“So now what?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
“I want to come to your house. I need to see you.”
“And I need you to let go of what happened with your accident.”
Again with the incessant let it go bullshit. “Can’t change who I am.”
“I don’t want you to change who you are. I only want you to see yourself the way everyone else sees you.”
“So we can’t even talk about the baby?” My frustration was ramping up to an epic level.
“We’re talking about the baby. And about us. And about how there can’t be an us if we don’t find some sort of compromise.”
“Compromise means both have to change.”
“I know that,” she said, sighing. “What do you want me to change? Tell me what you need from me.”
“Need you to let me be part of this.” That was the only thing registering in my brain at the moment. I could tell her I needed her to stop being such a hardheaded woman, but I doubted I’d be happy if that happened. I liked the way we butted heads all the time, even if it made me a sick bastard.
“I want you to be part of it.”
“I need to come over. Need to see you.” I needed to be with her more than I would ever be able to understand.
“Dima…” She let my name trail off into nothingness.
“You won’t let me come over.”
“Have you done anything about moving on from the wreck? About forgiving yourself for making a mistake? Anything at all?”
I knew it was impossible to forgive myself for all the things I’d done wrong. Anyone who thought otherwise was full of shit.
“I take that to mean you haven’t,” she said dryly after a protracted moment of silence.
“Are you keeping the baby?” I asked.
More silence. She might have sniffled. Then, “I don’t know. It’s a big decision. Especially…”
“Especially what?” I asked when she didn’t elaborate. Her answer was like a knife to my gut. Within the span of five minutes, she’d told me I was going to be a father and then hinted that she might take it away from me. It was too much. Too fast.
“Especially if I might be on my own for whatever decision I have to make.”
I didn’t want her to be alone for this. I wanted to be with her. “Will you let me be part of decision?”
“I wouldn’t have told you at all if I wasn’t going to allow at least that much.”
Then there was hope. A tiny sliver of hope, maybe, but it was something. I grasped on to that, hoping to hold it tight enough that it couldn’t escape but not so tight that I smothered it before it could sprout roots.
“I really do miss you,” she said softly.
“Just not enough to let me in.”
“It’s not that. I want to let you in. I just want you to make an effort to live the life I know you can, and right now, you’re not.”
“It’s not that hard. Let me come over. Let me see you.”
“So we can fall into bed again? That won’t solve anything,” she said.
“Just want to touch you. Smell you.”
“Fight with me,” she added, although there was a hint of laughter in her tone.
“I will fight. For this.”
“I hope you mean that. Prove it,” she said. “Show me.”
“How?”
“You know how.”
Yeah, I knew what she wanted. I just didn’t know if I could do it.
We hung up not long after that. I powered off my phone and shoved it in the top drawer of my nightstand so I wouldn’t be tempted to text her again.
The last thing I needed right now was another reason to lie awake in bed all night, but she’d just given me one.
VALTTERI FILPPULA HAD the puck for the Lightning. He was barreling up the ice toward Hunter, and there was no one with a chance of catching him but me. I shouldn’t be the one trying to cover him because I wasn’t a defenseman. Didn’t matter. I had to do it. Travis “Prince” Royal had been pinching in, trying to keep the puck in play when Filppula had knocked it off his stick and chipped it out into the zone. I’d cycled back to cover the point when Prince had made his move. Huggy Bear was our other defenseman on the ice, but just as he’d turned to chase the guy, his skate blade had literally broken off, leaving him hobbled.
So now, I had to be the one to chase this guy’s ass.
I used to be a much better skater, back before the wreck. I hadn’t lost any limbs, but I’d needed about half a dozen surgeries to repair all sorts of injuries, and I’d gotten a severe concussion. The combination had completely altered the way I played. Before the wreck, I’d been one of the top offensive talents in the league. These days, I had to use my hockey IQ in order to excel as a defensive forward. Speed was no longer one of my attributes, though, so it was all about positioning—and at the moment, my positioning stunk to high hell.
I turned on my afterburners and gave it everything I had, but the guy was too fast. His teammate, Callahan, was on his wing, too, so I had to break up the possibility for a pass from behind, preferably without taking a penalty in the process. Hunter had his focus fully on Filppula, so I had to trust that my goaltender could contain him. I had to take Callahan out of the action in order to prevent a pass while Hunter was out of position.
I took two power strides and lunged, thrusting my stick into the passing lane at the last second. Sure enough, Filppula tried to get the puck to his teammate—he was more of a playmaker than a shooter. The puck grazed my blade, which I had been holding at exactly the wrong angle, apparently. Inadvertently, I tipped the puck directly at the goal. Hunter slid over and grabbed it in his glove, just in the nick of time. He held onto it and the ref blew his whistle to stop play, with two Lightning forwards bearing down on the goal.
The red light came on over the penalty box, signaling a TV time-out.
“You trying to fuck me over, Dima?” Hunter shouted as I skated behind his net. To this point in the game, midway through the third period, he was holding on to a shutout. His clean sheet almost came to an end right then and there, but at least we were up by two goals.
“Fuck you,” I muttered. “Wouldn’t even fucking let me in last night.”
“Sorry if laying my wife was more important than seeing your ugly face.”
I skated back to the bench and took a seat next to Razor.
“He biting your head off for that?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Good. Get your fucking head on straight.” He slapped me on the back of my shoulder pads, like that might knock some sense into me.
I didn’t know how to get my head on straight, though. I’d only slept for about an hour last night after talking to London. I’d been too worked up all day to get my pregame nap in. I was a wreck.
“Tori wants to come over to your place tomorrow,” he said while the ice crew shoveled the snow in front of us.
That one threw me. I usually saw her at Razor’s place or sometimes at Hunter’s. I didn’t have people over at my house very often. “Why she wants to come over?”
“Said she has some things to make it feel like home for Mrs. Mironov.”
The TV time-out came to an end, and Spurs sent Razor out onto the ice for the next face-off before I could come up with a response.
Viktoriya wanted to make my place feel like home for Svetka. I didn’t have the first clue what she had in mind, but I was game to find out. In fact, I might have to kiss her for that.
Just not while Razor was looking.
WHEN THEY ARRIVED at my house the next afternoon, Viktoriya came in carrying a china tea service and a samovar—a sort of plug-in tea maker—with a tote bag draped over her slim shoulder, while Razor was loaded down with an Oriental rug and all sorts of other things I couldn’t make out. Viktoriya was a ballerina, tall and lean, with a graceful, dark beauty that only hinted at the horrors she’d been through. I only knew bits and pieces, but it was enough to turn my stomach. She smiled whe
n she saw me, something that was starting to happen with more regularity the longer she’d been around.
I took the china as she came up the steps into the living room.
“For your Svetka,” she said. “My mama always wanted to drink tea from her china.”
She followed me into the kitchen, where I set it down on the counter. She put her tote bag next to it and started unloading all sorts of teas and a few other items for the kitchen.
“She’s only going to be here for a few days,” I said, dumbfounded by how much Viktoriya had brought over. “Where did you find this?” I asked, pointing to the samovar. I’d honestly never seen one in North America, even if they were common enough in Russia. Most people used a Keurig here to heat the water for their tea. For that matter, most people in this part of the world liked their tea over ice and full of sugar.
“Found it at garage sale.” Her eyes lit up when she said it. “Tallie took me. Like whole store in driveway. Everything costs very little. Only two dollars. Two dollars!”
I couldn’t help but laugh at the thought of Viktoriya and Tallie going garage sale shopping. It wasn’t something I’d ever taken part in since I’d been here, even though I passed them on the streets almost every weekend. Someone was always trying to sell their old things, and it seemed someone else was always ready to buy them. “Is that where you got the rug, too?”
“Yes. And china. And vase.”
I raised a brow and scanned all the things she’d unloaded on my counter. “Haven’t seen a vase yet.”
“In car, still. Razor will bring inside. Fresh flowers, too.”
“You didn’t need to buy all of this.”
“But she should be comfortable while she’s here,” she said, not looking up at me as she continued to unload her bag.
“Wanna give me a hand with this?” Razor called from the stairs. He didn’t mean it as a question, either, based on his tone.
I didn’t particularly want to help him, but I also didn’t want him to break anything in my house, so I headed back into the hall to see what he was doing. He’d dropped a pile of things at the bottom of the stairs and was halfway up with the rug.
“We should move the bed so we can put the rug underneath it,” he said, not slowing down on his way up.
“How much did you know she was bringing?” I asked once I reached the landing.
He chuckled, leaning the rolled rug against a wall while we made our plan. “I knew she’d bought some china. Apparently she and Tallie have been going to every garage sale in the greater Tulsa area every Saturday morning for months. She never spends more than five dollars here or ten dollars there, though, so I had no idea she’d nearly filled an entire bedroom with stuff. So I’m glad she’s bringing some of it to you.”
We each picked up a side of the bed in my guest room and moved it against the wall. Then I unrolled the rug and he helped me center it in the room. It had rich reds and golds—a bit gaudy for my taste, but Svetka would love it as much as she’d love the dainty pink-and-blue china set. I just didn’t know what I’d do with them once she went back home to Russia.
“You get any sleep yet?” Razor asked as we moved the bed back into place.
I shrugged.
“What the fuck’s going on with you, anyway? You’re always a mess, but this is worse than normal.” He headed back down the stairs, so I followed him. We both grabbed armfuls of the stuff he’d left at the bottom and carried it up with us: curtains, a matching comforter, and some pillows to go with the rug, plus a bunch of tchotchkes and a set of matryoshka dolls.
This might be Svetka’s first trip outside of Russia, but thanks to Viktoriya, it would be as much like home as possible.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I said, setting the nesting dolls on the nightstand next to the bed.
He tossed the comforter and pillows on the bed and carried the curtains to the window, taking down the rod. “Feed me another lie, why don’t you?”
“Nothing for you to worry about.”
“When you start fucking up on the ice, it’s something we all need to worry about.”
“Everybody fucks up sometimes.”
“You don’t. You might not be some superstar or anything, but you’re as consistent as they come. You’re like clockwork. Coach trusts you to always get shit done, but last night you were a mess.”
“Had a bad night.”
“Was it because of London?” Viktoriya asked me.
My head shot up in surprise. I hadn’t heard her come up to join us. And she spoke in Russian, leaving her husband out of the conversation, which was unusual. The two of us sometimes spoke in Russian, but never when Razor was around because she didn’t want to leave him out.
I glanced over at him, but he was busying himself with putting the curtains on the rod and tactfully ignoring us, so I turned back to Viktoriya. “Why do you think that?” I asked.
“Because we all start doing stupid things when we fall in love.”
“I don’t love her.”
“Okay.” She moved to the bed and started arranging the pillows and comforters, making it cozy.
“I don’t.”
“If you say so. But sometimes, love can sneak up on you. Even if you think you’re immune to it.”
“I’m not immune to it.”
“You just don’t think you deserve it.”
I put a piece of gold fabric on the top of the dresser and spread the tchotchkes over it, hoping if I didn’t respond, she’d let it go.
“I haven’t met your Svetka yet,” Viktoriya said, “but something tells me she wouldn’t agree with that. She’d want you to have all the love in the world.”
“With London, it doesn’t come easily.”
“Nothing good is easy. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t work for it.”
I stared at the tchotchkes, rearranging them over and over again, mirroring the way I was rearranging all the thoughts in my head. “What you have with Razor,” I said slowly. “It’s not easy?”
“The hardest thing I’ve ever done is let him love me.” She crossed over to join me, taking the pieces from my hands and setting them in place to force me to stop messing with them. “But it’s also the best thing I’ve ever done.”
Well, then.
There wasn’t much I could say to that.
DIMA WAS LETTING his beard grow in again. I knew only because I’d taken to watching the Thunderbirds games lately. It was the only way I got to see him these days. It was up to him when we’d see each other again, and he knew it. Once he showed me he was making an effort at moving on with his life, we could pick up again where we’d left off. Until then, I was limiting our contact to the phone in order to salvage my own heart as much as was humanly possible.
I had to admit, he looked pretty hot with all that scruff. It wasn’t overly long now, just the perfect length. Enough to hide the scars he wanted to hide, but not so much that he hid every single aspect of his appearance.
Other than that, though, he looked like hell. Red eyes with deep circles under them. More scowling than usual. I hated seeing him like that. Especially because I knew I was at least part of the reason for it. Maybe more than just part of the reason.
Still, we were talking again, at least. After that night when I’d told him I was pregnant, he’d been calling me almost every night. Sometimes we talked until the wee hours of the morning. Other times it was only for a few minutes. For the most part, the length of our calls depended on his mood.
The night after Razor and Viktoriya helped him ready his house for Svetka’s visit, we talked for hours. He filled me in on all the things Viktoriya had brought over to help Svetka feel at home even though she’d be halfway around the world. “She even brought a Russian tea maker,” he said, laughing. It was good to hear him laugh, since it didn’t happen often. “Don’t know where she found one of those. She apparently goes to garage sales with Tallie every weekend. Razor said she filled a whole bedroom with things.”
“What kind of
things?”
“No telling. But she never had much before. It’s new for her to have something of her own. I think she likes it.” He went on for eons, describing all the ways Viktoriya had filled his home with small tastes of Russia.
The next night when we talked, it didn’t last anywhere near as long. He called when he got home after a game that the Thunderbirds had been shut out and had six goals scored against them. “I played like shit tonight,” he said.
“You weren’t that bad.”
“How would you know?”
“I was watching.”
He let out an indecipherable sound. “Was awful. No skating legs.”
“Why do you think your legs were shot?” I asked.
“Not sleeping.”
“Maybe you should try sleeping tonight, then.”
“Been trying. I’d sleep better if I could see you.”
“I’d sleep better if I didn’t have to worry about you.”
“Why you’re worried about me?”
“Because I’ve seen what guilt can do to a person.” Too many times to count, and some of them way too close for comfort.
“Guilt is good for you.”
“Guilt is good when it tells you to make amends for something. It’s not good when you can’t let it go once you’ve done that.”
“You don’t give up, do you?”
I couldn’t stop myself from smiling. “Not when it matters.”
“I matter to you?”
“You do.”
“Viktoriya said nothing good is easy.”
“Did she?” I asked, curious where this was heading.
“Must mean we’re better than good.”
I laughed. “Maybe we can be.”
“I still can’t come over?” he asked.
“No. But I’m glad you haven’t given up.”
“Can’t give up. You’re having my baby.”
The way he said it made my heart flutter with hope that he really meant he wanted to fight for this. For us. We’d fought plenty in the time we’d known each other, but this was the first time he’d given me any sense at all that he wanted to fight for us instead of against me. Which meant I had to fight for us just as hard as he intended to. I had to get my own life in order.
Ghost Dance (Tulsa Thunderbirds Book 3) Page 20
