Alexei

by Rothert, Brenda

  “Did you miss them?”

  I narrow my eyes and glare at her, not sure where she’s going with this. “Look, if you’re trying to get me to say I drink because I miss my mommy, it’s not gonna work. I don’t really remember my parents anymore. And I drink because it’s fun.”

  Graysen’s slight smile is like another sharp, uncomfortable poke. “I’m just trying to get to know you better.”

  “Do I get to ask you questions, too?”

  Her smile widens. “I’m not the one paying for treatment, Alexei.”

  I lean my elbows on my knees, avoiding her probing gaze by looking around her office, where we’re having our first one-on-one session. It’s got a better atmosphere than the plain group session room. Bookshelves are lined with plants, books and photos. A dark gray loveseat on the other side of the room has a pillow in each corner and a neatly folded throw hanging over one end.

  “You like Johnny Cash?” I hike my brows up in surprise when I see a framed album cover hanging on her wall.

  “I love his music.”

  Now I’m the one smiling. “I see what you did there. You love his music, but not him, per se, because he was an addict and a cheater.”

  “You’re putting words in my mouth,” she says smoothly. “I didn’t know him personally, so it’s not really possible for me to have feelings toward him as a person.”

  I shrug a shoulder, conceding her point. “One of my teammates in college had that famous picture of Johnny giving the finger hanging in his locker.”

  “What did you have hanging in your locker?”

  “I don’t remember, it’s been a while…probably a pin-up girl calendar.” I meet her gaze and smile. “Does that give you some insight into me?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Must get lonely, this line of work. Are you single?”

  Graysen’s smile returns. “I’m more concerned about how you’re feeling. Does it make you uncomfortable to talk about yourself?”

  A few seconds of silence pass, and then I say, “Look, I get that some people drink because they’ve been abused or hurt, but for me…it’s not like that. I just like to have a good time.”

  “It’s been a few weeks since you’ve had a drink. Do you miss it?”

  “Not really. I haven’t been in a situation where I wanted to drink. I like to party after games, not when I just woke up from an induced coma in a hospital.”

  “Fair point,” she says, her soft smile returning. “Why don’t we talk about the accident?”

  “Sure, but I really don’t remember much.”

  “Is this the first time you don’t remember everything that happened after drinking?”

  My laugh is laced with a scoff. “I guess not. We used to say in college that if you remembered how much you drank the night before, you weren’t partying hard enough.”

  “And you’re okay with that?”

  “Sure. I call an Uber when I need to.”

  Graysen silently holds my gaze.

  I backtrack a little, her stare making me the tiniest bit uncomfortable. “I mean, usually. The night of the accident, I thought I was okay to drive.”

  “And what do you think now?”

  “More importantly, what does the state of Texas think?” I quip. “I guess I should’ve called an Uber.”

  Graysen makes a note on the pad of paper in her lap. Shit. I probably need to express remorse to be considered a success story here.

  “I’m sorry about it,” I say. “I got kicked off my team and sent here. I trashed a farmer’s barn, not to mention my car. My hip is fucked. It’s gonna take me a long time to rehab and get back to hockey. And when I do go back, I’ll be on my asshole brother’s team.”

  “You and your brother don’t get along?”

  “It’s…complicated. We love each other, but sometimes we fight.”

  “What do you fight about?”

  I exhale hard. “Usually, his opinions about me.”

  “Meaning…?”

  “He thinks I need to take things more seriously. Be more like him.”

  “What’s he like?”

  My lips quirk up in a smile. “Responsible. Serious. Boring. But if anyone else talks shit about him, I’ll beat their ass.”

  “Do you agree with him that you aren’t responsible?”

  “I don’t know…I don’t meet his definition of responsible, but I’m not trying to.”

  “Has it always been this way between the two of you?”

  I nod. “He resents that I didn’t have to work as hard at hockey as him.”

  “Why didn’t you have to work as hard?”

  “I guess it just came more naturally for me. He was always the first one at the rink and the last one out.”

  “But you both made it to the NHL. Are the two of you competitive?”

  “Yeah, but it’s all in good fun.”

  Graysen gives me another long, wordless stare. Even though it’s our first session, I can already read that look. It says bullshit.

  “Aren’t all siblings competitive?” I ask. “Especially when they play the same sport?”

  “There’s nothing inherently wrong with the two of you being competitive.”

  I take a breath in and let it out, thinking about it. “We’re both first line centers. At least, we were. I guess now I’ll be on the second or third line. If I even make it back,” I say, a sudden feeling of doubt creeping in.

  “But you want to make it back?”

  “Hell yeah. I’ve still got some good years left in me. Maybe three or four, at least. And I’m not retiring because I smashed a barn with my car.”

  “Why does that bother you?” Graysen crosses her legs, drawing my attention. She’s wearing a long-sleeved sweater dress with black leggings and boots today, but I can still tell she’s got nice legs. Too bad they’re wasted on a ballbuster.

  “Alexei?” She prods me, a hint of annoyance in her tone. I think I just got caught checking her out.

  “Um…” I shift my gaze back to hers. “I guess because it’s a weak way to go out. And I’m just not ready to retire. I love hockey.”

  “Do you realize your drinking has affected something you love?”

  Graysen’s tone is warm as she delivers this verbal blow, but I still don’t like it. I have to convince her I’m seeing the light, but it’s hard for me to pretend I’m some out of control alcoholic.

  “I guess it has. But wasn’t it mostly just poor judgment? If I had called an Uber, none of this would have happened.”

  “Do you think maybe your judgment isn’t as sound when you’re drinking?”

  I grunt in response, tired of this charade.

  She continues. “You’re not alone—that’s the case for most people.”

  “Have you ever done anything epically stupid after drinking?”

  Her lips tighten into a thin line. “No, but we’re not talking about me.”

  “When do we get to talk about you?” I smile flirtatiously.

  She softly exhales through her nose, as if she’s counting to ten in her head. She’s aggravated with my attempts to disarm her.

  “Do you want to stop for today?” she asks me.

  “Uh…isn’t that up to you?”

  She shakes her head. “It’s always up to the patient whether to attend their sessions. Forcing someone doesn’t lead to progress.”

  “Huh. I didn’t know that. You’re saying I could’ve slept in today?”

  She slides her pad of paper into a folder and offers another tight smile.

  “Let’s try again tomorrow.”

  “I’m willing to stay if you want me to.”

  Graysen stands up. “We’ve still got a group session this afternoon; I recommend you come to it. And we’ll try another one on one in the morning.”

  I can’t help it—I check out her legs again. She’s got curves for days. I’m gonna have to be a little more subtle with my seduction of her, but I don’t mind. Flirting with Graysen is no chore, even if s
he is shutting me down. We’re clearly incompatible, but I can’t deny she’s attractive, in a sexy librarian kind of way.

  I’ve got time, though. Thanks to my fucking hip, I’m in no shape for hockey yet. I’ll keep attending my therapy sessions, including the physical rehab that starts soon.

  She looks walks over to her office door and opens it, dismissing me. I just nod as I walk out, because clearly she’s not in the mood for a wink.

  Graysen’s a mystery I’m going to have to unravel. She doesn’t wear a wedding ring, but what if she’s one of those women who’s married but just doesn’t wear one?

  She’s clearly a good girl. If she’s got a man, charming my way to a quick graduation from rehab is gonna be harder than I thought.

  Harder, but not impossible.

  5

  Graysen

  I drop my bag on the kitchen table with a sigh, and Amelia looks up from the TV show she’s watching.

  “Long day?” she asks.

  “Very.”

  “Want some ramen? I made extra.”

  I smile as I look at the ancient stockpot on our stove. We bought it from an estate sale for $1 in college, and we’ve cooked many batches of ramen in it over the years. Amelia still eats it regularly, but I’m over it. Just the savory, salty smell is a trigger to check my bank balance to make sure it’s not overdrawn. Back in my college days, ramen was a necessity. These days I can afford to spend more than $0.39 on every meal. Maybe not much more, but more.

  “I’ll make something, but thanks,” I say.

  Amelia sets her bowl of noodles down and gets up, walking into the kitchen. “I was craving a burger, but I’m saving for that handbag, so…ramen won,” she admits. “How was Intake Day?”

  I shrug. “Okay, I guess.”

  “Why just okay?”

  I pull the coffee I bought at lunch out of my bag and open it to refill our cannister, then stack the apples I bought into a bowl on the counter.

  “It’s a tough group,” I say, finally answering.

  “How so?”

  A flicker of aggravation passes through me and I frown.

  “You’ll feel better if you talk about it,” Amelia says, sliding up to sit on our kitchen counter. “And don’t pretend like you don’t want to or filter it. This is me. Just tell me what it is.”

  She’s right. We’ve been friends and roommates for so long that Amelia knows me better than anyone ever has. And she’s also a therapist, so she’s good at reading my nonverbal cues.

  I exhale hard and walk over to the kitchen table, sitting down.

  “I felt so ready to start with a new group this morning. When I read the case notes, I knew there would be at least one big challenge in my group. But then I met her, and…it kinda broke my heart.”

  “Those kinds of patients take a lot out of you.”

  I shake my head and then bury my face in my hands. “Then I have a spoiled brat I’d like to drop-kick into another zip code, and a pro athlete with an ego the size of Texas.”

  “It’s Day One, Graysen,” Amelia gently reminds me. “You know the way people present themselves when they first get there isn’t really…real.”

  I nod and sit up straight, putting my hands in my lap. “You’re right. And I like getting the most challenging patients…usually.”

  “Why not this time?”

  I meet my friend’s gaze across our small kitchen. “I’d be ashamed to admit it to anyone but you.”

  Amelia smiles and slides down from the counter, coming over to sit beside me at the table. “Let’s hear it, Gravy.”

  My middle name is Victoria, and once Amelia found out I was Graysen V. Wells, she started calling me Gravy, and I sometimes call her Mimi. She’s definitely my person, so I dive in and admit the one thing that pains me to even admit to myself.

  “Okay, so the pro athlete…he’s testing the waters, trying to flirt with me so he can get on my good side. You know how that goes.”

  Amelia gives me a sympathetic look. “I was doing marital counseling today and the guy was trying to flirt with me. Awkward. But anyway…yes, I know how that goes. Why is it bothering you, though? He’ll stop trying when it doesn’t work.”

  “The thing is…it kind of is working.”

  Amelia’s eyes widen. “What do you mean?”

  I groan, my cheeks warm with embarrassment. “I did and said all the right things to shut him down like I’m supposed to. Changed the subject, ignored things…”

  “Okay, good.”

  “But inside,” I admit, “I was enjoying it. I caught him looking at my legs and my heart started racing. I felt so…flattered that a hot guy would look at me, even though…he really wasn’t.”

  Amelia takes my hand and squeezes it. “Graysen, of course hot guys look at you. You’re gorgeous.”

  I give her a serious look. “No, this guy is…you should see him. He’s…just…”

  “You’ve got a crush on him,” Amelia says gently.

  I cringe. “Which is fucking ridiculous. He’s a patient, first of all, and he’s so arrogant he doesn’t even think he needs help, which he clearly does.”

  “It’s not ridiculous.”

  “It’s unprofessional!” It comes out louder than I meant it to, and my throat is tight with emotion. It’s all I can do not to cry.

  “You’re human,” Amelia says softly. “This happens, you know it does. As long as you don’t act on it—”

  “I haven’t been touched by a man since Chris.” I hang my head, ashamed even though I’m admitting to something that Amelia already knows. “It’s been almost two years. And look at me, I’m like a bitch in heat, getting all warm and tingly over a patient.”

  “Graysen,” Amelia says firmly. “You’re exhausted. You haven’t been getting enough sleep. I’m going to make you some soup—the fancy-ass stuff in a can, not ramen—and we’re going to watch some Chris Farley and Spartan cheerleader skits, and then you need to take a hot shower and go to bed. This is all going to feel better in the morning.”

  I sniffle and smile, squeezing her hand. “You’re right.”

  She gives me a hesitant look before speaking again. “And I see it differently than you do. I think feeling attracted to a man is a good thing for you. So what if nothing can happen between you guys? It’s been a long time since you’ve felt something, for any man.”

  I nod. It has been a long time. What happened with Chris was so devastating that I haven’t even considered opening myself up again, even a little. But that was a conscious choice. And today, Alexei Petrov blew past my self-constructed firewall and stirred up something buried deep inside me.

  I ended our session to send him a message—flirting with me isn’t going to work. But I felt him looking at me during the group session, and I liked it. I also noticed him looking at Gia, and I didn’t like it.

  But I pride myself on being ethical and professional. I won’t risk Alexei’s success in the program by letting any personal feelings get in the way. I’d never forgive myself for that.

  “Maybe it’s time for me to start dating again,” I say to Amelia, taking a deep breath. “You know, find someone it is okay to be attracted to.”

  “I think that’s a great idea! We can set up some online profiles for you this weekend.”

  “Eww, no. I’m not that desperate.”

  “Hey.” She gives me a defensive look. “I do online dating, and I’m not desperate.”

  “I know, I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “I met that engineer Henry online. He was pretty great.”

  I shrug. “I’m not knocking it, I just…don’t think it’s for me.”

  “Really?” Amelia arches her brows, looking skeptical. “Then how do you plan to meet men?”

  “It’s not something you plan, it just…happens.”

  Amelia gets up from her chair. “Not in this day and age, Gravy. We have to give things a little nudge.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “I’ll think about it.”


  “No, you won’t. But I’ll keep nagging and we’ll get there.”

  Amelia is a very persistent nagger when she has her mind set to something. I crack slightly and ask, “Can I do it without putting up any pictures of myself?”

  “Sure, if you want to go out with Hannibal Lecter.”

  “Ugh, pass. Pass on the whole thing.” I give her a pointed look. “How about that soup?”

  “Okay, okay,” she grumbles. “I’m just trying to save you from your attraction to this hot pro athlete, but what do I know?”

  “I’m going to change into sweats, be right back.”

  I get up and walk into my bedroom, eager to stop talking to my roommate about both Alexei and dating. Neither is a comfortable subject for me.

  I’m probably just feeling an initial meeting kind of attraction, anyway. It’ll pass. I’m too sensible to feel a long-term attraction to a tatted-up egomaniac pro athlete.

  At least, I hope I am.

  6

  Alexei

  “Man this is sick. I never thought I’d get to watch an NHL game with an actual NHL player,” Joe says, grinning at me from the couch in one of the Beckett Recovery Center’s lounges.

  I chose the smallest lounge to watch hockey because I wanted to be alone. The Beckett Center is nothing but talking, from morning to evening. But Joe found me, and I’m okay with that because it’s impossible not to like the guy.

  “Isn’t it weird being in the locker room with all those naked dudes? Dicks just waving all over the place?” He looks at me, puzzled.

  “You get used to it,” I say, shrugging. “I’ve been in locker rooms about every day since I was a kid. And none of ‘em but mine are big enough to be waving all over the place, anyway.”

  Joe laughs and slaps my knee. I cringe as pain shoots though my injured hip.

  “Shit, sorry,” he says, getting up from the couch we’re both sitting on. “You want some popcorn?”

  “No, I’m good.”

  He walks over to the machine on a counter in the lounge and fills a bowl with freshly popped popcorn, then gets a bottle of water from the refrigerator.

  “Who needs a cold beer when you’ve got popcorn?” he says, sitting back down on the couch.