came from the Bro table.

  Vlad hid his blush behind the menu again, but the guys laughed and yanked it away. “Why are you embarrassed?” Malcolm asked. “This is wonderful, man. Wonderful.”

  Mack leaned back in his chair. “Now this is a version of the Russian I like.”

  “What version is that?” Vlad asked, grinning because he felt fucking fantastic all of a sudden.

  “The I got my girl back version,” Noah said, leaning forward to offer him a hearty handshake.

  “Careful, though,” Mack said. “Don’t get too far ahead of yourself. Remember to take this slowly. You two are in that awesome early stage of your relationship, but you have a lot to unpack.”

  Noah smacked Mack upside the head. “Way to be a downer, douchebag. Let the Russian enjoy the moment.”

  “I’m just telling him to go slow. I went too fast with Liv at first, and it damn near blew up in my face.”

  Vlad closed his menu, suddenly eager to change the subject. “Let’s talk about my book.”

  Colton shook his head. “If Tony and Anna haven’t done the humping yet, I’m not interested.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Elena pulled into a parking spot in front of an office building with a sign announcing the law offices of Gretchen Winthrop, the immigration attorney Alexis had recommended. Elena fed some quarters into the parking meter and locked the car. A bell over the door jingled when she walked into the unassuming square of worn cubicles and stained carpets in the street-level corner of a building a few blocks from Alexis’s café.

  The waiting room was a small square with two rows of beige chairs and the odor of mold. A receptionist sat behind a raised counter to the right of the entry. “Can I help you?”

  Elena approached the counter. “I am Elena Konnikova. I’m here to see Gretchen Winthrop.”

  The woman smiled. “Do you have an appointment?”

  “Yes. I called this morning.”

  “Have a seat, and I’ll let her know you’re here.”

  The walls of the waiting room were lined with framed newspaper articles about immigration cases and signs listing know your rights and what to do if ice shows up.

  “Elena?” She stood as the receptionist returned. “You can head on back.”

  The office was small enough that she needed no other directions than that. Gretchen’s was the only office with its own door, which now stood open. Elena knocked and Gretchen waved her in.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” she said, gesturing toward the chair facing her desk for Elena to sit. “Alexis gave me a heads-up that you’d be calling. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m just exploring some options right now, and I have some questions.”

  “Hopefully, I will have some answers, but I should warn you that I don’t specialize in your type of immigration.”

  “I know,” Elena said, setting her purse at her feet. “I’m not just here about me.”

  Gretchen leaned back in her own chair. “Okay.”

  “I wonder if you ever work with victims of sex trafficking.”

  Gretchen lifted an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

  “Yes, I am serious.”

  Gretchen smiled. “That was sarcasm. Nearly half of my clients are victims of some kind of human trafficking. Why?”

  “What options do they have? Immigration wise, I mean.”

  “Some are given refugee status in the U.S. if they were brought here illegally and against their will. It varies widely.”

  “What about Russian or Ukrainian girls? Have you ever helped them?”

  “Some. Why?”

  Elena crossed her legs. “My visa does not allow me to work here.”

  Gretchen squinted at the sudden change of subject. “That’s correct. Your status allowed you to attend college, but you cannot hold a job under your visa.”

  “Do you know why I had to leave Russia?”

  Gretchen covered her ears. “If you’re about to confess something about the nature of your marriage, I strongly advise you to stop now.”

  “What I mean is, are you aware of what happened to my father?”

  “No.”

  “He went missing while working on a story about sex trafficking of girls. I believe the story is why he was—” She stumbled on the words. “Why he disappeared.”

  “I’m afraid I’m not following.”

  “If I stay here, is there any way I can work as a journalist without violating the terms of my visa?”

  “Well, I assume you and Vlad will petition for green cards at some point. Most professional athletes do.”

  “But that could take years, yes?”

  Gretchen shifted in her chair. “Look, Elena. I hope this doesn’t come across as rude, but this is not exactly a bad problem to have. You’re married to a very wealthy man who is all but guaranteed permanent residency. What is the rush?”

  “Because I want to work. I want to do something that matters. I have something important I’ve b
een working on.”

  “I understand. I didn’t mean to insult you. I just—” Gretchen cut herself off with a sigh. She stood, walked to one of several file cabinets lining the wall of her office, and opened the top drawer of the first. “See this?” She turned around. “This is just the As. These are people I am currently representing or have represented, hardworking people who want the chance to stay and work in the United States just like you. The difference is”—she slid the drawer shut — “they have no options. They are driven by desperation.”

  She returned to her chair.

  “The American immigration system is designed specifically to cater to people like you. Rich, white people from equally rich, white countries. You are in very little risk of being deported. Your husband was able to cut to the front of a very, very long line simply because he can play hockey. Americans love immigrants like you.”

  “You don’t seem to like my husband and me very much.”

  “What I dislike is the system that gives you the ability to explore your options to best suit your needs, when the majority of immigrants to our country have almost no options.”

  “Even for refugees?”

  Gretchen snorted in an ugly way. “The word is almost meaningless.” She tilted her head and studied Elena. “There are ways to make a difference here without violating your visa, Elena. That is what you’re trying to figure out, correct?”

  Elena nodded. She just had been too skittish to say it out loud. It still felt so sudden. The thought of leaving now, well, she couldn’t stand to think about it. But how could she turn her back on everything she’d worked for? How could she turn her back on the women like Marta? How could she turn her back on her father?

  “There are plenty of nonprofits who need volunteers, and someone with your skills would be incredibly valuable. Your language skills alone would be vital. I know it wouldn’t be the same as earning money for your work, but you could still accomplish some of the things that are important to you.”

  Gretchen glanced at her watch. “I’m afraid I have to cut this short. I have another meeting in ten minutes. But I can assure you, if you are looking for ways to use your journalism skills to help clients like mine, the need is endless.”