TWENTY-FIVE
Vadim let himself in quietly, not wishing to do anything that would wake Victoria. Mia had returned to New York two days ago, where an aunt Vadim had never met would stay with her. She’d already missed too much school, and with Alexei on the mend, Vadim would not have to worry about spending more time than necessary with her mother.
But Alexei couldn’t be here twenty-four hours a day, so Vadim had stopped in to ensure that Victoria didn’t need anything. Merely the actions of a good host. Then he would go see his woman.
On the ice, Vadim’s life was perfect. The Rebels were close to the play-offs, needing only one win out of their next three to guarantee a wild card spot. Two wins would place them in the top three in the division. Tonight it had been four-two against Nashville at home, and two of those goals belonged to Vadim.
Off the ice, his life was not so rosy. In the week since Isobel had heard the news of her decimated dreams, she was not rebounding with the resilience he had expected. Her smiles were beautiful, but sad. Her eyes deep pools, but dull with her pain. Tonight he would see her, comfort her with his body. Tonight he would tell her he loved her.
Knowing the landscape of his rented house well, he didn’t bother to turn on the lights, so he was surprised to encounter an obstacle in his path. What the—?
He switched on a lamp. The obstacle in question was a leg.
And it belonged to Alexei, who sat at one end of the sofa, his face fire engine red, his shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest and revealing a thick pelt. At the far end of the sofa sat Victoria, looking equally flushed, but thankfully still dressed.
Why had he not seen this coming—and how could he go about unseeing it?
“I thought you were sick,” Vadim murmured to both of them.
“I’m feeling much better,” Victoria said, her embarrassed tone pronouncing her outrageous guilt. With Alexei! “Actually, I’ve booked a flight for tomorrow.”
“Good.”
She winced, and he rejoiced in hurting her. But she was brazen now that she had slid another knife between his ribs and cracked him open again. “You played so well tonight. Congratulations.”
“I’m surprised you had time to watch!”
“Do not speak to her like that.”
Vadim stared at Alexei. His employee. His friend. His . . . he did not know anymore.
“She is your mother and deserves your respect.”
His mother placed a hand of restraint on Alexei’s arm. “Let him be angry.”
He did not need her permission. The anger inside him was his right, and it was time she realized this.
“He doesn’t know how hard it was for you, Vika,” Alexei said.
Vika? Since when did Alexei call his mother by such an affectionate nickname? All his pent-up emotion found release now that Mia wasn’t here to curb it.
“How hard it was? My father wasn’t an easy man, but what woman abandons her child?” He rounded on his mother. “I imagine the only reason you took Mia is because she was physically tethered to your body!”
Her eyes grew wet, but he refused to buy it. Where were the tears when this thief of his childhood left in the dead of night?
“I—I’ll be back in a moment.”
When she left, Alexei stood, closed the gap between them, and punched Vadim square in the jaw.
Chyort voz’mi! The old man still had fire in his fist.
He switched to Russian. “You are acting like a brat. You need to hear her out.”
“Hear her lies. Hear how she left me alone.”
“You weren’t alone. I was there.”
Vadim froze. “You were there because my father ordered it. Because your family owed me service.”
Alexei sneered. “Really? That may be how it started out, but I’ve had opportunities to move on. You think I want to stay here and clean up after a sniveling child?”
“I pay you enough, don’t I? Why stay if you hate it?”
“You are so like your mother.” Something like a smile hooked his mouth. “Such drama. That is your American side. She was always so—” He stopped talking, his memories taking him somewhere—or some when—else.
Vadim’s heart pounded. This could not be happening. The old fool had been bewitched. “You were in love with her.”
“Yes.”
“And now?”
His lips curved. “I’m too old to be in love.”
Not too old to indulge your lusts, though. With my mother.
“You watched over me.” Recognition dawned, the knowledge filling him with horror and shame. “For her.”
“I was loyal to your father.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Alexei skewered him with a look. “It is the only answer I will give you.”
He needed more. Anything. The whole sorry tale. “If you know so much about it, why don’t you explain why she left me behind?”
“Because I was a coward.” Vadim turned to his mother, who had just spoken those words. In English, too, because Vadim had made his plea in the language she would understand best. Baited the trap.
This was what he wanted to hear. Victoria admitting her weakness. Victoria down on her knees. Victoria failing.
But even as those thoughts swirled, seeking vindication, he couldn’t grasp at them. They slipped away like waking dreams, impossible to grab hold of in the face of her obvious distress.
“Alexei, I need to speak to my mother alone.”
Alexei looked at his mother, his expression filled with love. Victoria nodded, her power over him undeniable. His so-called right-hand man shot one last look of warning at Vadim and left the room.
“Seems he’s no longer my man, not while you’re here. Perhaps he never has been.”
“He’s always been protective. Of us both.”
“The times he goes away, weekends here and there—is he seeing you?”
Victoria sat, her hands in her lap. “Would you think of that as a betrayal?”
“His life is his own.” Though he never acted like it. Vadim felt foolish for knowing so little about Alexei, and not a little jealous that the man knew how to love Victoria with such generosity.
What else didn’t Vadim know? What else had he chosen to block out?
He sat on the same sofa, a few feet away from her. There was conciliation in it, and the look on her face said she understood. It was the best he could do at the moment.
“I remember the night you left,” he said. He knew this was her tale to tell, but it was his story as well. He needed to expunge it. Confront the pain as that terrified boy remembered it. “There was a suitcase at the bottom of the stairs, and you were running around, frantic about something. You looked so worried, and that made me worried.”
“I was searching for your passport. Your father was on an overnight trip to Moscow, and I knew it was my best chance. I had the tickets for both of us—me and my little ice warrior. I’d put your passport in a drawer under some papers, but it wasn’t there. I’d been planning for three months and now this!” She threw her hands up in the air, as if this horror was happening now.
“Papa came home.” It filtered back to him in fragments. Doors slamming. Adults shouting. Soul-wrecking tears.
“He had found out. He had spies everywhere and somehow he found out. He walked in the door and held up your passport and said, ‘Looking for this?’ and I knew I was done. I’d already asked for a divorce, and he’d said if I wanted it, I would never see you again.”
“So you left anyway?” Gave up just like that.
“No. Your father had one of the staff take you to another room. I told him I’d stay, that we could forget about what had happened, but he refused. He couldn’t trust I wouldn’t try to take you away again. I’d shown my hand, you see. He picked up my suitcase and gave it to one of his goons. Then he ordered me into the car.
“I tried to stand my ground. Dig in my heels, literally. I wouldn’t leave, but he dragged me into the car and drove me to the airport. I didn’t even get to say good-bye to you, my—my—” She pressed a hand to her breastbone. “But I vowed to get back to you. Once in New York, I hired a lawyer, who said I had a good case for visitation. But your father had a lot of power and influence. The fight would be a long slog, but it would be worth it if I could get to see you sometimes.”
Recognition clobbered him. “Then you found out you were pregnant.”
She nodded, every hurt she’d ever endured playing on her face. “There was no way I could fight him, and even if he had given me visitation, he would never have let you out of the country. Not after I’d tried to take you. I would have put up with that if I could have seen you even twice a year—”
“But he would have taken Mia. You—” He couldn’t finish it. She chose her unborn child over the son she left behind.
“Vadim, I’m so sorry. If I thought your father would be reasonable I would have come to some arrangement. But if I had visited you, I would have lost you both. I could never be a mother to either of you. Not properly.”
“But you would be the best mother you could be for Mia.” The sharp lance of her initial confession twisted slightly, as if to let the blood around the wound flow more easily. He needed to shore it up. Choke it off.
He buried his head in his hands. Was knowing better or worse?
A soft hand on the back of his neck soothed. Mothered.
“A part of me died the day I left, Vadim. The rest of me the day I realized I couldn’t see you again. Not until he was gone for good or Mia was eighteen.
“He never hit me. He never raised a hand. But he was a cold man, Vadim. A cruel man. My parents warned me not to be taken in, but I fell in love. I thought I could soften him after marriage, but it was a mistake to think he could change. Men don’t change.”
Even now, she insulted her son, but he couldn’t blame her. Inside he was an immutable block of ice, incapable of seeing beyond the worldview crafted by his father. It is right or wrong. It is black or white. It is love or despair.
“I cannot do this now,” he said. Not without Isobel. She would tell him how to act. She would coach him to the correct response.
Isobel would know what to do.