“I was so blind. So stupid.”
“See, there’s where you’re wrong.” Dix’s voice is uncharacteristically earnest. “You know what I see when I look at you?”
“What?”
“Me.” His eyes narrow. “And that’s a load of horseshit.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You’ve turned cynical, based on this one asshole. Telling yourself and the rest of the world you’re stupid when he’s the stupid one. You doubt yourself when you’ve done nothing to deserve it.”
I look down at the table, his words taking me by surprise.
“You do realize my nephew is in love with you, right? Ass over teakettle. Ain’t no hope for that boy, he’s got it bad for you.”
I smile, warming inside. “I’m lucky. And when I’m single—”
Dix slaps the table so hard I jump. “No, you’re not lucky! Stop that shit.” His trademark growl is back. “Look at you. Pretty, smart as a whip, funny, kind. You’re a shit cook but he’s rich so it don’t matter. Stop telling yourself you’re stupid. That you’re somehow responsible for your asswipe husband’s inexcusable behavior. And that you’re lucky a man like Anton would want you. He’s lucky, you hear?”
My nose burns as tears flood my eyes. I can’t help it—they spill over.
“Oh, don’t start that,” Dix grumbles, rolling his eyes.
I shoot toward him and wrap my arms around him in a hug. He lets me embrace him for a few seconds before grunting. I pull back and wipe my cheeks.
“My grandpa is all I have left,” I say, sniffing. “He and my grandma raised me. And now he has Alzheimer’s. He doesn’t know who I am anymore. And what you said just now,” I well up again. “It was like I could feel him here with me. I needed that more than I can tell you. Thank you, Dix.”
“Just telling it like it is,” he says gruffly.
“Well, I love you for that.”
He looks startled, and then gives me a small smile.
“I won’t tell anyone you were nice to me,” I say. “Promise. As far as I’m concerned, you were a surly bastard today.”
“Well…those goddamned muffins were overcooked.”
“You ate two of them,” I protest.
“What the hell was I supposed to eat? Your other food’s not so hot, either. A man’s gotta have something, even if his choices are undercooked bacon or burnt muffins.”
I shake my head. “I was planning on taking you to that bar you like for lunch after your doctor’s appointment, but I guess you can just eat burnt muffins for lunch, too.”
He groans. “You’re killin’ me, Mia. Forcing an old man to exist on your hockey puck muffins.”
“Alright, I’ll take you to the bar. But you only get one beer.”
“Three and a shot of whiskey.”
“Two beers, final offer.”
He nods. “Done.”
I stand up and gather our breakfast dishes. “You keep complaining about my cooking and I’ll tell Anton you’re actually a sweetheart.”
He gives a long groan of disgust.
I grin. “I think we understand each other.”
I turn toward the kitchen and he calls my name. I look back at him.
“You better treat him right. He deserves for you to either open your heart all the way to him, or walk away. I walked away from Eileen, and I’ve missed her every day since. But she deserved better.”
His words reach a place deep inside me. I nod and say, “I understand.”
As I take care of our breakfast dishes, I think about what Dix said. He’s absolutely right. I’ve never been with a nice guy like Anton before. I don’t always know how to accept his kindness. But I want to figure it out. I want to leave my past far behind, and have something truly good in my life. Someone truly good.
Chapter Twenty
Anton
* * *
Adam jogs down the stone front steps of his apartment building, and my blood immediately starts pumping. I push off the wall I’m leaning against and start following him, a baseball cap pulled down low to conceal my face.
It’s been a long damn time since I was in a premeditated fight. On the ice, fights break out in the heat of the moment. It’s gloves off right now. But I’ve had four days to think about confronting Adam. Four very long days.
Mia’s expression when I got to her apartment that night will be burned in my mind forever. She didn’t look scared or sad so much as defeated. Adam will pay for her forlorn expression.
I trail a good distance behind Adam for a couple blocks, biding my time ‘til he gets to a place with fewer people.
At first, I couldn’t get to him because he was in jail. Then I had to travel with the team, which he got suspended from. But now I’m back in Chicago, he’s out of jail, and it’s on.
Mia’s doing okay. I’ve been calling and texting her often to check on her. Yesterday she sounded almost happy, and she told me she appreciates knowing she’s safe at my place.
I hated to leave town so quickly after her attack, but I had to. There’s been news coverage of Adam’s suspension, and reporters have been asking his teammates how we feel about it.
What the fuck do they think we feel? It’s not like any of us can be honest. “I think he’s a piece of shit I’d like to murder with my bare hands, John, thanks for asking.”
Coach was diplomatic, telling a reporter he plans to let the police do their work and then make a decision about Adam’s future with the team. But I already know Adam’s fucking gone. I came clean to the entire team about what’s been happening with Mia and what I saw the other night, and I let them know then that it’s either me or him. I’ll never play on a team with him again.
Not that it’ll probably even be an option for him. If Adam gets convicted of a felony, he won’t have a job on any NHL team ever again.
He meets up with a woman at a deli and they have lunch together. I wonder if she knows who he really is. When he leaves the deli alone, I close some distance between us, not wanting to miss my opportunity.
I’m not waiting even one more day to exact my revenge. As soon as Adam gets to a building with a long alley, I approach him from behind and grab the collar of his coat, dragging him into it.
“The fuck?” He turns and sees me, his gaze darkening. “You. You dirty motherfucker. Or should I say wife fucker?”
I’m not in the mood to trade verbal jabs with him. I shed my coat and shove him further into the alley. Not gonna risk the chicken shit running away on me.
“How could you, Anton?” He sneers at me. “She’s my wife. And you—”
I silence him by barreling into him, shoving his back against a brick wall. He launches himself back at me and I crouch, landing an uppercut to his stomach.
It feels good. Kicking Adam’s ass feels really fucking good. Every blow I land, every crack I hear, is for Mia. He gets a few good shots in on me—one to my eye and several to my ribs—but this fight’s mine.
I’m driven by something more powerful than Adam ever will be. It’s my love for Mia that fuels every punch that doubles him over, every kick once he’s on the ground.
There’s no trash talk. No threats or insults exchanged. Adam’s gasping for breath, on his hands and knees on the ground, which means I need to keep sending him my silent message.
Never come near her again.
I grab his coat and use it to send him flying into the alley wall, satisfied by the way his head knocks against it. And then I wail on him some more, punching until my fists are sore and a few knuckles are bloody.
He’s a fucking mess, curled up in the fetal position and struggling to breathe. Both of his eyes are swollen and there’s blood coming from his nose and mouth. I bend down over him.
“Anyone asks, we were together and got jumped and robbed. Don’t make me come find you again or you won’t walk away.”
I spit on him and wipe my sleeve across the cut above my eye, reaching down for my coat as I turn back towards the street.
>
My mind finally settles as I walk the few miles home. I needed to confront Adam. I needed to release the anger. It was one thing to want Mia from afar while thinking she was happily married to Adam. But to see her hurt by him in every possible way?
Since I saw her that night at Lucky Seven, I’ve changed a lot. I’m no longer strictly devoted to hockey. I’m off of my routines with sleep and diet. Hell, I even had a rule about keeping my mind focused on hockey, and my head’s been nowhere near the game unless I’m on the ice.
I’m still playing strong, though. I’ve got a new fire in my belly now—to have it all. I want hockey and a relationship with Mia. I want more nachos and movies and late nights spent together.
Mia makes me feel stronger. I’m focused on something besides my game now. I’ve actually got something, and someone, to play for.
I want to make her proud. When we’re finally able to be together, I want her to know she’s with a real man now. A man who will protect her at all costs. Who’s not afraid of anything—even crazy, gut-wrenching, all-consuming love.
By the time I make it back to my place, I’m fucking tired. I haven’t slept well since before Mia was attacked, and the fight used up my remaining energy. I take the elevator to my floor and I’m greeted by a security guy I haven’t met yet.
“I’m Anton Petrov,” I say, extending my hand for a shake.
He shakes my hand, his other one on his waist where his gun is holstered.
“I’ll need to see your ID,” he says.
I take out my wallet and pass him my driver’s license. He nods in approval.
“Sorry about that, Mr. Petrov.”
“Hey, no worries. You’re just doing what I asked you guys to do. Thanks.”
I unlock the door and walk inside, shrugging off my coat and setting it on a chair.
Uncle Dix is snoring in his recliner, his favorite afghan covering him from chin to feet. Mia walks in from the hallway, a stack of folded laundry in her arms. She immediately sets it down and walks over to me, gently brushing her fingertips over my swollen eye.
“Thank you,” she says softly.
I love her completely in this moment. She understands. She doesn’t ask if I’m okay or tell me I didn’t need to do it; she knows I had to do it. And she knows why.
“My pleasure,” I murmur back, giving her other hand a quick, gentle squeeze.
“I’ll get some ice.” She turns.
“I need to lay down.”
She faces me again. “Go ahead. I’ll bring the ice in.”
In my bedroom, I strip off my shirt and lie on my bed gingerly, my ribs aching with the movement. Mia walks in soon with a bag of ice and a wet washcloth.
She sits down on the edge of the bed and uses the cloth to wipe the blood from my brow and cheek. I watch her as she works, noticing the small crease of concentration between her brows.
Her dark hair is loose around her shoulders; I like it this way. I take the end of a loose curl between two fingertips and feel its softness.
“If we were together,” she says softly, “we’d have amazing sex right now, wouldn’t we?”
I move my fingers from her hair to her jaw line, grazing it gently. “We would.”
She brushes a few loose strands of hair back from my face. “I’d undress for you, very slowly. You’d watch me, and I’d like that.”
My cock stiffens and my blood pumps. My fatigue is forgotten as she holds my gaze. There’s something new in her expression—something bolder, more assured. It makes me ache for her.
“Then I’d take my pants off and lay you on this bed,” I say, continuing our fantasy. “You’d spread your legs wide for me and as soon as I was inside you, neither one of us would feel like I could get deep enough. We’d hold on to each other tight while I fucked you so hard you’d be begging me to stop and keep going at the same time.”
“I’m not the best with words, but if I was inside you…” I cup the side of her neck. “I’d make you understand. You’d feel my feelings for you.”
She takes my palm and presses it to her heart. “I feel them,” she says, her voice ragged.
“You’d feel more. More than you thought you could stand. More than you knew was possible. You’d feel me worshipping you and loving you and making the two of us into one, for just a few perfect seconds.”
She closes her eyes and murmurs, “Please don’t stop.”
“I want your nipples in my mouth and your pussy wrapped around my dick, Mia. I want it so fucking bad it’s making me crazy. I haven’t been touched by a woman in so long, because the only one I wanted touching me was you.”
“I’d try to make it worth your wait.”
“I already know it will be. I’ll show you how real men fuck. I’ve fantasized about having you in every imaginable position and a few you’ve probably never even imagined.”
She’s still pressing my hand to her heart. “If I had you that way…I’d hold on to you so tight. I’d never want to let go.”
“You never have to, Mia.”
Her eyes flood with tears. “I’m broken. So imperfect, but still here and still fighting. And for me, love means letting you see those imperfections. Thank you for accepting them.”
“I want all of you.” I put my hands on her waist, fighting the urge to pull her on top of me. “All the little pieces that make you the person you are—I want all of those. And I want you to see all my little pieces, too. I’m not perfect, either, sweetheart. You’ll see.”
She smiles. “You’re perfect to me.”
“Lie down with me.”
She looks over at the empty side of my king-size bed. “Okay, but we have to be good.”
“I will be. It’s you I’m worried about.”
She laughs and gets up to walk to the other side of the bed. “You should be worried. It’s getting hard to do the right thing.”
I cringe as I turn to lie on my side so I can face her as she lies down. “Yeah, but soon the right thing will be to fuck long and hard.”
“How soon?”
“I guess that’s up to Kevin. Maybe if I offer to go to his kid’s next twenty-five birthdays he’ll speed this divorce up.”
Mia pulls a fleece blanket up from the foot of the bed and covers me with it from the waist down, her eyes lighting up as she notices my tented crotch.
“The rest of me has to stay cold?” I ask, amused.
“For now.” She gives me a coy smile. “I’m enjoying the view.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Mmm-hmm.” She gives me a hesitant look before saying, “I looked up pictures of you online.”
I arch my brow. “What for? The real thing’s right here.”
“Well…I was just curious.”
“About?”
She gives me a look. “You know…there was that photoshoot you did in your underwear a couple years ago for that sports magazine. The body issue.”
I haven’t thought about those in a while. I grin at the look on her face. “And?”
“Let’s just say I liked what I saw.”
“Huh. Good. And where are my photos of you?”
“You’ll just have to wait for the real deal.” She reaches down for another blanket and covers herself up. “But I was wondering about the ink on your leg. It’s beautiful.”
“Oh. Thanks. I’ve had it for a while. I guess…eight years now.”
“Is there meaning behind it?”
I try to stifle a yawn. “I wish. Truth is, I was out with my brother and some friends in the offseason, had too much to drink, and ended up telling the artist to give me something special.”
“Well, he did.”
“Yeah. I do like it, thank god.”
Her eyelids slowly close. I can barely believe she’s here. In my fucking bed. I don’t want this time with Mia to end. I hope like hell there are moments like this ahead, where we can just hold each other. And even better, times when we don’t just talk about what we want to do in this bed, but actually do
it.
Chapter Twenty-One
Mia
* * *
Three months later
* * *
I open the blinds of the living room window in Anita’s apartment and immediately smile at Dre.
“Sun!”
He jumps up and down and dances in a circle, making me laugh. Poor kid’s stir crazy. The April rain has been keeping us inside all week, both here and at Anton’s.
Anita is studying for her finals, and I offered to take care of Dre all week so she can focus. It’s Friday, the last day of our week together, and I really wanted to take him to do something fun.
“Let’s get dressed and go out for breakfast,” I say.
“Pancakes?”
“You know it, kid.”
He dances back to the bedroom he shares with his mom. She left at 6:00 a.m. to go study at the campus library. Even with my help, I don’t know how she does it. Every minute of the day, she’s working, studying, taking care of Dre or catching a few precious hours of sleep.
Dre and I take an Uber to our favorite little diner and sit at the breakfast bar, playing I Spy while we wait for our pancakes. And when they arrive, my mini-me douses his with syrup just like I do. I have to clean his face in the bathroom before we move on to shopping at the little boutique stores in this neighborhood.
I need to keep busy today, because I’m full of nervous energy. Tonight is my first date with Anton. A little over two weeks ago, my divorce from Adam was finalized. Three days ago, Anton played the last of his eighty-two games for this season. Tonight, we finally get to focus our full attention on the attraction between us that’s been brewing for all these months.
The day the divorce was official, I wanted to run over to his apartment and kiss him. I took an Uber instead, because it was faster. But when I got there and breathlessly gave him the news, he surprised me.
Instead of us rushing into mind-blowing sex like I thought we would, he just looked at me with hungry eyes and stayed in his spot, leaning against the kitchen counter.
Anton Page 12
