I had set us up for some heavy shit. I wanted to back out of where the conversation was going. My chest felt tight and my throat even tighter. I thought of the time I had taken a girl on a date and she'd told me her father was a doctor and her mother was an interior designer. They'd lived in Richmond and celebrated their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. She'd never asked about my family. Hadn't cared that I was Russian-American. I wasn’t completely sure she had even known.
But Sophie? I swallowed a piece of chicken. She was going there. Talking, sharing. Asking about the layer underneath hockey.
“You probably want to know what happened to my mom?” She turned to look at me. My face paled.
“If you want to tell me. You don’t have to.”
She shrugged. “Cancer. It was a rare type of bone cancer, especially for someone as young as she was. She used to be a runner in college. Apparently, a real badass.” She grinned. “I have pictures. Not a lot, but enough I can remember her by.”
“Oh.” I didn’t know how to handle the intake of information. Sophie was more comfortable with dumping grief on the table than I was.
“This is an amazing dinner, by the way.” She smiled. “I really can’t believe you did all of this.”
The talons that had gripped my ribs together relented when she smiled. It was a gorgeous smile full of light. Sunshine. Maybe a sexy come-hitherness, too.
“That’s all I wanted.” It was true. I wanted to make her happy. Make her smile. If I could do that, Sophie made me believe I could do so much more.
7
Sophie
Eight Years Later
I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand and stared at the coating of sheetrock dust that ran all the way to my elbow. I threw the square of sandpaper in a bucket and sat back on my heels. It was the first time in three days I had been able to get back to the dried patches of mud on the walls. I had tied my hair up in a scarf, and my overalls were stained with paint splatters and dotted with rips from snags in the denim. The cuffs were frayed.
My forearm was sore from sanding. Once I finished this wall, I could layer on the primer. So much time passed between each phase of the project, I wondered how long it would take to finally finish it.
I'd bought this building as one giant empty shell. Little by little, I had made something out of it. First, a place to live so I could spend all my spare minutes grinding out my business plan. Next, I learned how to run an independent bookstore. There was one in Penny Hill when I moved, but it closed before I graduated from college. A massive corporate chain had a store in Nahalia, the next town over. Between the draw to shopping in a commercial store and ordering books online, the community had forgotten what a local bookstore could do.
I was here to remind them.
I groaned at the walls. The back room was going to be another stamp on that plan. A multi-purpose room to be used for afterschool reading. A weekend book club spot, and my ultimate goal—a full-fledged literacy program.
There weren’t many days I brought Russell in to help at the bookstore, but he had asked for more hours lately. I was trying to learn to loosen my hold on the shop and let someone else work the register for a few hours. The only employee I had was a part-time mechanic. He worked at Ray’s Motor and scheduled time for the bookstore whenever I asked.
Saturday afternoon was always a high-traffic day in the store, but I wanted to finish this space. I glanced at the door that connected the room to the shop, expecting Russell to poke his head through for questions regarding a customer, but he didn’t. He managed fine without me. He knew the register. He knew the book stock. He knew how to recommend genres. Russell ran the shop the same way I did. It should have been comforting, but it wasn’t.
On the days he worked on car engines instead of at the Golden Page, customers walked in asking for his recommendations on a good war book or an army memoir. They looked annoyed when I broke the news he wasn’t in the shop.
I had thought about cutting him loose from the shop altogether, but I didn’t have the energy to train someone else. What would they say? What would they want to know? Russell was too good at his job. Did that make sense?
I needed the dust to settle in the room before I could crack open the can of primer. My stomach rumbled. I also needed lunch.
I stepped over the painting cloth, careful not to bump into the ladder next to the door. I turned the handle and walked along the back wall of the store.
“Need something?”
I gasped when Russell appeared around the corner of the historical fiction section. His voice was always hoarse.
“You scared me.” I blinked, trying not to stare at the tattoos racing down his arms. The tip of a blue flame peeked from under his collar. I had never seen the rest of it. I didn’t care to.
“Sorry, boss.” His expression was grim. He rarely smiled. “Trying to reshelve a few of these while it’s quiet.” He motioned to the books in his arms.
I looked down at my messy clothes. “I was going to sneak out for lunch. I didn’t want anyone to see me like this, so if you could not mention that I’m here... I’ll head out the back door.”
There was something in the way he watched me that made me shift from one foot to the other. Sometimes I thought I was hyper-sensitive to Russell’s glances. It wasn’t like he'd ever tried to touch me.
He was two years younger than me. We had attended the same high school briefly but hadn't run in the same circles. I worked my butt off to make valedictorian. He skipped class at least once a week.
“You want me to keep a secret for you?”
“If you would. Thanks.” I hurried past him and out the back door. I took a quick right around the building so that I was on the sidewalk. I hadn’t bothered to ask him if he needed help or wanted me to pick up lunch for him.
I should have slowed down. I should have taken my time and checked my emails in the office or returned Lee’s call. But my uneasiness around Russell forced me out of the store, rushing downtown in search of lunch.
I walked past Ruby Sorrow’s shop almost every day. I had become used to it. I didn’t look through the windows anymore. I didn’t feel guilty for not popping my head in to say hi. It had taken time, but her seamstress service was like any other business on the street to me. I didn’t separate her out for being Roman’s mother. I always smiled at her in the grocery store, or if we pulled up next to each other at the gas pump. It felt as if we had an understanding. She knew my heart was broken and respected me enough to let me glue it back together on my own terms.
I was in search of a chicken salad at Danny’s. A simple chicken salad. I raced past the hardware store and was only ten feet from the entrance when I heard my name.
“Sophie.”
My veins ran cold. I looked slightly left to see him climbing out of a red sports car. His frame was so massive I didn’t know how he had squeezed inside it.
I thought about running. I wondered if one of the posters had actually come to life and sprung free from the display windows. That somehow made more sense than the fact that Roman was walking toward me. His crystal blue eyes were hidden by sunglasses, but I knew they were locked on me.
“Wh-what are you doing here?” I stammered.
He nodded toward the sign marked 'Seamstress and embroidery.' “Here to see my mom.”
“Oh.” I took an involuntary step backward. It was as if his presence on the sidewalk was repelling me in the opposite direction. My body knew it was safer the more distance I put between us.
“I didn’t expect to see you so soon.” He shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. His biceps flexed against the white T-shirt he wore, and there was a small logo for the Dire Wolves over his heart.
“So soon? It’s been four years.”
He shrugged. “I meant since I just drove into town. I figured it would be a few days.”
“Oh.” I usually had more to say, but I was searching for words. “You’re here a few days then?”
&nb
sp; “He’ll be here for the off season.” My head whipped to the car. It was the first time I realized there was someone else with Roman.
“Sophie, meet my agent, Jerry.”
I nodded. “Hi, Jerry.”
“And you are?”
I stared at the agent. He was wearing a tailored suit and expensive sunglasses.
“She’s an old friend,” Roman answered.
“Ahh.” I didn’t know what the look they exchanged meant. “Nice to meet you, Sophie.”
“Right.” I pivoted on the heels of my sneakers. I didn’t care about being rude to the agent or anyone important in Roman’s life other than his mom.
“Sophie, wait,” Roman called after me.
I stopped on the sidewalk. He caught up to where I stood. “What is it?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Never mind.”
“That’s what I thought.” I pressed my lips together and charged back to the bookstore emptyhanded.
* * *
I didn’t see anyone as I hurried along the sidewalk. As much as I hated for people to see me crying, I hated the tears that fell just as much. Tears of anger, frustration, betrayal. I stormed up the outside staircase that led to my apartment.
I closed the door, throwing the deadbolt into place for extra protection.
I crawled on my couch with an armful of pillows and curled on my side. What was he doing here? Shouldn’t he be on some island drinking piña coladas with one of his bimbos? Why was his agent here? I opened my mouth to scream into the pillow, but nothing came out. I felt a void of silence engulf me.
8
Roman
It was as if someone had slugged me in the chest with the open face of the stick and I wasn’t wearing game pads. I watched Sophie walk…run away. The hurt in her eyes was as bold as the disgust. It wasn’t like I needed another reason to hate myself right now. What were the chances I’d see her the instant my foot landed on the Penny Hill sidewalk? I’d just learned the answer… one hundred percent.
“Can you do this on your own, or do you need me to walk you in?” Jerry’s voice was jarring. I was stuck in the mistakes I had made with Sophie. Mistakes were piling up all around me. “I got you this far, man. I’ll go on this journey as far as you need me to go.”
Where did he read that line? Journey? Jerry had never used that word in the three years he had been my agent. I was sick of all the speeches I had been given since the word had gotten out about the bathtub incident. I walked around to the back of his car. The trunk popped, and I retrieved my Dire Wolves bag and slung it over my shoulder.
“I can take it from here.” I slammed the trunk. “Thanks for working this deal out for me, and for the ride.”
I stood in front of the driver’s side window. Jerry’s arm was slung over the door.
“Anytime. I think this is the right move. Just lie low, and it’s going to blow over before training camp starts back up. I’m sure you could bond with nature or something up here. Go camping maybe.”
He slid a card into my hand.
“What’s this?” I asked, flipping it over in my palm.
“Your first therapy appointment is on the back. Local shrink. Doc has instructions to log your hours with Rick. Not what you discuss, only if you show up and stick it out. If you don’t go, they won’t let you show up for training camp. It’s serious. You have to make these sessions.”
“Fucking human resources,” I muttered. I shoved the appointment information in my pocket. “Anything else? Church? Volunteer group? Help the needy? Donate a kidney? Would that do it?”
“Hey, man, you got off easy this time.”
My jaw was uncomfortably tight. “I didn’t do what they think I did. This is bullshit. All of it.” My eyes were set in a hard line. I wasn’t going to budge on this discussion.
I’d wondered the entire time if Jerry believed me. Did it even matter to him that it was an accident? He seemed less concerned with clearing my name than he did with making sure I was back on the ice with no time lost. I wasn’t sure that was my first priority any longer. How was I supposed to dig myself out of this hole when no one would listen? Was there even a ladder that would reach high enough for me to climb out?
I stood on the sidewalk for a minute, wondering how long he would drag this out.
“You’re going to be okay, man. I can feel it.” He pushed his hand in the air for a fist bump. I was reluctant to return the gesture.
“Thanks,” I grumbled, knuckle to knuckle with my agent.
The engine revved.
“Call me if you need anything.”
I nodded as the window rolled up and Jerry peeled away, skating through a yellow light before turning on the road that would take him out of town. The interstate was only five minutes away.
I pivoted, facing the frosted glass windows of my mom’s shop. They jutted out onto the sidewalk, each its own bay window. There was an etched spool of thread on one window, and on the other, a large needle with the name of her business. The thread curled into the lettering.
I hadn’t told her I was coming home. I didn’t need to call ahead to know she would be here working. She always worked. Seven days a week. It didn’t matter if the streets were covered in snow or there was a power outage. She was here, sewing, mending, repairing. Working her fingers until they wouldn’t move anymore. Squeezing her eyes together to see the tiniest stitches until they burned from fatigue. There were plenty of nights I would cut swaths of fabric for her to try to help. I’d make stacks of panels. I’d iron. I’d make her coffee until I collapsed under my own exhaustion and fall asleep on the sewing couch.
My hand pressed on the door, and I strolled inside. The familiar hum of her sewing machine filled the air with a constant whirr.
“Mom?” I called.
The buzzing stopped. I heard her chair squeak across the hardwood floor, and then she appeared, slinging aside the curtain that divided her workshop from where she took customer orders.
“Roman?” Her face changed emotions rapidly, ending in a bright smile. Her arms reached forward, and I hugged my petite mother. She smelled like fabric softener and the light vanilla cream she worked into her hands. She’d used the same lotion my entire life.
“Hi, Mom. Thought I’d find you here.”
She pushed back to glance over me. Her eyes landed on the huge bag stuffed with months' worth of clothes.
“What’s going on? I thought you were on your way to Belize.”
I let the bag hit the floor. I pushed it to the side with my boot. “I hope it’s okay, but I’m going to spend the off-season here.”
“Here?”
“Is that okay?”
“Of course.” She gripped my elbow. “This is your home. I’m just caught off-guard. That’s all.” She pushed a strand of blond hair behind her ear. I didn’t remember it being strewn with so much gray before, and I thought there were more lines around her eyes than when I saw her at Christmas. I had flown her to Colorado to celebrate since the team was in the middle of a three-game series and I couldn’t break for the holidays.
Shit. Had it been six months since I’d seen my mother in person? I’d add that regret to the list I was making. I was going to need a notebook at the rate I was going.
“Did something happen, Roman? Are you all right?” Her forehead creased with worry.
“I’m fine.” I kissed her forehead. “I need some time off. It’s rough after the playoffs to recover.” I was still taking short breaths from the broken ribs. “A friend dropped me off, so I might need to borrow your car some while I’m here.” I didn’t want to tell her it was another part of the agreement I'd made with the Dires. No car meant a shorter leash on how far I could go without maneuvering travel plans.
“You were always very careful with my car. You can use it as much as you need.”
Definitely not the time to tell her I lost my virginity in the backseat.
She glanced over her shoulder. I knew she was thinking about whatever piece
she was working on in the back room. “I need to finish a few seams on Carol Tam’s curtains, and then we could get some lunch,” she offered. “These drapes are almost done.”
“Don’t rush because of me. I can wait.” I took a seat in front of the window.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” I didn’t want to admit to her I had nothing else going on—nothing but sitting here back home, waiting on her to sew. That was the problem with coming home. It made you feel like you had never grown up.
9
Sophie
Hiding from the world wasn’t something I did on a regular basis. Apparently, my behavior was odd enough to thrust Russell into action. It was close to the last thing I wanted. The last was to see Roman again.
I heard the part-time mechanic, part-time store clerk tap on the interior door that led to the shop. “Boss? You didn’t come back after lunch. Do you want me to worry?”
Although I had bolted the door to the outside, the one to the staircase I used to run up and down to work was ajar. After another knock, it swung open.
Russell stood in my kitchen in his bookstore apron. His eyes swung to me on the couch. I knew my face was puffy and my eyes were just as bad. The tear stains felt fresh even though they were dry by now. I moved the pillows off my lap.
“I’m fine. A little headache. That’s all.”
His eyes narrowed with concern. “Can I get you some aspirin or ibuprofen?”
I shook my head. Nothing over-the-counter would fix the way my body spiraled after running into Roman.
Cold As Puck: A Cold Love Series Novel Page 4
