by Lizzy Ripp
Yaro heaved a deep sigh and gritted his teeth. Might as well get used to it. When Julia had called him bright and disgustingly early on Sunday morning to ask if he was free to meet up for a coffee to discuss their ‘situation’ after her morning yoga class, he'd sleepily agreed to come, but only if he could accompany her to yoga too. His reasons for this were twofold. One, he needed to stretch, much as he didn't want to and two, he was curious as to what Julie would look like wearing yoga pants, a fact of which he was unashamed.
Good, was the answer. Very good indeed, he thought gazing appreciatively at her bottom, thrust up in the air in a way that practically invited ogling, if he was that kind of guy, which he prided himself very much on not being. But still.
Oblivious to his gaze, Julia was doing her best to achieve some form of relaxation, her eyes shut tight, following Beverly's instructive flow without needing to look. She was feeling both hung over and terrified after last night and she needed all the Zen she could suck from her weekly session.
The fact that Yaro had opted to tag along, a fact that had left her utterly agog on the phone, was not improving things. He was surprisingly graceful - and flexible - for such a gigantic man, she had to admit. She also had to admit his body up close in active wear was something to behold. Athletic and lean, each and every muscle moved sinuously under his skin. No wonder Sports Illustrated had been after him for years, a fact Christina had let slip on their last girls' night. The fact that Yaro had continued to turn the magazine down irritated her to no end.
"He sure doesn't make our jobs easy," Julia had laughed, clinking a cocktail against Christina's.
She hadn't even known the half of it, she now realized.
Finally the class drew to a close. They were lying in a gentle Savasana, no one in the class saying a word or making a sound. No one that is except for Yaro, who heaved a bored sigh every five seconds or so.
So much for Zen, Julia thought.
Realizing she was absolutely not going to get any further relaxation from this class, Julia cut her Savasana short in a huff, rising to her feet and rolling up her mat before skipping around a sea of prone bodies to get to the door and out. As she was putting on her sneakers, Yaro emerged after her.
"What are you in such a hurry for?" He asked. "Want to be the first in line for breakfast?"
"Well," Julia snapped, lacing up her pink Nikes, "I clearly wasn't going to get any relaxation done with you there talking and sighing and probably farting," she muttered. "So might as well get to coffee."
Yaro was smiling again, that irritating, little-boy-charming-the-teacher smile. "Oh, come on," he said. "It's all such a crock. You can lie on the floor in your own home. For free."
"Well, I like to lie on the floor and stretch here," Julia said, staring up at him, annoyed. "And nobody asked you to come along, if you'll recall. You invited yourself."
Yaro shrugged. "I needed a stretch."
"I needed to relax. But I guess what you need matters more," she snapped her rolled up mat into place on the back of her knapsack and stood up. "And now, I need coffee. So come on."
—
Julia quickly came to the conclusion that for today's level of stress, Starbucks simply wouldn't cut it. It was time for the good stuff and nothing but - and so she made her way straight to La Bellissima cafe - purveyors of fine espresso in a setting that could make her forget she had just potentially screwed her career the night before. And hopefully, the buzz would be strong enough that Yaro would be tolerable for a few hours.
After ordering (a soy latte for her, and an americano for him), the two of them sat at one of those absurdly small marble tables European-inspired cafes favor, glancing uneasily at one another. Well, Julia was uneasy. She doubted Yaro had ever been worried about anything in his entire, privileged life.
He drummed his fingers on the marble, looking around with interest. "There are a lot of cafes like this in Moscow," he said. "My mom used to take me to them all the time after hockey practice. She'd get a tiny espresso, but she took forever to drink it," he smiled slightly at the memory. "I always thought it tasted like dirt."
"It grows on you," Julia said. She remembered her first foray into coffee - a Frappuccino from Starbucks her mom had bought for her when she was twelve. She'd felt so grown up. She smiled slightly at the memory.
Catching him looking at her, she quickly scrubbed the smile from her face. "Alright. Let's get to the nitty-gritty. This might not be the easiest situation, but as you pointed out last night, it makes the most sense given the circumstances. We need each other."
"You need me, you mean," Yaro said mildly, taking a sip of his long black.
"No," Julia said, her irritation growing, "We both need each other. Are you honestly forgetting this entire plot was set up for your benefit? You're about to be tossed out of the League. One more fight outside of game-time, which, by the way, you seem unable to resist, and you're out."
Yaro scowled, rolling his eyes.
"No matter what happens here, I will still have a job after this is over," she said with much more conviction than she actually felt. "You're not in the same position. You need me," she finished firmly. "So you might as well start acting like it. I'm not doing you a favor. I'm trying to save your job."
Yaro sat, stone-faced, sipping his drink. "Who says I want it to be saved?"
Julia stared at him. "What, are you sick of being paid obscene amounts of money to play a game in front of adoring fans?"
"I'm 34,” Yaro said. "Who knows how much longer I've got in the League? What's better, to go out on top or to gradually get worse until I'm put out to pasture?"
"You mean is it better to burn out or to fade away?" Julia asked, smiling wryly. The corner of his lips lifted in response, but she wouldn't call it a smile exactly.
"Well, first of all, Gordie Howe played until he was 50, so you might be a little premature in pulling the plug on your career," she went on. "Unless you're just not really enjoying it anymore, and that's a whole other ballgame. So, are you?"
"Am I what?" Yaro asked, mildly startled at the way she was looking at him, her huge brown eyes frank and interested. A tendril of dirty blonde hair had escaped from her bun and trailed tantalizingly on the side of her face. He fought the urge to smooth it back with his hand, to feel her skin with his fingertips. He shook his head.
"Are you burned out?" Julia asked. "Because we can help you with that, you know. There are sports therapists we can set you up with, or we can arrange leave..."
He shook his head. "It's not a matter of leave or therapy," he said. "I've been doing this since I was four years old. I've been a professional since I was fourteen. Do you have any idea what it's like to do one thing and one thing only your entire life?"
Julia didn't reply, continuing to gaze at him with that unnerving frankness.
"So many people would die to trade careers with you. Do you know how many people work their entire lives for what you have and don't make it? I do. All three of my brothers were obsessed with hockey from the time they could walk. I grew up going to their games every single weekend. All three of them dreamed of playing in the NHL. They played through high school and into college... But they just weren't good enough. They didn't have it," Julia said. "Kristoff and Jacob were disappointed about it, sure, but they at least managed to find a way to be happy without doing what they loved. But my twin brother Aaron," she shook her head, her face darkening abruptly. She seemed to feel she had said too much, so instead she simply cleared her throat, crossing her arms in front of her. “It crushed him," she said shortly.
She looked down at her coffee, an expression on her face Yaro couldn't place. She looked numb and lost in thought, like she'd been carried off in memory.
Yaro didn't say anything, his long fingers toying with the edge of his americano. It looked absurdly small as he lifted the cup to his lips, Julia thought. Like a dad playing with his daughter's tea set.
"I don't want to lecture you," Julia went on, hearing h
im snort in response. "All I'm saying is you should be aware of how lucky you are."
"Oh, believe me, I'm aware," he said, his voice sardonic. "People have been telling me how lucky I am my whole life. I don't need any confirmation from you."
Julia didn't seem at all reduced by his tone or his words. In fact, she stared at him with those eyes, unmanning him with her gaze completely, saying nothing for a time, before she took up her latte and sipped it neatly. The two of them sat in an uneasy silence once more.
Finally she spoke again. "Anyway. This talk isn't very conducive to looking like we appreciate each other's company romantically. So let's talk about something else."
"With pleasure," Yaro muttered.
The two of them regarded one another for a moment before Julia began. "Tell me what you would do if you weren't a hockey player anymore? What would you like to do with your life?"
"Starting with the easy questions then," Yaro said, shaking his head. “I don't know. I've never really had a chance to do anything else."
"Well, what would you LIKE to do? Do you have any hobbies?" Julia asked, cocking her head at him like a curious puppy.
"Hobbies?" He laughed shortly. "Yeah. I've heard of those. I don't know. What are your hobbies?"
"I asked you first," Julia said, smiling.
"Well, I don't have any, so you'll have to give me some inspiration."
"No hobbies?" Julia's eyes widened. "God. I suppose that's the benefit of doing what you love for a living. My job is just... a job, so if I didn't have my hobbies I'd probably die of boredom."
He raised his eyebrows at her, prompting her to elaborate.
"Okay, well," she started, "I like to bake. I like to crochet. I like to do yoga. I like to go for hikes, when weather allows. I like to try out new restaurants..." She shrugged. "I like to watch Netflix and hang out with my cats. You know. Pretty standard."
"Congratulations, you're my grandmother," Yaro said, trying to hide a smile and failing utterly.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"I'm just saying that all of your hobbies are things that my 90-year-old Russian grandmother also very much enjoys."
"Well..." Julia opened and closed her mouth, trying to think of a snappy comeback and finding none in her arsenal that would suit. "I don't care," she sniffed instead, finishing her coffee and turning up her nose at him.
"At least you'll be able to enjoy them for a long... LONG time," he said, laughing. Julia, unable to help herself and admiring the sparkle in his eyes, smiled ruefully back at him.
"There," he said finally. "Now we look like we're enjoying each other's company."
And Julia noted to her surprise that she actually WAS enjoying his company. His cold veneer wore off quickly, and under it, he was easier to talk to than most hockey players she'd interacted with. Most of them tended to be ‘dude bros’ of the highest order. Yaro was articulate and perceptive and seemed astonishingly capable of carrying on a conversation outside of the realm of sports, women and beer.
"Should we get another coffee?" She asked finally, giving a nod to their empty cups. "I need to learn a little more about you. I don't know much, you know. Aside from your on-ice stats and your penchant for winding up in the back of police vans."
He started to pull out his wallet. "It's on me, remember?" Julia said, pushing back her chair and beginning to get up, when a man approached their table rapidly preventing her from doing so.
He was about forty and balding, with pink ears protruding from his head like handles on a teapot, and a belligerent expression on his face that Julia didn't like the look of.
From the guarded, watchful look on Yaro’s face, she could tell that he didn't like it either.
One thing was for sure: There was going to be trouble. And there was nothing Julia could do to stop it.
"Hey," the man said loudly, coming up to the table much too close for comfort. "I know you. You're that Russian prick who plays for the Timberwolves, aren't you?"
The ambient chatter and clatter of silverware slowly died down and the entire room's attention became focused on their table. Julia felt her cheeks redden. Yaro, however, looked unperturbed, looking up at the man coolly.
"That's me. Though I'm a citizen now. In case you're curious."
"I don't give a shit what you are. You're just a cocky son-of-a-bitch to me," the man said, his voice rising, his posture taking on a threatening stance. Then without a further word, he took what was left of his iced-coffee and upturned it onto Yaro's lap. Yaro – astonishingly - didn't react, but the rest of the cafe did. There were gasps and murmurs, joined by Julia's own. She was absolutely sure, looking at Yaro's dangerously composed face, that a blow-up was imminent.
"Sir," Julia began, eyeing the barista behind the counter, who was about twenty-years-old and obviously completely at sea in this sort of situation. This wasn’t the sort of setting brawls normally occurred in.
"Don't you 'sir', me," the man snapped. "Really nice guy you're hanging out with here. Do you know what he did to my cousin last week?" Without waiting for her to reply, he went on, "He beat the shit out of him at a bar. He couldn't get the time off work to recover from his broken jaw because it happened at a bar, with alcohol in his system. Insurance wouldn't cover it. So he lost his job. He's got two kids under five and another one on the way. And he just had to move in with his mother. All because of this asshole," he said, gesturing to Yaro who sat still and unmoved before him.
You could have heard a pin drop in the cafe. The last angry note of the man's voice hung in the air, heavy and ugly. Julia felt as if she were about to panic.
Then, slowly and dangerously, Yaro rose to his feet, standing to his full and imposing height - so that now he was towering over the purple-faced man. When he spoke, his voice was calm and quiet, but clear and firm as a bell. It rang out through the entire cafe.
”I remember your cousin," he said. "So does my hand," he said, stretching and flexing it in front of him. "And what you conveniently left out of the conversation is the reason I beat the shit out of him in a bar. Did you want to fill everyone in or should I?"
"I don't care wh-" the man began, as Yaro raised his own voice, cutting him off. "I was out with one of my teammates who I think you might know? His name is Jonathan Ouellet. I think you might know him?"
Julia furrowed her brow. Everyone knew Jonathan. He was one of the League's top scorers and the player Yaro most often assisted on goal with. The two of them were tight off-ice as well, she knew, having often seen them together laughing, joking and play-fighting like giant toddlers.
"Your cousin got up in my friend Jonathan's face and started calling him a redskin, half-caste, dirty Indian. Jonathan didn't want to cause a fuss. But I sure did," Yaro said, a smile taking over Yaro's face that made a small chill run down Julia's spine.
She hadn't heard about any of this in the papers - it hadn't been reported. In fact, she realized now, no details of the altercation save the man's injuries and Yaro's involvement had been. She knew Jonathan to be a sweet but self-contained person, who tended to shy away from the media attention that surrounded the players. She doubted he would have wanted this information to be splashed on the front pages. He'd been the target of racist taunts before, Julia knew. She could understand not wanting to go through it publicly again.
"That's a lie," the man said, eliminating the space in between himself and Yaro so quickly Julia almost gasped. Seeing Yaro's eyes take on a darkness she knew all too well as evidence of a big hit to come, she moved towards him and lay a hand on his arm, giving it a small squeeze to draw his attention.
"Yaro," she said softly. "Let's go. He's not worth it."
For a moment, Yaro's jaw worked and he seemed as if he hadn't heard her, staring intimidatingly down at the man, who was now shrinking from his full height. Then Yaro seemed to notice Julia's hand on his arm, and looked down at it before meeting her eyes, big and soft and pleading. His frozen posture softened and he gave a barely perceptible nod
, reaching down for his coat and reaching for her hand.
"Okay," he said. "Let's go."
"That's right, listen to your girlfriend, you pussy," the man yelled. But public opinion had clearly turned on him, the other patrons in the cafe regarding him darkly and exchanging resentful glances.
Yaro turned back to him, a shit-eating grin on his face. He shrugged. "She's the boss," he said, the two of them striding hand-in-hand towards the door.
"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave," Julia heard from behind them and smiled to herself.
That couldn't have gone better if she'd written the scenario herself - the only thing that could improve it was if someone in that room spread the story on social media, which judging by the downward glances and flying fingers she saw at work through the window as they walked off, was very likely indeed.
CHAPTER SIX
YARO KEPT EXPECTING Julia to pull her hand away once they'd gotten far enough from the coffee shop - but she didn't. Her hand was tiny within his, but he liked the feeling of her fingers curled within his palm - it felt natural. Comforting even. So much so that neither of them seemed inclined to question it. It wasn't until they had walked roughly four blocks without speaking that he felt like he had to say something.
"Are we walking anywhere in particular or did you just want a stroll?"
Julia looked up at him, shielding her eyes from the sun with her free hand. "I don't really know what to say, to be honest."
He looked confused.
"So you DON'T know where we're going?"
"About..." she gestured with her head. "Back there. I didn't even ask about the fight, or to hear your side of it. I just assumed you were being..."
"A dick?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I mean..." she trailed off and laughed. "Yeah. I guess so. I don't know if you know this, but you don't exactly have a reputation of being the nicest person to deal with."
His expression was unreadable, and so she continued, the words spilling out of her mouth like water out of a sprung leak. "You know, I mean, I mostly deal with you when you've done something wrong - so I guess when it came to this I just assumed..."
