TWENTY-TWO
Isobel had spent a good chunk of her life in locker rooms, but she’d never been so grateful to sniff the stink of this one at the Team USA training compound in Plymouth, Massachusetts.
This is it. My last shot.
Only Vadim knew she was here. She didn’t want to tickle anyone’s hopes, or in Harper’s case, judgment. Better to focus on her dream without worrying others would take a dump on it. Even so, when she checked her phone one more time, her heart plummeted at the blank screen. No good-luck messages.
Fine. Let him pout.
“Chase!” Stefan Lindhoff, head coach for Team USA, crashed into the locker room and pulled Isobel into his arms for a bear hug. “Thought you might chicken out.”
Isobel pulled back and punched him in the shoulder. White haired at the age of forty-three, he’d enjoyed an on-again, off-again career in the NHL before he’d found his true calling: yelling at people to haul ass down the rink.
“Screw you, Coach, I’m here to skate. And, uh, screw you.”
He laughed his head off. “You always had a cheeky mouth on ya. Ready to get out there?” He was already walking toward the rink, expecting her to follow him. “So you’ll probably recognize a few of the players from Sochi, and there’s no shortage of talent from the college ranks,” he threw out over his shoulder. “This year the pool is pretty deep.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ve been warned. Look, Coach . . .” She stopped, and he faced her. “I appreciate that you’ve given me a chance here. I know I haven’t played competitively for a while, but I haven’t stopped training. I haven’t stopped believing I could get back here.”
He nodded. “We have your medical records, and the team doctor’s already looked at them. I didn’t know it was so bad, Iz.”
Damn, she was going to lose this chance before she’d even made it to the face-off circle. “It’s just medical opinion. I know what I can do. I know what my body is capable of. Put that waiver in front of me and I’ll sign. This won’t come back to you.”
He gusted out a weary breath. “Let’s see if you can still skate, Chase. Then we’ll figure out how to tie up the legalities in a big red bow.”
Out on the rink, about ten women, all suited up, were skating figure eights on the ice. One of them broke away and raced toward her.
“Chase!” Jen tackled her and held her tight. At this rate, she was more likely to die from overhugging than from a hard check against the boards. “Girl, it’s awesome to see you. How’s the noggin?” She knocked gently on Isobel’s forehead.
“Still attached, Grady. Thanks for the push.”
“Yeah, well, you might not be saying that after I put you through your paces.” She winked. “Coach’s orders, of course. No mercy.”
“All right, ladies, let’s get this show on the road,” Coach said. A couple of assistants skated over, along with a few of the players. Isobel nodded in recognition at each of them, having played with some and kept tabs on the rest as they made their mark in the NCAA and beyond.
“Three full periods.” Consulting a clipboard, Coach started divvying them up into two teams. “I’ll call the shift changes for both. First line is Grady on left, Chase in center, and Jensen on right.”
First line, back in the mix.
This was worth any risk.
Vadim answered the door, gloriously shirtless, as usual. Late in March, but the man cared nothing for the Chicago winter. The world was a better place for it.
His surprise at seeing her was obvious. “Isobel?”
“I got your text.”
“I didn’t—” He shook his head ruefully. “Mia must have sent it.”
His message to her an hour ago had made her smile and given her hope that he might be willing to make peace. On reflection, she now realized that the text wasn’t really Vadim-speak.
Flupocalypse is upon us. Send supplies.
His gaze fell to the shopping bags. “What have you brought?”
“Soup,” Isobel said with a grin to hide her disappointment that the text hadn’t come from him.
His eyes lit up. “In the bread bowl?”
“Of course.”
“You may enter.” Smiling, he took the bags from her.
Mia lay sprawled on the sofa in the big room, gazing out the window at the waves crashing against the icy beach. Gordie Howe was curled up beside her and the large TV showed the Friends crew splashing about in their nineties glory.
“Isobel!” The effort of greeting sent Mia into another coughing fit. “I’m getting better.”
“Sure sounds like it. Where’s your mom?”
“In bed sick. Alexei, too.” She giggled, which turned into more coughing. “Not together, of course.”
As if. Alexei had always struck her as sexless, humorless, and with little to redeem him beyond his loyalty to Vadim and his spaghetti carbonara. But apparently even hard-ass bulldogs could be felled by the flu. Faith in the universe? Restored.
“Back in a sec,” Isobel said, and headed into the kitchen.
Vadim was removing the soup from the bags. He looked so earnest, his big hands wrapped around the small take-out containers as he placed them carefully on the kitchen counter.
He raised his chin. “How did it go?”
She’d flown in late last night, caught a few Zs, and headed over when she got not-Vadim’s text. She knew he didn’t agree with her choice, but she assumed that the fact he was talking to her meant conciliation was on the table.
“Good. I won’t hear back until next week, but Lindhoff said he liked what he saw.”
As had Isobel. Her body had come alive on the ice, her competitive juices flowing with every defenseman rushing to take her down. This was what she should be doing. Not coaching reluctant male players who resented every piece of advice she gave them.
Vadim continued unpacking the soup, though he kept his steel-eyed gaze on her.
“And they’re okay with your medical history?”
“Lindhoff thinks it’ll be fine.” She moved in and rubbed his hard bicep. “I don’t want to fight.”
“Then we will not fight,” he said cryptically.
That was surprisingly easy. “Three of the players are down with the flu.” They had a game tonight, so Dante and Calhoun were understandably concerned about the other players’ health. “Coach might want to play you on the right to take Callaghan’s place and start with Shay on the left. You okay with that?”
He folded his thick-as-oak-branches, gloriously inked arms over that blockbuster chest.
“I’ve played much of my career on the right wing and I am more versatile than Shay. This will not be a problem.”
“I was referring more to the beef you have with him.”
His handsome face scowled. “As long as he passes when I’m open, we will work fine together.”
“Isobel!” Mia called out. “I’m bored, and Vadim doesn’t know how to entertain me.”
“I gave you bone marrow, you ungrateful brat,” he shot back. “Entertainment was not part of the deal. Neither was little dog with big shits.”
“Don’t call Gordie Howe that. He’s very sensitive.”
Isobel laughed. “She sounds better.”
“She’s on the mend. Go sit with her and talk about hockey, but stay several feet away from her germs.” He kissed her forehead, and predictably, she melted into him. “I wish you to stay strong so I can fuck you without conscience after I win tonight.”
“Your. Ego.”
“It is large, yes.” He pulled her flush, giving her a preview of his ego. “I will need a moment to calm it down to less epic proportions. This time shall be spent preparing lunch.” He turned her and pushed her back toward the living room. Sounded like she was forgiven, or Vadim had decided his sexual needs were more important than his disapproval.
Fair enough. They were more important to her as well.
Isobel plopped down on the sofa beside Gordie Howe. “How’s it going, sickie? Bet you’re anxious to get back to New York and on the ice.”
“Ice, yes. New York, meh.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Don’t tell him, but I like hanging with Vad. He’s an absolute hoot, and half the time he doesn’t even realize it! He promised he’d let me play a few minutes of practice with the Rebels when I’m better. Oh, and he also told me you used to practice together years ago. That’s how you met.”
Isobel smiled at how quickly Mia jumped from topic to topic. “Yeah, seems like forever. Another lifetime.”
“My eyes!” Phoebe screamed from the TV.
“Oh, I like this one.” It was the episode where everybody finds out about Monica and Chandler.
“I’m usually too busy for TV, so I’ve never seen this show,” Mia said. “I didn’t expect to like it, but it’s hitting the spot.” She rubbed her dog’s head indulgently. “Gordie Howe likes it, too. He makes happy yelpy sounds whenever Joey opens his mouth.”
Too busy for TV—didn’t that sound familiar. That’s how Isobel’s life had gone, on instructions from her father. No time for anything that wasn’t about getting to the top of her game. Only when she was injured was she able to relax. She hoped Mia wasn’t overdoing it.
The girl’s phone rang and, frowning, she declined the call.
Curiosity piqued, Isobel asked, “Who’s that? A boy?”
“No way.” She bit her lip. “Boys just get in the way, don’t they?”
That’s what she’d thought. But there was no doubt that she’d missed out on . . . fun. “Mia, if you want to have a boyfriend, you should go for that. Especially if he’s hot.”
The girl glanced at her phone. “That was an agent.”
“Wow, already?” Isobel had signed on with her dad’s agent, not that she was ever talented enough to get any significant endorsements, just that one Wheaties commercial after winning silver at the Games. The world had changed in the last few years.
“Yeah, he wants to sign me now. Says he has lots of ideas to take me to the big time.”
“What does your mom say?”
“I’m not telling her. She’d freak out.”
“Then you should talk to Vadim. To be honest, I think there’s going to be plenty of time for that—agents, sponsorships, deals. Right now you should be focused on getting better, getting good grades, and getting into the college of your choice. It’s going to be hard enough once you’re NCAA. You need to make time for yourself, and if you’re worried about endorsements and making money now, it’ll be a distraction.”
Mia considered this. “Do you ever wish you did it differently?”
“What?”
“Any of it.”
Isobel inhaled deeply. “I would have watched more episodes of Friends.”
Another buzz sounded, and they both looked at Mia’s phone again, but it was the other one on the ottoman. Vadim’s, Isobel guessed.
Mia picked it up. “Whoa! Sexting alert.”
Isobel couldn’t help leaning in for a closer look. A text message from someone called Marceline said: Bonjour, Vadim, I am in town next week. Call me. Then, in case the verbal encouragement wasn’t enough, a photo of two very perky breasts with a red heart tattoo on the left one sweetened the offer.
“The Czar of Pleasure strikes again,” Mia whispered with a giggle.
Isobel snatched the phone from her, bile-tinged jealousy climbing her throat. “That’s private. You shouldn’t look.”
Rein it in, dummy. Isobel had no claim on Vadim. If anything, it was better to know that she was just one of several options for him.
“We have soup,” a deep voice intoned behind her.
She dropped the phone like it was a hot coal, then peeked up to find Vadim coming toward them with a tray carrying three soup bread bowls. Like everything else, domestication looked superhot on him.
“Oh, that’s not supposed to be for me,” Isobel murmured. “It’s for your mom and Alexei.”
Vadim put the tray down on the ottoman/coffee table. “There is enough. You will have lunch with us, then Mia will take a nap.” He winked at Isobel. “I must nap, too, to prepare for tonight’s game.”
Heat flushed Isobel’s cheeks. She was fully aware of what a nap with Vadim invariably led to and, with that text message still doing a number on her sanity, she realized that her feelings for the Russian were skirting the edges of falling into a deep pile of shit.
While Vadim made sure Mia had numerous cushions supporting her, Isobel grabbed a bread bowl filled with potato and leek soup, her favorite. The bready container quickly got soggy, so it was best to eat it fast. Pig at the trough was not her most attractive look, but what did she care? Vadim had a French-speaking, buxom playmate—with a heart tattoo on her boob, no less!—coming for a visit.
Once Vadim had Mia settled in with her soup, he picked up his own.
“This is excellent,” he said after the first mouthful. “Better than Alexei’s borscht.”
“Ugh, borscht. The worst,” Mia said with great passion.
“It is the soup of your people,” Vadim said. “You must be respectful.”
Isobel tried to say with a straight face, “Yes, Mia, respect the soup of your people,” which set Mia off laughing, and then Isobel couldn’t help joining in.
Vadim shook his head at their silliness, but Isobel could tell he enjoyed being teased.
“I’ve been meaning to ask, Vadikins,” Isobel said. “What’s with the shirtless thing? Not a fan of the above-waist articles of clothing?” Or just keeping it simple for the quick sext and pic you might need to shoot off to that French-speaking hussy?
Mia giggled. “It’s freezing out, and he insists on walking around like he’s on a modeling shoot.” She touched a finger to his shoulder. “What’s this tattoo for?”
“It is a jaguar, signifying strength and grace. It also eats schoolgirls who do not finish their soup.”
“What about this one?”
“Matryoshka.” At Mia’s querying frown, he explained. “A babushka. Russian nesting doll. Your cultural education has greatly suffered, I see.”
Isobel added, “It signifies many layers.”
“Not for me,” Vadim said. “What you see is what you get.”
So not true. Mia continued asking for the meaning of the tattoos, and Vadim explained when he had gotten each one and why. Isobel enjoyed how easy he was with his sister, their undeniable love for each other making them glow.
“What about this?” Mia asked around a yawn. Isobel tilted her head, wondering which one she meant. Ah, one of her favorites: the skates bursting into flames.
“It represents speed on the ice. Devushka s goryshimi konkami.”
Mia squinted. “What does that mean?”
“You, young lady, should learn your mother tongue.” He took the remains of her bread bowl from her and placed it on the tray. “Now you must sleep. And I must check on the others.”
“I can do that,” Isobel said. Dante was still being an annoying pain in her ass about Vadim’s proximity to the plague, or the “Petrov contagion” as he’d dubbed it, especially since he’d caught it himself.
“You will wait here, Isobel. We must discuss strategy.” He lifted Mia into his arms.
“I can walk, you know, bro.”
“I know, pchyolka.”
Isobel cleared up the tray and put the plates into the dishwasher. When she returned, Vadim was back in the living room, sitting on the sofa.
“They are all asleep. I’ll wake Alexei and Victoria in a while to feed them.” He patted the seat cushion. “You will stay and nap with me.”
Oh, God, what was she doing here? It seemed she was incapable of resisting that blue-eyed stare, those chiseled cheekbones, and that to-die-for tatted body.
She was addicted to Vadim Petrov.
That one night in New York should have been enough to sate her hunger, and if not that, the orgasm against the window a few days later. Napping together was a dreadful idea.
Yet, like a sex-starved zombie, she went to him and settled in while he covered them with a faux fur blanket. There was no missing the part of his anatomy that was opposed to the idea of a power snooze.
“Napping,” she said firmly. “That’s all we’re doing.”
“Yes. Napping.” He kissed her softly, a prelude to so much more than a nap. She sank into him, but he didn’t take it any further and neither would she, not when there were flu survivors likely to wander in at any moment. Kissing was okay, though. Pretty harmless, she insisted to the parts of her that were flirting with self-control.
“Mia’s already getting interest from agents. I think she needs advice.”
“Then give it to her.”
“Her brother’s advice.”
He blew out a breath that ruffled the hair at her temple, close to her scar. “She is too young to be tying herself to all of that. And it’s not as if she will ever want for a thing. Half of our father’s wealth belongs to her.”
“You’re just going to give it to her? Millions of rubles?”
“A million rubles is only twenty thousand dollars. We are talking billions. It is her inheritance, and her father would have wanted her to have it.”
Sure it was Vadim’s to do with as he pleased, but she suspected Victoria would have an opinion here.
“That doesn’t really answer Mia’s problem about an agent. She’s going to be under a lot of pressure and . . .”
“And, what?”
“Promise me you won’t push her too hard. Let her be a teenager. Let her enjoy college and hang with friends and fall in love. Go dancing and watch Friends episodes.”
“This is why I’ve been trying to protect her. Now that everyone knows we are related, she is getting more attention.”
“It was going to come out eventually. I just worry about her. About girls like her.”
Vadim cupped her cheek and stroked his thumb along it. “You missed out on so much, Bella.”
“I suppose.”
“And now you are making up for it, greedy witch.” His hand cupped her ass and pulled her over his body.
She swatted his hand away. “Maybe we should talk.”
“I thought this was a booty call.”
He pronounced it “beauty,” which was sweet, especially as Vadim’s English was excellent and she suspected his mispronunciation was deliberate.
“I came to feed the ill, but now I’d like payment with the deep stuff. I’d like to know more about you and your life in Russia.”
“This is not a good time. I have more urgent needs, and then you can delve into my sordid history when I am weak and depleted. I need to be inside you, Bella.”
She laughed, loving how honest he was. She wasn’t sure she could ever be that honest with him, yet he had become the only person she wanted to talk to. The only person who could understand a tenth of what she was going through. So he didn’t approve of her choice to try out for Team USA, but she knew he would cheer her on if she made the grade.
“You need to sing for the right to give me an orgasm, Vadim.”
“I cannot sing.”
“Then answer a few questions.”
Vadim sighed. Isobel was relentless, and while he admired this attitude on the ice, he was not so enamored of it on unfrozen terrain.
“You may ask questions. I can’t guarantee I will answer.”
“Do you miss your father?”
He wasn’t expecting that. “Yes. He was a difficult man, but he had my best interests at heart.”
“How was he difficult?” She leaned up on her elbow.
“Like yours, he had high expectations. He wanted me to go into the family business. He thought that hockey was just a phase. But when he realized I intended to make it my life, he relented. Or, rather, he ignored it.”
“What kind of business was he in?”
“Telecommunications, tech, energy. A lot of fingers in a lot of tarts.”
She firmed her lips, clearly holding in a smile.
“Did I not say it right?”
“Pies, Vadim. A lot of fingers in a lot of pies.”
He moved his fingers between her legs. “Pies, tarts, it is all warm and welcoming and tasty.”
Grabbing his hand, she placed it outside the blanket, then wagged a finger. “Nuh-uh.”
“I know what you are doing,” he murmured.
“What I’m doing?”
“Yes, you are trying to force me to admit my father had faults so I will be sympathetic toward Victoria.”
“There are two sides to every story.”
Not to this one. “Perhaps she did not like Russian winters or she missed McDonald’s french fries—they are different in St. Petersburg, you know. Perhaps she had a hard time making friends with the wives of my father’s business associates or she did not want to put in the effort. Perhaps my father had an affair or she found someone else she loved more. Yes, there are two sides, but only one of them left me without a mother at the age of ten.”
She laid her head on his shoulder and made circles with her finger on his chest. “When she gets better,” she said, “they’ll go back to New York.”
In her words he heard her judgment: this was his chance to get all the answers he sought, if only he would not be so stubborn. He sighed, knowing the ice was starting to crack under him, yet he wasn’t ready to greet the inevitable cold rush of water.
“Mia is my future. Victoria is my past.”
“Tell me about the first time you met Mia.”
He smiled, though the memory was a mix of pleasure and pain. “It was in a hospital room in New York a couple of months after my father died. Victoria had called the day before.” No preamble, no buildup from the woman who had borne and abandoned him, and he supposed it was better that way. Her reasons for contacting him were blunt. He’d hoped his father’s death would prompt her to get in touch, now that this last barrier to her contacting him was gone. But no, not even that was enough to bring her back into his life.
“Mia looked so weak, lying there. She had only learned who I was that morning. Victoria did not want to get her hopes up until I agreed to come out and be tested as a donor.”
“You didn’t hesitate?”
“No. The blood of my ancestors runs in her veins. There was no choice for me. I was a match, and we went from there.” Angry again, he drew back from her. “My father should have met her.”
“What do you think would have happened if he’d known about her?”
He shifted to face her. “He would have welcomed her into the family. Made sure she wanted for nothing.”
“Maybe fought for custody?”
So transparent. “It would have been his right.”
“And what about your mother’s rights? Maybe she was afraid because your father could buy his way into Mia’s life.”
“He would not have needed to do that. Every girl wants to know her father.”
He could see her clever mind working overtime, seeking another access point to his compassion. She wouldn’t find it. He was all tapped out as far as Victoria Wallace was concerned.
“You said your father might have had an affair, like that was normal. Like your mother should have put up with that.”
“Your mother put up with your father. Though the fact that she is gay may excuse his behavior.”
She sat up. “He cheated on Harper’s mother with mine. He cheated on mine with Violet’s. And I know there were more. But of course, hockey players always defend their own. The ice brotherhood, right?”
“All I am saying is that an uninterested woman in your bed changes the situation.”
“Of course, the woman is always to blame.”
“Your mother is a lesbian! There is fault on both sides there, Isobel.”
She pointed a finger in his shoulder. “Exactly. But my mother’s sexuality didn’t give my father an excuse to bang everything that’s not nailed down. Harper’s mother can’t give him a son, he moves on. My mother can’t satisfy him, he moves on. He knocks Violet’s mom up and abandons her.”
“Yet you loved him.”
Her eyes reflected her hurt. “Yet I did.”
“As I loved my father. For all his flaws.”
She leaned in, her breath soft against his lips. “We can acknowledge they had faults, that they were not perfect, but they were still the men who shaped us. You can forgive him his faults, but not your mother hers?”
Back to this. “People make sacrifices all the time for their children. For the people they love. My father was not perfect, but surely she could tolerate his faults for a few years. Until I was old enough to not care if they were no longer together.”
“He might have cheated on her, and she should put up with that? Is that what you think marriage is, Vadim? One person calls the shots because he has the power? Or because there are children who would probably be better off with their parents apart? Never mind that he’s unfaithful. That he screws around. That he’s unable to resist the women throwing themselves at him because he’s powerful and rich.”
He sensed she was accusing him of crimes he had yet to commit.
“I am not my father, Isobel.” Nor yours.
“That’s not what I meant.” She looked rattled. “Not everything is so clear cut, Vadim. You’ve heard your father’s side of the story. Get your mother’s now while you can.”