Chapter Nineteen

 

Two weeks later

 

My feet throbbed and my eyes felt like they’d been rubbed with grit. It had been a long haul back from Moscow with a three-hour delay in New York City.

Harmony and I had found a new apartment—a nice place in a gated community and with a municipal pool—and I wandered in and dropped my purse on the sofa. No need for IKEA shopping, it had come fully furnished.

I was glad to be alone. Harmony was spending time with family, leaving the apartment silent and still. It was just what I needed. Being sociable wasn’t high on my priority list right now and it had taken all of my energy to be polite to the passengers—pasting on my work smile had taken more effort than it usually did.

Vadmir had journeyed back from Moscow the previous week. His flight had been crewed by the opposite shift so our paths hadn’t crossed. But I knew he’d arrived in Florida seven days ago, that he’d had his usual first class seat and there’d been no delays.

I kicked off my shoes and ran a bath, tipping an entire bottle of spiced apple foam into the cascading water. I ached all over, inside and out. I didn’t think it was possible to actually have physical pain from acute disappointment, but that was what had happened to me. Every time I thought of Vadmir my chest ached and it became an effort to breathe.

He hadn’t called. He’d said he would, as soon as he arrived in Orlando, but he hadn’t. We’d made plans, plans for dinner, Miami, movies. Why the hell had he said it if he hadn’t meant it? Why the hell hadn’t he picked up the phone?

Bastard. They were all the same, men.

I stripped, hung my uniform up and piled my hair on the top of my head. I sank into the steaming water, my limbs sagging as I rested back and let the bubbles rise up to my chin.

I didn’t have Vadmir’s personal number so I couldn’t call him, but even if I did, my pride wouldn’t allow it. No, I wouldn’t go chasing some hockey player who thought he could have any woman he wanted. A man who said things he didn’t follow through on. It was just as well I’d taken what I’d needed from his hot body when I’d had the chance.

Closing my eyes, I sighed. Memories of us together besieged me. Whenever I had a quiet moment. I could picture him—his handsome, angled face laughing, teasing, frowning…coming. I could hear him, that raw, mysterious language of his that seemed to rumble up from his chest and did funny, fluttery things to my belly. I’d adored the way he whispered to me, his breath hot on my cheek and his words full of sinful suggestions. Sometimes I could even taste him, smell him, and it didn’t take much for me to remember his touch, the way he could make me feel, the way he could make me come.

Tears formed behind my closed lids, escaped and trickled down my cheeks. I hated myself for crying over a man I’d known for such a short space of time. That I was so weak I’d let myself fall for charm and good looks. It wasn’t who I was. I was Samantha Headington, glamorous, independent woman of the world. Men didn’t get to me, especially not full-of-themselves hockey players who broke promises.

Hockey.

An idea formed in my mind. I wanted to see Vadmir but I didn’t want him to see me. I needed to remind myself what he looked like. Sure I could Google him, online there were plenty of pictures of him on and off the ice, but I needed to see him in action. See if he was still the same person I thought I knew and make sure he really was back in the country and it wasn’t some imposter. Maybe I’d see him and instantly understand why he hadn’t called.

I’d get myself a ticket to a Vipers game. Yes, that was what I’d do. I’d sit hidden in the audience somewhere and watch him do his stuff. Hockey was of little interest to me and I was sure once I saw him, doing his job, it would put things straight in my mind. We weren’t meant to be together. We were too different. That was just how it was. I should move on, I would move on. Perhaps I’d even see if I could switch flights so I didn’t have to listen to passengers speaking Russian anymore, because that just reminded me of him. Memories of him hurt, they were too acute.

After drying and pulling on Calvin Klein sweats and t-shirt, I went onto the Viper homepage to find out when their next game was. Luckily it was the following evening, I wasn’t due to fly until the day after and it was a home fixture. Perfect. I’d strike while the idea was still fresh in my mind.

I didn’t have a season ticket so I had to call the box office hotline. It took a bit of time but eventually I had a seat in the home crowd, one at the back, but that suited me just fine. All I had to do now was get through it, then I could wash my hands of Vadmir Arefyev, slot him into the ancient history file in my heart and put it all down to experience. I wouldn’t be dating dumb jocks again. That was one thing I was sure of.

 

 

The sun beat down on the outer skin of the Vipers’ rink, the glare of the red paint dazzling in the evening light. I’d worn jeans and I had a jacket with me. But outside I could already feel perspiration tickling my armpits and cleavage. I knew, though, that once inside it would be cool. Hopefully not as cold as the Sokol rink, because that had been positively frosty. Even more so when Alena had arrived and treated me to her Medusa stare.

As I walked in and took my seat, neatly tucked high at the back with no danger of being recognized by anyone on ground level, I thought of Alena. She’d been beautiful and wounded. Much as she’d been furious and upset that first time I’d seen her talking to Vadmir, the second time we’d met, at the apartment, she’d looked shocked to the bones, as if her world had fallen apart. The elevator door had opened and she’d seen the man she loved—which I presumed she did as her reaction to me was so intense—with another woman. If that had been me the earth would have shifted, my heart would have broken in two and I would have felt sick to my guts. It had happened in my life, once. I had loved someone who didn’t love me. He’d loved another and was happy to string me along as a plaything for months. But that was years ago and it hadn’t happened again since. I wouldn’t allow it to.

A drum roll suddenly boomed around the stadium. The lights dipped and spotlights flashed over the ice highlighting the blue and red lines in a frenzied display. The fans went wild, screaming and shouting. My ears rang with the noise of it. The mascot, an awkward looking alligator, raced around the edge throwing candy over the Plexi and creating even more turmoil.

I yanked the zipper on my jacket up to my chin and pulled the black beanie I wore lower over my ears. The drum switched to rap music, Eminem I thought—shout-singing about pumping it up and going down. The crowd clapped in time to the beat. The man in front of me repeatedly punched the air.

The players streaked onto the ice. Like arrows releasing from a bow the home team dominated the rink. Flashes of red and white, they held their sticks high and waved to the crowd, completing a super-fast lap of honor.

I strained to see over the man in front of me who now had both arms held aloft and was waving frantically. I could just about make out the names on the back of the players’ jerseys printed in bold black lettering. It was impossible to see faces clearly, they had helmets on with visors and I was too far away.

The opposition raced on in blue and green, the Canucks, and spread out around the stadium. I spotted Lewis, the team captain, speaking to a ref and then dashing off to converse with a couple of players including the goalkeeper.

He turned, the goalkeeper, and adjusted his bulky padding, giving me chance to read his name. Reed. So it wasn’t Harmony’s night of fun playing today after all.

The music came to an end but the crowd still roared. It was as if they were impatient for the game to start and they couldn’t wait another moment.

But there seemed to be some issue that Lewis wasn’t happy with and waiting was the only option for the fans. He’d skated over to the boards and was talking with a coach who was nodding furiously.

I glanced up at an enormous screen that had previously been showing past Viper goals. It was now running through player stats. I didn’t even have time to read any of Logan Taylor’s details when Vadmir Arefyev’s face filled the screen.

My breath lodged in my throat. I clenched my fists and shoved them into my pockets. Seeing his face, huge like that, and with a mean, determined expression had caught me off guard. Sure I’d come here to see him, but…

I didn’t read the details of his height and weight and number of Vipers games he’d played and points he’d scored. I just looked at those ice blue eyes, eyes I thought I’d known so well, eyes that had gazed at me full of lust, teasing and affection.

I swallowed, tore my gaze away and checked out the action on the rink.

Play was finally about to start.

The puck dropped. Lewis was first to claim possession, snatching it away from a Canuck and then turning his back on him and racing toward the left wing. He passed it on and then received it back in the hook of his stick.

Already I was struggling to keep up with the little black disc. The Vipers shot it between themselves so quickly, always evading the opposition and tapping it left to right as they moved.

The player closest to me had the puck trapped up against the boards, a Canuck tried to steal it but the Viper sent it safely up the wing. Another caught it but he was rammed in the chest and crushed into the Plexi. The name Arefyev splattered up against the clear barrier.

I gasped and clasped my hands to my mouth. The entire length of the rink had shook with the power of that barge. Surely that must have done some serious damage to Vadmir. Would the ref stop play?

No, and it seemed it hadn’t done him any damage. I thought he might collapse, need medics, but Vadmir simply shoved at his opponent, shoulder-charged him out of the way then shot the puck to Taylor who was waiting in the center.

My attention was glued on Vadmir now. He was all I could look at, all I wanted to watch. The puck was no longer of interest to me. He hung around the goal, protecting it, a layer of defense between center ice and Reed. He skated backward as quickly as he went forward, often taking the puck behind the goal and then shooting it back up the wing, always with absolute precision and lightning-fast skill.

“Neat backhand,” the man in front shouted to his neighbor when Vadmir sent the puck shooting left and it was passed to the center.

“Yeah, thank fuck Arefyev is on ice again,” came the reply. “Really fucking missed him keeping danger out of the zone.”

I’d missed him, too. More than I wanted to admit because that squeezed my heart.

The game continued, but instead of keeping up I stared at the way Vadmir’s jersey hung off his wide shoulders; shoulders I’d gripped, scratched my nails down and had had my thighs wrapped around. A tremble shivered between my legs. He was so damn sexy. If I’d thought coming here would put me off him I’d been mistaken.

He didn’t move, he glided. Darting away from anyone that came close and sneaking in and stealing the puck when it headed his way. He stopped a goal that looked so certain the Canuck fans were already on their feet. Viper fans went wild, chanting his name, clapping their hands. He was their hero.

He gave one brief acknowledgment of this, turning my way and raising his stick in the air then he was all business again, head down, doing his stuff.

I caught my breath, even though I knew he wouldn’t see me in a crowd of hundreds, for a brief moment his face had raised to look at the stands.

I sat down with a bump, hiding behind the man in front. Prickles of heat swarmed over my head, making my scalp itch against my beanie hat.

“Fuck, off-side, off-side,” shouted someone to my right.

I peered down at the game again. An ice battle had resumed. It seemed three Vipers had got into an altercation with a couple of Canucks and they were all shoving at each other. I searched for Vadmir but he was at the opposite end of the rink, back stooped, stick low, just waiting.

“Yeah, knock him out,” I heard someone shout.

The fight was heating up. One Viper was on the floor, another was locked in an arm-grip with a Canuck, twisting and turning on the ice and trying to keep their balance as they tussled and tugged at each other’s jerseys. The Canuck tried to land a punch and failed, and the Viper, who I could now see was Taylor, successfully struck his aggressor’s helmet with a gloved hand. A linesman raced up, whistle in his mouth, but he got too close and was knocked to the ice.

Eminem music started up again, loud and piercing. The crowd erupted, they were alive and loving the fight that had broken out. It didn’t end, they kept on going, bashing against the boards, more players piling in.

Vadmir held back. I kept glancing at him to see what he’d do. Some players, who were waiting behind the boards had their legs over, desperate to join in the ruckus. Coaches were shouting, cameras were flashing.

“Go, go, go,” the men in front of me chanted, punctuating the air with each word.

Suddenly, as quickly as it started, the fight was over. The music stopped and play resumed. Vadmir got a quick touch of the puck and then shot it to Taylor, who still looked disheveled. Taylor did a twist and a turn around three Canucks and then slid the puck home.

The crowd around me burst upward, screaming and yelling in delight. I couldn’t help standing and clapping, too. The joy was infectious.

The lights dimmed, the spots streaked over the ice and wild electric music filled the arena. The screeching beaty rhythm vibrated from my soles through my body.

Vadmir slid up to the goalkeeper and they high-fived.

I found myself beaming. Pleased for him. Pleased for the Vipers. It seemed I had a hockey team now.

Damn it! I wasn’t even interested in hockey.

The game ended five-three. Vipers had won. As I wandered outside amid the swarm of fans their joy was electric. Mine, however, was sapping away. I’d done what I’d set out to achieve, seen the man I thought I’d started a relationship with. But it had left me hollow. If I’d thought seeing him would help I was wrong. Now I was even more convinced that what I’d lost had been something special. He was something special.

But now it was over and I’d never see him again.