Firebird (The Firebird Trilogy #1)

by Jennifer Loring

  Alex laughed and pushed his sleeve down. “Amazing biceps, da? Do go on.”

  Her cheeks flared red. “I, um…” She stared at her plate. Flustered but giggling.

  He lifted his other sleeve to reveal the dove, then raised his shirt so she could see his ribs. Her eyebrows inched up. His mouth fell open when, after glancing around, she curled up the hem of her shirt on the opposite side. Wanting to touch her creamy skin with his tongue, where the letters adhered to the curve of her body. Wondering at the chances they would both, she especially, decide to get script tattoos on their ribs.

  “ʻBecause we choose to live the dream instead of choosing to live the life’”, he read and smiled. “I hope you are. Living your life.”

  She flushed again. “Doing my best. I guess the third surgery went well, then.”

  “Da. They did a tendon graft to strengthen them a little more.”

  “Well, you look good. A little thinner, though.”

  “It was rough for a while. Wasn’t eating much, in a lot of pain. I was working out the entire time, but I’ve lost fifteen pounds. Didn’t have fifteen pounds to lose. And I can’t squat until I heal, so I had to get used to bench-pressing. I sound like the most obnoxious, boring meathead right now, da?”

  Stephanie snickered. “No. I miss this. Talking.”

  “Me too,” he said softly. “Oh, I applied for my green card.”

  Her eyes sparkled. “You’re becoming a citizen?”

  “Yeah. If I end up retiring, obviously I can’t renew my O-1. And I want to stay.” He thought about touching her hand but kept his in front of him. Her reaction yesterday was all the indication he needed she hadn’t forsaken him. Still, they must rebuild the proper way, not by jumping into bed despite what his body hungered for.

  He didn’t know how, or if, they could do that in a few days. But he’d give it everything he had.

  They gazed at each other. So much to say but for now, their eyes did the talking.

  Stephanie smiled. She reached across the table, emphatic in avoiding her glass of beer.

  His phone jangled in his pocket. He pulled it out halfway and peeked at the number. “It’s my agent. I’m so sorry; I’ll be right back. Excuse me.” He grabbed his cane and limped outside into the blinding midday sun. “Danny,” he said into the phone, “you have the worst timing in the world.”

  “Catch you in the middle of a date or something?”

  “Kind of. I’m in Buffalo right now. With my ex.” How awful the word tasted in his mouth. He almost spit it out.

  “Didn’t you get off bed rest yesterday?”

  “Yeah. It was that important.”

  “She dying or something?”

  “No, mudak. I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

  “You? Married? Christ, now I’ve heard it all. Listen, ESPN wants a sit-down with you for E:60. They’re putting you on the cover of the Body Issue, you know. So let’s do this, all right? Talk about your plans for the future.”

  Right now, I have only one plan. “Set it up and let me know. I have to go, Danny. I’ll talk to you soon.” He shoved his phone back into his pocket and returned to the table, where Stephanie was gnawing on a wing. “Sorry. Apparently he thinks I need to go on ESPN and talk about my injury.” He pointed his index finger at his head and mimed pulling a trigger. Not so funny if she knew what he’d done. “And did I mention Emporio Armani wants me to model underwear?”

  “Really.” Stephanie patted a napkin over her mouth. “I’d love to see that shoot.”

  Their gazes locked. He darted his away.

  “Do you think that’s something you’ll do now? Modeling?”

  “I don’t know.” He laughed a little. “Reality has started to sink in, but I still think of myself as a hockey player. I wear Armani underwear anyway.”

  “I…know.” Her cheeks reddened again.

  He cleared his throat. Heat surged through him. Burning from the inside.

  “I need to ask you something.” She eyed the remaining wings, glanced away, then changed her mind and grabbed one. “Why are you really here?”

  He set a wing on his plate. “I’m sorry?”

  “You’ve changed. A lot.”

  Was that good or bad? Either way, it was probably thanks to his meds. He took a nervous gulp of cream ale and waited for her to go on.

  “I was afraid you came to say good-bye. For good.”

  If she only knew he’d come to spend his life with her. But she would. Soon. “What?”

  “You’re not distant, but you’re not you. There’s something else going on. You can barely look at me.”

  “Goddamn journalist.” He laughed.

  “What are you hiding, Alex? You said in your email you needed to tell me something.”

  He took a considerable swig of beer. “I know I’m asking a lot for you to trust me, but I promise you, I will tell you everything. Soon.”

  Stephanie gave him a guarded look. He couldn’t blame her for protecting herself. He understood her caution all too well, even if it tethered her to the past, to the pain he had caused.

  “Come on, let’s get out of here.” He threw some bills on the table, stood, and unfolded his cane, then held out his left hand, forgetting for a moment to play it cool. He could not force his way in this time. She must unlock the door for him. He jammed his hand into his pocket. Stephanie’s expression grew warier, but she followed him.

  ***

  They walked along the Canalside boardwalk, his cane thumping against the wooden planks. The USS Little Rock floated atop Lake Erie on their left, and he sighed a little when he spotted First Niagara Center across the street. Stephanie tracked his gaze with her own.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Just wonder what things would be like if they hadn’t traded me.”

  “We probably wouldn’t have crossed paths again. And we wouldn’t be here right now.”

  “That’s true.” He skated his fingertips over the back of her hand, pretending it was a casual accident. “Funny you ended up here.”

  “Funny they were the first people to call me.”

  “Synchronicity,” he said. “Meaningful coincidence. Jung said life isn’t a series of random events but rather an expression of a deeper order.”

  “You really just quoted Jung.”

  “I’ve always found him fascinating.”

  Stephanie trained her gaze straight ahead. Was it as hard for her to be this close to each other and not touch? “You’re still everywhere here. I think they were hoping the Earthquakes would buy you out someday and they could afford to re-sign you. I just had to get out of Seattle.”

  “I don’t blame you.” He flipped his sunglasses onto the top of his head. “I wish I hadn’t been such a big reason for it, though.”

  Sunlight glinted in her hair grown into a short bob with wispy bangs, turning it platinum and emphasizing her freckles. She tilted her head. “You really came all the way out here to see me?”

  “Why is that so hard to believe?”

  “I don’t know. Six months is a long time.”

  “So is eight years.”

  “Good point,” she murmured. “Uh-oh. Incoming.”

  A horde of people, children to adults, had gathered to whisper, point, and squeal with glee when they recognized him. Impossible for a six foot five man with a cane to go incognito.

  “Mr. Volynsky?” asked a girl with chestnut ponytails and a Gladiators shirt, the first brave soul to break the debate as to whether they should approach him. “Aleksandr Volynsky?” Her voice had already risen an octave.

  “Yes. What’s your name, sweetheart?”

  “Hailey. Would you sign my shirt?”

  He glanced at Stephanie, who winked. “I’d love to, Hailey.”

  She jumped up and down and begged her mother for a pen. The woman produced a Sharpie from her purse.

  “She’s the only girl on her team,” her mother said. “And she adores you. She was heartbroken when you left. Li
terally in tears.”

  “Mom.”

  She couldn’t be more than ten. Their child would have been eight already. He would’ve wanted a little girl like this.

  He finished signing and handed back the pen. “What position do you play?”

  “Left wing, like you.”

  “Atta girl.” He tousled her hair. “It was very nice to meet you, Hailey.”

  “Oh! Can we get a picture? Please?”

  “Hailey, Mr. Volynsky was hurt, remember? He can’t kneel for everyone who—”

  “No, no. It’s fine.” A full two feet taller than the kid, he crouched and put an arm around her. His tendons griped, but he smiled when Hailey hugged him as if he were a giant teddy bear.

  “Thank you, Mr. Volynsky!”

  “You’re very welcome.” He pushed his weight into the cane as he rose. “And you can call me Sasha.”

  Her eyes became saucers. “Thank you, Sasha.” She dashed back to a group of children, pointing at her shirt and screaming, “Look! Look!”

  A substantial crowd had gathered, people pointing cameras and phones at him and jostling each other for position in the spontaneous autograph line. Home at last.

  “Go on,” Stephanie said. “I can wait.”

  Nearly an hour later, he excused himself and rejoined Stephanie, who was staring out over Lake Erie. The lake breeze rustled her hair, and he marveled at the way something as simple as a T-shirt, cutoffs, and beat-up Chuck Taylors could be so stunning on her. Time and self-awareness had washed him clean of the obsessive need to place her on a pedestal for which she hadn’t asked, but it had rendered her no less beautiful.

  When she peered over her shoulder and smiled, his remaining broken edges began to soften into the shape of her. “There you are. How was the impromptu autograph session?”

  “It’s been a while.” He shook out his hand. “For that many people at once, anyway.”

  “That was a sweet thing to do, Alex. It’s only been a year since they lost their captain. You can’t be replaced so easily.”

  “I hope not.” He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. Her cheeks flamed crimson. He let his hand fall away, fighting the compulsion to trace his thumb over her beautiful lips.

  “Seeing you with those kids made me realize…” She looked away, toward the water.

  “What?”

  “You would’ve been a great father. If things had turned out differently.”

  The way she bit her lip aroused an excruciating desire to kiss her. Alex shoved his hands into his pockets and curled his fingers around the box. “Steph, you don’t have to say that just because—”

  “No, I do, because I know what you thought. I didn’t think you were adult enough to handle that kind of responsibility. But you wouldn’t have been seventeen forever. Look at you now.”

  He said nothing, though a million questions chased through his brain. Sometimes, nothing was the only suitable response.

  “Ice cream,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Let’s get ice cream.” Stephanie closed her hand around his wrist and dragged him to an ice cream cart.

  With a strawberry cone for her and chocolate for him, they watched boats cruise across the lake as the sun began its gradual descent. Pink and orange saturated the water like spilled paint.

  “Nice sunset. Let’s get a picture.” Alex held out his phone, and they both stuck their tongues into their ice cream as he clicked the button. “Perfect.”

  She laughed and nudged him with her hip.

  “I’ve gotten used to the idea, mostly,” he said as he relaxed against the railing. “Not ever skating again.”

  “I don’t believe that. You may not be able to play anymore, but you’ll put on skates again. I know you will.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “When you set your mind to something, you don’t give up. Ever.”

  “Are we still talking about hockey?” He tapped the chocolate ice cream against her nose.

  “Hey!”

  Without thinking, Alex flicked his tongue out to lick it away. “Sorry. You had a little something…” I shouldn’t have done that.

  She tipped her head and smiled. Her breath whispered across his lips. The scent of apple perfume wafted from her skin. His pulse thrummed, his muscles as taut as guitar strings he wished her to pluck. He closed his eyes. The box in his pocket bumped against his thigh.

  “You’re dripping on my shoe,” she said.

  “Oh…” Splotches of melted chocolate were soaking into her sneaker’s black canvas. “Oh. Der′mo.” He ran his tongue along the edge of the cone. “I’m sorry.”

  Grinning, she dabbed his hand with a napkin. “Come on. Come to my place.”

  He gazed at her, at the pink lips that would taste of strawberries and sugar. “Okay,” he said and let her take his hand.

  ***

  Stephanie

  “Look at this view.”

  “Oh, come on. You get to see Mount Rainier from your window. I get Lake Erie.”

  “It’s pretty in its own way. I miss it.”

  Stephanie carried two tumblers of ice water with lemon into the living room. “Did you see this?” She pointed to the evening paper on the coffee table, folded to the sports section. Alex limped over and eased himself onto the couch. She picked up the paper. “Listen to this.

  ‘Former Gladiators Captain Aleksandr Volynsky Delights Fans with Surprise Appearance. Aleksandr Volynsky, the Gladiators’ mercurial young captain until last June when he was traded to the Seattle Earthquakes, made a surprise appearance at Canalside on Saturday. The left-winger, whose superstar career was tragically cut short last December after a horrific accident severed three of his tendons including his Achilles, signed autographs and spoke with fans for approximately one hour.’“

  “I sound so nice. You sure you didn’t write that?”

  “I’ve been with you all day. And you are nice.”

  “Shh. Don’t tell anyone.”

  Stephanie laughed and sipped her drink. “I read about what you did for that boy and his family.”

  “He was such a brave kid. When his mother emailed me the next morning to tell me he had died…” Alex’s eyes teared. He rubbed his mouth. “They buried him in the jersey I brought him.” He scrubbed his hands over his face, but his eyes were red. “Ah, shit. It’s still hard to talk about.”

  Stephanie, her lips quivering, patted his knee. “You gave him his wish. His last day on Earth was a good one because of you.”

  “I hope so. And I’m sorry about your dad, for whatever it’s worth.”

  “Thanks.” I’m not. She pondered the condensation trickling down her glass. “Show me.” She nodded toward his foot, and the color drained from his face. “It’s been eighty degrees since you got here, and you’ve been wearing pants. Not that I’m complaining about you showing up in a suit. But I know you’re doing it because you don’t want me to see it.”

  “It’s ugly.”

  “There isn’t a single part of you that’s ugly.”

  His eyes watered again. “We both know that’s not true.”

  “We’ll talk about that later. Did I ever think this was ugly?” She inched closer to him and skimmed a fingertip over the scar on his cheek.

  While he didn’t quite flinch, he drew back a little and lowered her hand. “No,” he murmured.

  No, I don’t think it’s ugly or no, don’t touch me? “Please, let me see it.”

  He sighed, pulled up the leg of his jeans, and pushed down his sock. The thin, pale scar formed a large L lying on its side above his ankle. Stephanie gauged it with one fingertip, and Alex tautened at her touch. He’d taken good care of it, unlike the one on his face. That one hadn’t ended his career and possibly their relationship.

  He readjusted his clothing. “I should get back to the hotel. My foot is aching. But I had a great time today.” He finished his drink and, using his cane, boosted himself up.

  She trailed him to
the door. “I have a hockey game tomorrow night. If you want to come. I didn’t know if watching hockey would upset you, or…”

  “No.” He smiled. “Of course I’ll go. I’d love to. Do you want to do something beforehand?”

  “Alex.” She looked at the floor, then at him. At the conflict in his eyes, the longing. “I bailed on my father’s funeral. You know it’s hard for me to trust people. Men in particular.”

  “You’re letting me see you. That’s a start.”

  “I’m afraid, Alex. I can’t go through that again. Not with you of all people.”

  “I understand.” He stared at the cane. The reminder.

  “Alex, what is it? What’s really going on? Are you sick?”

  The alarm in his eyes confirmed her fears. The “personal stuff” he had alluded to, “mostly not good”…her mind whirled like a carnival ride with the nauseating possibilities. “Tell me.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Soon. I promise.” He shook off the web of sadness. “I…God. I know I’m acting weird. This went a lot differently in my head. But there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

  The strange ambiguity between them lingered. She touched the spot between his thumb and index finger, barely a touch at all. She had burned up in the madness of being in love with him. But what remained was love itself, stripped of its pretty veneer and laid bare for the investment, the toil, it was. It was not enough to say the words, not anymore.

  His eyes glittered, and one corner of his mouth bowed. “I’ll call you in the morning.” He slipped a hand into her hair and pressed his lips to her forehead. She closed her eyes. His warm breath kissed her mouth when his lips would not.

  “It will always be you,” he whispered.

  When she opened her eyes, the beautiful, broken love of her life was hobbling down the hall.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Stephanie bounded into the elevator with enthusiasm she’d attempted to curb by reminding herself that Alex had thus far not been forthcoming. She could not abide secrets after a childhood built on them, though guilty of so much duplicity herself, and mentally inventoried all possible relationship deal-breakers. Startled to be contemplating a third go-round in the first place.