Firebird (The Firebird Trilogy #1)
Page 33
Flash bulbs. Dozens of people shouting his name. He craved the attention, regardless of his claims to the contrary. He had married a journalist, after all. And they’d never refuse a story from him. A perfect symbiosis.
He grasped her hand and navigated the crowd. He had stopped using the cane last month, though he would always walk with a slight limp. “Guys, I’m serious. I’m not answering any more questions right now. We’ll hold another conference when we’ve reached an agreement.”
They broke through and out of the building, the dank and chilly air imbued with the scent of impending rain as they ducked into the Mercedes and made their getaway.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
He gave her a half-cocked smile. “You like surprises, right?”
“Alex, that’s kind of a big deal. A huge deal, actually.”
“Don’t be mad, milaya. I didn’t want you to worry about it.” Alex squeezed her knee. “I know there will be a lot of meetings and whatever. But we have more important things to think about.”
“It’s an amazing thing to do for a team you hated.”
“They deserve a shot. They’re already held back by being where they are. It’s not Pat’s fault or the coach’s fault, and it’s not the players’ faults. Just the commissioner and some rich asshole.”
Stephanie tugged his ear. “You’re doing a good thing. I’m proud of you. I hope the Players’ Association sees how this benefits everyone in the long run.”
“Me too. Thank you for supporting me in this.” He held his hand over his heart. “And I promise I will make no other decisions without consulting you first.”
“That’s more like it.”
He grinned.
“Let’s do something fun. I have an idea. And no, I’m not telling you what it is. Just drive.”
“ʽJust drive’? With no idea where I’m going?”
“Payback’s a bitch. Now go where I tell you.”
“So sassy. I like it.”
He might not like where they were going. But of all he had conquered in the past year, this was the foe she most wished to see him defeat, and to be by his side when he did.
***
Aleksandr
A giant Christmas tree formed the outdoor rink’s centerpiece, and red-cheeked couples glided across the ice, hand in mitten-clad hand. Children darted between them, fell and, their laughter pealing like bells, got right back up.
Alex sat on a bench outside the rink, a pair of rented skates in hand. Stephanie had already put on hers, displeased she’d had to go up a size thanks to her swollen feet and ankles.
“I don’t know.” A full year had passed since he last wore skates. His guts knotted, and all he could think of was pain. Blood. Maybe he wouldn’t know how to skate anymore. It should be like riding a bike; muscle memory would take over, the way it had when he began playing piano again. Especially for someone who had skated for two decades.
“Hey.” Stephanie folded her hands around his. “We don’t have to do this. I just thought…”
Alex lifted his face to the cold breeze gusting across his cheeks. The tree lights twinkled as Christmas music streamed from the PA system. Blades scraped over the ice with the familiar carving sound that had once ignited his competitive spirit.
Always do what you are afraid to do.
“Yes. We do.” Alex took off his shoes and inched his right foot into the skate. Fear jabbed at him, along with genuine nerve pain as he slid the skate over his heel. He tightened and tied the laces, then repeated the process with his left skate.
Stephanie stood and held out her hand. “I believe in you, Alex.”
He placed his hand in hers and rose from the bench. They clunked to the door, each step sending a dull throb through his foot. He stared at the slick white surface. Like a phantom itch, his feet craved ice beneath them once more. To be where they belonged.
“Ready?” She stepped out and opened her arms to him. He couldn’t help but laugh. His wife, so much smaller than he was, holding him up as she’d promised to do.
“What?” She crinkled her nose.
“I know you’re a hockey player too, but if I fall over, I’m going to crush you both.”
“Get out here. This’ll be easy in comparison to your press conference.”
He rolled his eyes. “Don’t remind me.”
“And maybe it’ll help you learn to dance again.”
“Oh, I can dance, devochka.” He wiggled his hips, and his heart soared when she burst into laughter.
“Come on, snake hips. You got this.”
Alex took a cautious step over the threshold. He gripped the sides with his gloved hands, a child making his first tentative strides onto the pond twenty-two years ago. Stephanie skated backward, beckoning him.
He wobbled. His right foot insisted he could not do it; he would make a fool of himself after years of skating being second nature. He would fall.
He would fail.
Alex pushed off and coasted toward her, his fears dissolving as he found his balance and instinct kicked in, his muscles eager to propel him over the ice. She continued to back away until they stood at center ice, beaming as she pulled him against her round belly. Their little girl, Anya Aleksandrovna Volynskaya, would make her debut in three months. The most incredible gift Stephanie could have ever given him, though she regretted letting him name her.
“Oh.” Alex set his hands on her stomach and grinned at the gentle thump against his palms. “Hello, Anyechka. My baby girl is kicking.”
“She’s getting ready to play soccer with her daddy.” Stephanie put her mittened hands on his cheeks and kissed him. “You did it. You skated again, like I knew you would.”
“You were right. You’re always right. I’m supposed to get used to saying that, da?” He kissed the tip of her cold nose, then the lips he so adored.
“Got you trained already. Go me.”
“You’ve had me trained for years. Jerk.” Alex, smiling, secured his arms around her waist. “I love you.”
“I love you too. Loser.” She stuck her tongue out, then yanked on his hand. “Come on. Skate with me.”
He sailed after her, getting his skating legs under him despite the pain that would prevent him from playing hockey ever again. He set his dream free, finally, that afternoon beneath the Christmas tree. Because sometimes, love was enough.
The End
Acknowledgements
Barbara Miller, the SHU romance writers, Tim Waggoner, Kristina Butke, Christopher Shearer, Zachery Bergquist, Jessica Loring, Eric Wellwood, the National Hockey League, Al Barerra, A. A. Milne, the Association for Applied Sport Psychology, and Allie Brosh.
About the Author
Jennifer Loring’s short fiction has appeared in numerous magazines, webzines, and anthologies. DarkFuse published her novella Conduits in 2014, and her debut novel, Those of My Kind, was published by Omnium Gatherum in May 2015. Jenn is a member of the International Thriller Writers and the Horror Writers Association and holds an MFA in Writing Popular Fiction from Seton Hill University. She lives in Philadelphia, PA, with her husband, their turtle, and two basset hounds.
Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/JenniferTLoring
Twitter:
https://twitter.com/JenniferTLoring
Website:
http://jennifertloring.com/
Goodreads:
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1493991.Jennifer_Loring