So Over You

by Kate Meader

  “Do not protect him. He has wanted this for a long time.”

  But before they could come to blows, both Dante and Bren stepped in, ensuring that Vadim would have to go through several hundred pounds of pure muscle before his fist connected with its ultimate destination: Shay’s jaw.

  Luck was on this dúrak’s side today.

  Dante divided a look between the two men. “Anyone care to explain?”

  No one was inclined to answer.

  Coach Calhoun spoke up. “Petrov, Shay, if either of you would like to continue this conversation, then consider yourselves on an indefinite suspension that will extend into next season. That’s not to say it won’t already be happening, of course. We are in an all-or-nothing game situation, and you shitheads want to put all that in jeopardy over what?” He flicked a glance to the what in the room: Isobel herself. Returning his disgusted attention to the entire team, he yelled, “Get out for warm-up now!”

  “A word, if you don’t mind, Coach Chase,” Dante said to Isobel.

  The team headed out, except for Vadim. He couldn’t leave Isobel, not after what Shay had said.

  “Bella.” He grasped her arm and pulled her aside, making it clear that they had a deeper relationship than player-coach. He no longer cared.

  “Does everyone know about what happened between us years ago?” She lowered her voice, though this was pointless. “And now?”

  “The before . . . yes, they know. The now, they may have guessed.” The perceptive stares of Dante and Kelly affirmed this.

  She balled her fists and held them to her temples. “How did they know about before?” She waved a hand at him. “Because the only other person who knew was Violet. And you.”

  “I was not the one who overheard your conversation with your sister. It was Shay. That is the source of our enmity, among other things.”

  “So he told you and—”

  “Cade, Erik, and Ford.”

  She shook her head in resignation. “Well, it doesn’t matter, I suppose. It’s just one more shit brick in this giant, steaming wall of shit.”

  “I’ll fix this with Moretti. You won’t lose your job—”

  Her expression was all pity for him. “Vadim, stop trying to protect me. Stop trying to fix my life. In fact, just quit while you’re behind.”

  And then she left him, with him feeling lower than a dog.

  What a dumbass she’d been. She had assumed that when Vad and Shay had clashed previously, it was all innuendo and trash talking, but apparently it was her own big mouth that had set this in motion. Now her inability to keep her greedy mitts off a player she was coaching had washed her up, once and for all.

  Dante stood at the door to the locker room. On catching her eye, he pushed it open and jerked his chin. “Let’s talk.”

  Kelly placed a hand on her arm. “Isobel, are you okay?”

  She smiled at him, this kind man who had always been far too nice for her. “I’m fine, Kelly. Thanks, and—I’m sorry.”

  He didn’t pretend to misunderstand, his nod speaking his thoughts. They weren’t a couple, but she had intimated that they might be one day, which was less than classy of her.

  She walked into the locker room, her heart in her stomach. She respected Dante and she didn’t want to disappoint him.

  “If it’s any consolation,” she started, “we’re not together anymore.” It was certainly no consolation to her.

  “You want a full-time coaching position, Isobel,” he said as he paced the locker room with hands on hips. “You want the men to respect you. But how the hell can you get that if you’re playing favorites? It’s bad enough Harper’s with DuPre.”

  “Oh really?” Harper walked in, twitching her nose at the aroma unique to locker rooms. “We really don’t need your judgmental commentary, Dante. I think you’ll agree that my relationship with Remy has brought a lot of positive media attention to the team.”

  Dante rubbed his chin. “This isn’t a soap opera, Harper. This is a professional sports franchise that’s in danger of collapsing under the weight of its owners’ egos.”

  Harper caught Isobel’s eye. “Did he just call us fat?”

  Isobel battled a smile. She had never loved Harper more than she did right this minute, but she couldn’t let big sis fight her battles.

  “Dante,” Isobel said. “Believe me when I say I didn’t want this to happen. I made a mistake and I’m fully prepared to accept the consequences. Effective immediately, I’m resigning my consultant position and I won’t be throwing my hat into the ring for a coaching job.”

  “Isobel, take a moment to think about this,” Harper said.

  “I have. Dante’s right. I’ll never get the players’ respect after this. And once it gets out, which it will, I’ll have a hard time getting respect from any organization at the pro level.”

  Dante looked uncomfortable, as if his wish had been granted, but the genie had a rotten case of BO.

  “Dante, you don’t want to do this,” Harper said, unexpected steel in her voice. They stared at each other for a good five seconds, an entire conversation conducted under Isobel’s nose. And then the oddest thing occurred.

  Dante blinked first.

  “We don’t need to make the decision now,” he said quietly, but there was no missing the strain of anger in it.

  Mind made up, Isobel held out her hand. “Thanks for giving me a chance.”

  He stared at it for a second, then shook it. “You did great work with Petrov, Isobel. You’re the reason we have a shot at the play-offs.”

  She knew that. She’d find comfort in it later.

  With one last glare at Harper, he left to head up to the owners’ box. They still had a game to win for that wild card spot.

  Harper fisted her hips and paced a few steps. “Iz, are you sure? We could force Dante’s hand here. Believe me, he’s got a few skeletons knocking around in the closet with those Armani suits.”

  Isobel smiled grimly at her sister. “I’m not going to play dirty, Harper. That’s more your style. Dante is right. Hell, you warned me, and I still went ahead anyway. As for the coaching, I’ve been trying to force a square peg into a round hole. I don’t fit.”

  Harper looked hurt, but then her expression softened. “You want to know my proudest moment?”

  Oh, God. They were doing this now? “Acquiring Remy DuPre?”

  Harper snorted. “No, it was the night my baby sister won silver at the Games.”

  “You watched?”

  “Of course I watched! Dad couldn’t go because he’d broken his ankle—”

  “What the hell was he doing up on that roof anyway?”

  She waved a hand. “There was no telling him what to do. So I went over to his place to watch the final with him. He’d just broken up with his latest girlfriend. Remember Cassie-Casey-Callie—”

  “Caliope.”

  “That’s right, Caliope! He was all by himself. And maybe I wanted to punish myself a little.”

  Isobel grasped her sister’s hand. “I know it hurt.” No need to explain aloud what “it” was. She meant Clifford’s obvious preference for Isobel over Harper, his dismissal of Harper’s ambitions, his failure to support her after a Rebels player had punched her in this very locker room.

  Violet was right. The guy was a complete asshole.

  “I think we were both hurt in different ways. He expected so much of you, Isobel, while expecting nothing of me. Equally heavy burdens. But that night, when you sank that first goal against Canada—wow! Dad couldn’t jump so I jumped for him. For you.”

  Isobel would have loved to see that. Instead, Harper had kept this to herself, for her own reasons. They’d wasted so much time.

  “Then I went back to being a jealous shrew,” Harper added, tongue firmly in cheek. She sighed, her eyes soft and shiny. “But, Isobel, if this is what you want, coaching, the Rebels—we’ll make it happen. I’ll make it happen.”

  Isobel believed her, but it wasn’t what she wanted.
Not like this. She had to stay through the play-offs, assuming they got there. Then . . . who knew?

  No Games. No pros. No coaching.

  No Vadim.

  Oh, that hurt like a mother. “I’ll be okay, Harper,” she lied. “We’ll be okay.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  The mood in the owners’ box was somber, each of the Chase sisters lost in her thoughts. Their future as the only woman-owned NHL franchise was on thin ice. (Bam!) Anything less than a win tonight would finish the team’s season and their rule of the Rebels with it.

  Isobel’s phone buzzed with a message from Mia in New York.

  What’s wrong with him? It’s like he’s forgotten how to play hockey.

  Halfway through the second period, the Rebels were down two-zero. Nothing was connecting, their moves sloppy, the pressure getting to them.

  Mia had texted Isobel yesterday to say that Vadim visited them in New York and had reconciled with his mother. It did her heart good to know he’d made strides in their relationship, and Isobel was hopeful this would free up his game.

  Not so far. One of her U-12s would be more effective than Vadim Petrov on that ice. He just couldn’t seem to get it together. None of them could. It was like Vadim was the bellwether, and as Petrov goes, so goes the team.

  She slid a glance toward her sisters. Harper had a death grip on the armrest, while Violet was staring at Dante, her expression unreadable. He caught her looking and held up his hands in a gesture of what? Isobel wondered what was going on between those two.

  Dante turned to Isobel. “Look, I’m going to voice something that no one else apparently has the guts to say aloud. You need to go down there and tell your boyfriend to get his stick out of his ass and start earning the shit ton of money we are paying him.”

  “He’s not my—he’s not the only player on the ice, Dante.”

  “No, but he’s the only one playing like he’s stuck in a fucking Siberian labor camp. He’s a mood player. Always has been. And right now, he’s in a bad mood.”

  This was true—and he wasn’t the only one. Everyone was staring at her with doomsday expressions.

  “What the hell am I supposed to do about it?”

  Dante threw his hands up, displaying a lot more Italianness than his buttoned-up persona would have hinted at. “Oh, I don’t know. Be his coach.”

  “I quit, remember?”

  “I unaccept your resignation.”

  “This can’t be fixed with coaching.”

  Violet snorted. “Yeah, why should he listen to you anyway? You don’t have two brain cells to rub together.” This snarky statement focused the attention of the box’s participants on the baby in the family. “Well, she doesn’t. Probably hit with too many pucks like all those idiots out there.”

  Harper and Dante shared a Mom and Dad are curious glance. “What’s going on here?” Harper asked.

  “Nothing,” both Isobel and Violet muttered, like the eight-year-olds they’d reverted to, before returning to ignoring each other.

  Harper smiled thinly at Dante. “Do you mind giving us a minute?”

  “If it fixes the Shitfest on Ice, then not at all.”

  He stepped outside, leaving Harper to divide a look between her two younger sisters. “What’s happened?”

  Neither of them said a word.

  “One of you had better speak, or I’m going to start emptying all the wine from the owners’ box bar in the sink, starting with Violet’s favorite Malbec.”

  Violet pointed at Isobel. “This crazy bitch tried out for the Games and is mad at Vadim because he threatened to shame Team USA in the media if they let her play.”

  Harper’s mouth fell open. “Really? Did you actually make the team?”

  “I would have. Except for Vadim sticking his big Russian nose in and talking to Coach Lindhoff.”

  “I’m sorry, Isobel,” Harper said, touching her arm. “That must have really hurt.”

  “It—it did.”

  Violet shook her head, a sneer on her lips. “You people. This sport has brainwashed you into thinking your lives are nothing without it. How can you be okay with this, Harper? She could have died.”

  “This is her life, Vi.”

  Isobel’s chest filled with gratitude. Harper was nothing but a boatload of surprises lately. “Thank you.”

  “And Vadim really should have tried to persuade her without talking to the coach behind her back.”

  “Yes, he should have,” Isobel agreed, not that she was persuadable, but Harper was checking all the right boxes. This is how family supports each other, Violet.

  “Not that it would have made a damn bit of difference, because she’s always been stuck in the same cycle as me, wanting Dad’s approval.”

  “Exactly—wait, what?” Isobel stared at Harper. “That’s not what this is about. I’m playing hockey for me. Sure, Dad would have wanted me to take any chance I could, but that’s not the issue here.”

  “What is the issue, Iz?” Violet asked with enough sarcasm to fell an elephant.

  “The issue is Vadim thinking he can call the shots about my life and career. I know neither of you think that’s kosher!”

  Harper crossed her arms. “I think there are extenuating circumstances, Isobel. This man saw you crash on that ice. He saw that blade hit your skull, the blood pooling around your head.” Harper seemed to shiver, her cheeks draining of all color, and her next words were barely above a whisper. “He saw you almost die.”

  Isobel shifted in her seat. Examined her nails. Sniffed. “On TV.”

  Harper shook her head. “Not on TV. He was in the arena with everyone else. That’s not easy to forget, especially for a man in love.”

  No, no, that wasn’t true. It didn’t happen like that. When she asked him if he’d seen the game, his answer was one of distance. He’d never said he was there in the flesh.

  Something lurched in her chest. Unlocked in her brain. Still, her mind refused to go the distance. “He—he wasn’t there. He would have told me. Later.”

  Harper continued as if Isobel hadn’t spoken. “I’d never seen Dad so upset. The man wanted to murder everyone—the doctors, the nurses, the coaches. And Vadim. He was there in the emergency room right after the accident, and then the next day he came to see you. Dad ran into him in your room.” She looked off in the distance, her mind returning to that horrific time. “I arrived to find Dad telling him to beat it. It was pretty clear there was bad blood between them.”

  Isobel had thought she’d imagined that. Imagined him.

  Bella, I am here. Wake up.

  Only one person called her Bella. Only one person. Vadim had come to see her in the hospital.

  “Did you talk to him back then? To Vadim?”

  Harper inhaled deeply, thinking back to this other lifetime. “Not the second time I saw him, but the first night—right after we found out you were going to be okay, but you were still in a medically induced coma—he approached me in the waiting room. It was pretty crazy with all the press and your teammates, but Vadim was there, the Russian stare of doom cutting through it all. He came up to me and asked, ‘She will live?’ I mean, super dramatic. I nodded, and it was like this tiny sliver of misery dropped off him. But he still looked . . .” She hesitated.

  Isobel’s heart was beating triple time. “He still looked what?”

  “Like he was suffering. Like he was deeply wounded, but I put it down to his being, y’know, Russian. Then I saw him one more time the next day in your room when Dad was threatening to sic security on him.”

  “He was at the game,” Isobel said, not wanting to dare credit his presence to anything more than a passing interest, but knowing it was more. This was Vadim. The man was too passionate for passing interests. “Oh, God.”

  She stood and headed for the window that looked out over the rink, empty now during the last break. Her stomach was spinning, her head in a fog of confusion. Inevitably, her fingers reached for her scar like a talisman.

 
; It had ruined her life. Built her up. Brought her here.

  To him.

  “He came to see me play and then—then—I heard him while I was under. He spoke to me.” Lately she’d been dreaming about it, dismissing it as inconsequential when she would wake. She turned back to her sisters. “I thought it was my imagination, but, Harper, he was there.”

  Harper nodded, her eyes glossy. “I thought you knew. When we traded him in, I assumed you two had history, but you were being a total pro. Ignoring it in typical Chase fashion.”

  Violet stepped in and gripped Isobel’s arms. “I know you’re scared of what you’re feeling for him. That he’ll turn out like Clifford or every other hockey douche bag, but you can’t assume they’re all the same.”

  No. Vadim Petrov was a man without equal. But that didn’t excuse his most recent behavior, did it? And how would she get over her resentment at this and her jealousy over everything else?

  “He screwed up my chance to win gold.”

  Harper squeezed her hand. “He did it because he loves you. And if I’d known about it, I would have done the exact same thing. Because I love you, too.” Wet eyed, she divided an intent look between Isobel and Violet, stopping on the most recent addition to this crazy fucking family. “After your cancer diagnosis, you decided that you’d take control from here on out. Live life on your own terms. The year of the V, right?” On getting Violet’s nod, she went on. “And it took me a while to figure out that letting Dad run my ambitions down along with one bad experience with an ex should not be enough to keep me in a rut. I had to break this cycle and become the captain of my own fate. We all do.

  “You’re probably not going to play competitively again, Isobel. Neither are you going to be a coach for the Rebels. In fact, after tonight, the Rebels as we know it might be no more. Times are turbulent, and it’s tough to figure out where you fit in. But I’ll tell you where you belong. Here, with us.” She shot a glance at Violet, who was suddenly finding a thread on the carpet fascinating. “And that goes for you, too, Vasquez. Even if we lose the game tonight and the Rebels’ strings are no longer ours to pull, this shouldn’t be what drives us apart. Not when it’s brought us together.”