NINETEEN
“I should leave.”
It was at least the tenth time she’d said that, yet she found it impossible to move. Apparently, she’d checked her spine at the door and now her postorgasmic lethargy kept her pinned to the sofa. The perfect weight of Vadim’s arms around her wasn’t helping her bid to go, either.
Every time she brought up her departure, he kissed her. On her eyelids, her nose, the corners of her mouth. Outside, waves crashed and night descended. Oddly, she felt as if she’d made some peace with Vadim over how they’d parted all those years ago. Not that it changed anything going forward. He was still a hockey player, and she knew all too well that pro athletes always put themselves first. Two cheating college boyfriends and a father who couldn’t keep it in his hockey shorts had skewed her frame of reference.
Her mind returned to the one and only time her father had taken her to an away game, long after he’d given up playing and just after he’d bought the majority share in the Rebels. Barely twelve years old, she’d been excited to have her own room with its pillow chocolates and a minibar fridge—fun-size Pringles!—and especially pleased that it adjoined her dad’s. So cosmopolitan, she’d thought. Big mistake, as she found out later.
A nightmare had jerked her from sleep, and she’d sought out her dad for comfort. But as she approached the door leading to his room, she heard it: the giggle of a woman not her mother. A hockey groupie. Isobel didn’t need to go in or listen further to learn more—her heart knew the score, and in that moment, her all-encompassing love for him cracked. Violet wasn’t on her radar yet, but Isobel understood then what he had done to Harper. What he had done to both his wives. How he took what he wanted because he was a man of reckless appetites and minimal compassion.
He never asked her to lie. At the time, she had thought it was because his infidelity was so accepted by her mother that there was no secret to keep. She saw it differently now, how complicit she was because she knew he would never treat her with such contempt. He might break his marriage vows, but he would never betray Isobel. Only later did she realize that he hadn’t seen her as a daughter. Not really. He had put her in a box that fit his ambition: the son he never had. The son he would mold into greatness.
She sat up, determination in her bones, tugging her sweatpants higher on her waist and pulling her hoodie’s zipper as high as it would go. No more funny business, that zipper pull said. “Really, this time.”
Arrogant Vadim Petrov, a man who had women at every game proposing marriage and more on huge signs held against the Plexi, watched her beneath hooded eyes, so sure of his control over her body. He’d changed into jeans, which, along with his shirtlessness, was an unreasonably unfair check in his favor.
“Yet you continue to stay.”
She opened her mouth to protest—no, really, this time, I must—but was cut off when Alexei walked in with a rolling suitcase, a small figure trailing him.
Vadim snorted. “What did I tell you?”
The dark-haired woman Vadim had snubbed at the Spartans arena in New York stood apart from Alexei, clearly frantic with worry. “Where’s Mia? How is she?”
“She’s asleep and she’s fine,” Vadim said. “Or she will be. There was no need for you to make the trip.”
The woman, with fiery blue eyes like her son’s, shot momma-wolf daggers in his direction. “Excuse me if I don’t take your word for it. Now, I’d like to see my daughter.”
With a disgusted glare, Vadim jerked a hand at Alexei. “Show her.”
Once they’d left, Isobel turned to Vadim. “She’s worried. She doesn’t need your attitude making it worse.”
“I told you before to stay out of it. That hasn’t changed.”
She debated this, but decided that there was nothing she could do. At least, not now. She turned to leave, only to find that Vadim’s mom had returned, her face crumpled with worry.
“Her temperature is 103. I’d hoped to take her to the hotel with me.”
Vadim stood and crossed his arms over his bare chest. “She will stay here until she is better. Alexei can inform you when she’s awake.”
“Vadim!” Isobel couldn’t believe his bullheaded insensitivity. “Your mother can’t stay at a hotel.”
The petite woman thrust her hand out. “I’m sorry. I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Victoria Wallace.”
Isobel shook it, enjoying the strong grip. “Isobel Chase.”
She brightened. “I know. My daughter adores you. Your picture is on her bedroom wall along with Vadim’s.”
“That’s scary.” And wasn’t that an image, the two of them paired together on a teenager’s bedroom wall? Isobel cut a look to Vadim, who evidently wasn’t as impressed with this news as Isobel.
Victoria addressed her son, her expression chilly. “I’d like to be here when she wakes up, so I’m going to sit in her room.”
“Alexei can call you—”
“Of course it’s all right,” Isobel cut in. “And there’s no need to stay in her sickroom. You might catch the flu. I’m sure Vadim can put you up elsewhere in the house.” She led Victoria gently to the sofa. “Now have a seat while he and I go into the kitchen and talk about you behind your back.” Then to Vadim: “Petrov. Kitchen. Now.”
She steered him into the kitchen, but only because he let her.
“She should be staying at a hotel,” he grated.
“While her daughter is sick?”
“I can take care of my sister. That woman should not even be here!”
Isobel placed her hands on his chest. His hard, broad, perfect—focus. “Vad, it’ll just be for a couple of days. Let’s eat, and if after that you still can’t bear it, then Victoria can stay with me. It’s a ten-minute drive from here to my place, and she can visit her sick daughter while you’re at practice.”
“Unacceptable.”
“Then you can move into a hotel and leave this place to the two of them.”
Color flagged his aristocratic cheekbones while his decadent mouth twitched in annoyance. He wanted to shout at her, but he didn’t want his mother to hear. Perfect.
She smiled sweetly. “Now, what’ve you got here that could be turned into a meal?”
“Alexei cooks. He will make dinner.” He squinted at her. “I do not enjoy when you interfere in my life, Isobel.”
“I know,” she said with a pat on his arm. “Now, go put on a shirt. You’re blinding us all with those pecs.”
Dinner was a strained affair, a lot of “Could I have some bread, please?” and “Oh, this carbonara is lovely.” (It was. Alexei had it going on in the kitchen and looked almost human in an apron with cartoon cats and the slogan OCP: Obsessive Cat Person.) Isobel did her best to keep the conversation rolling and learned that Victoria was an office manager for a real estate company and that the bakeries in Park Slope, Brooklyn, were out of this world.
“So, Isobel,” Victoria said after Vadim’s grunts became unbearable. “I understand your father isn’t around anymore. What about your mother?”
“She lives in Scottsdale with her partner. After she divorced my dad, she came out and lived happily ever after chasing the rainbow.”
Vadim’s head snapped to attention. “Gerry is gay?”
“You remember my mom?”
“She was always flirting with the players.”
“Overcompensating.” Isobel smiled at Victoria. “Speaking of overcompensating . . . There was a time not so long ago when Vadim wished I was a lesbian. It was the only explanation that fit the facts as he saw them.”
Back to grunting from the Russian man-child to her right.
Victoria smiled. “He was always like that as a boy. No gray areas with Vadim.”
“Yes, please discuss me as if I am not here.”
“You can always contribute,” Isobel said, but by some mutual silent agreement she and Victoria stopped talking about Vadim’s childhood foibles. It was still too raw for them to be in the same room together.
“So, do you like being a coach?” Victoria asked after a few more bites. “I understand there aren’t many women coaches at this level.”
“She’s an excellent coach when she’s not being a pain,” Vadim offered, which Isobel took as progress, because the statement could only be directed at his mother. Or Alexei.
“Some would say the two things go hand in hand,” Isobel said, then to Vadim’s mom, “I like it. I like working with people who want to learn.”
“Pro players are pretty set in their ways, I imagine.”
“Damn straight. Younger players, especially ones younger than Mia, are more receptive. Definitely more rewarding.”
“I am unrewarding?” Vadim asked.
She heard unexpected cheekiness in his voice, so she gave it right back. “Not . . . completely. A vast improvement from your misguided youth.”
His smile lit up the room and her world with it.
“I’ve been doing some work with a youth hockey charity here in Chicago,” she said to Victoria, eager to mute the charge coming off Vadim. “Giving kids, especially ones that don’t have a lot of economic resources, opportunities to play sports can have a real impact on their lives.”
Vadim frowned. “I did not know about this.”
“Well, our interactions usually focus on you, Russian. Center of the universe and all that.”
Alexei’s cough sounded like agreement, and even Victoria had trouble hiding her smile.
“It is not always about me, is it, Bella?”
She’d give him that. He’d certainly demonstrated his generosity as a lover. She wished he’d stop flirting with her in front of his mom, though. As if this situation wasn’t awkward enough.
“If you’re feeling like spreading some of that love around, there’s a charity fund-raiser next week.”
“I would be honored to attend.”
Alexei and Victoria watched this exchange with interest—or at least, Isobel assumed that was the meaning behind Alexei’s squint. And she hadn’t missed how Alexei snuck furtive glances at Vadim’s mother every time she sucked on a noodle. That wasn’t merely a casual interest in whether people were enjoying his food.
Victoria continued. “Mia never stops talking about your performance in Sochi, Isobel. She watches it over and over. Even more than Vadim’s games.”
Vadim rolled his eyes, refusing to be drawn in.
“Yeah, well, Vadim only got a bronze.”
He raised his chin. “I will get gold next time.”
She couldn’t resist. “So will I.”
He looked taken aback, bafflement darkening his expression. After a long pause, he asked, “What does that mean?”
Deep breath. “I was invited to Plymouth next week for tryouts.”
“Isobel, that’s wonderful,” Victoria said.
“Thanks.”
Vadim stayed silent and merely continued with the moody stare.
“Well, say something,” Isobel muttered.
“Say something? How about, ‘You cannot do this’?”
Not that. Her heart squeezed. “This might be my last chance.”
He slammed his fork down, its loud clatter making everyone at the table jump. “Have you forgotten what you went through two years ago? When you almost died? You are not fit to play.”
“Players take risks all the time. Guys play with blood clots, concussions, injuries, but they’d rather leave it out there on the ice. They’ll probably just make me sign a waiver, exempting them from liability.”
He threw up a hand, all Vadimesque drama. “How wonderful, Isobel. There will be no one to sue when you are dead.”
“What would you do? If someone said you should never play again but you still had the strength in your legs and the torque in your body and the fight in your heart? If they said your next skate might be taken at the same time as your last breath, would you retire gracefully?”
His mouth curled in a sneer. “I would not risk my life to play hockey.”
“Then I guess it doesn’t mean as much to you as it does to me.”
Victoria looked at Alexei, then back to the bickering couple. “Perhaps we should let you discuss this alone.”
No, thanks. She’d had quite enough of Mr. Know-It-All Petrov. Isobel stood, her heart sputtering. “No need. Thank you for dinner, Alexei. It was very nice to meet you, Victoria. I hope Mia gets better soon.”
She took her plate to the sink, rinsed it, and placed it in the dishwasher, then left with the heat of Vadim’s condemning stare burning into her back.
Tvoyu mat’! How could Isobel think this was acceptable? Vadim had only recently acknowledged his feelings for her, and now she wanted to put herself in harm’s way?
Two minutes after she left, he checked to see if she was still outside, perhaps sitting in her clown car, psyching herself up to admit her error. But she was gone, her exit fueled by her stubbornness. No matter. Soon she would recognize the foolishness of this plan.
He returned to the kitchen, relieved to see no sign of his unwanted guest.
Alexei was filling the dishwasher. On Vadim’s entry, he spoke in Russian. “She is with Mia.”
“You should have talked her out of coming.”
“It is time you acted like a man and faced up to your problems.”
Vadim pointed. “I do not employ you for your opinions.”
“And yet I have given them to you all these years.”
This was true. Alexei was never afraid to comment on Vadim’s choices and mistakes. Vadim put up with it because he needed the occasional sounding board, but that didn’t mean he had to listen to the man’s opinion on every topic.
“You were loyal to my father. How can you take her side in this? She left him.” She left them. “Ever since she wedged her way back into my life, you have acted as though you work for her, not me. I am your employer.”
“Your father was not perfect.”
“He did not abandon his son!” Though that wasn’t strictly true. He provided a roof over Vadim’s head, yes, but he was a hardworking man with myriad business interests, not all of them legal. If he couldn’t attend every—or any—of Vadim’s hockey games, it was because he was earning money to provide for his family.
But apparently that wasn’t good enough for his mother. She hadn’t wanted to be a parent anymore. But fate had the last laugh, leaving her pregnant with the child of the husband she hated.
He placed his hands on the kitchen counter, holding in his agitation by a thread. “Did he abuse her? Hit her?”
“No.” A crystal clear voice rang behind him. “Your father never raised a hand to me.”
He turned to Victoria—he could not call her anything else, even in his own mind. She had abdicated all rights to the title of mother seventeen years ago.
“Alexei, could you give us a moment?” she asked in rusty but serviceable Russian.
With Alexei gone, Vadim searched for the most restrained thing he could think of. He refused to let her feed off his pain. “I know he was a difficult man, but you can’t reenter my life after so many years and expect open arms.”
“I understand. And I understand if you’re not ready to talk about any of it. But please know that not a day went by when I didn’t think of you, Vadim. The boy I loved—love—more than my own flesh.”
Evidently not, or she would have put up with whatever inconvenience his father had inflicted. A little distance from a rich and powerful man? Surely a small price to pay to be with the boy you claimed to love more than your own flesh.
Isobel would know what to say. How to handle this. But he couldn’t even trust her to stick around. She would rather foolishly put her life on the line instead of be here for him when he needed her.
Annoyed at his weakness, he cleared his throat and sought neutral ground. “How is Mia?”
“Sleeping. Her temperature’s still high but not as bad as before. She’ll be furious to miss your game, but perhaps she’ll be well enough to stay up and watch it on TV.”
“There is a media room on the other side of the house, but she might be more comfortable in the living room. I will move the TV in there.” He threw a glance that way, as if he needed to choose a place for the television right now. Looking directly at her was too painful. “Shouldn’t she be in school?”
“Yes, she should. But she stayed home with a sore throat this morning while I went to work. I didn’t even know she had left New York until Alexei called.” She crushed her hands together. “It’s hard to keep track of her sometimes.”
He was tempted to say she had chosen this life of single motherhood for herself, but he was tired and no longer in the jabbing mood.
“She is willful, that is for sure. This is good for a hockey player, not always so good in a daughter or sister.”
“I wouldn’t have her any other way. Her spirit, especially in light of all that’s happened to her, is awe-inspiring.”
They were silent for a moment, thinking on the illness that had brought Victoria back into his life and the girl they both loved who was trying to bridge the chasm between them. Existing fissures widened, and Vadim’s mind worked hard to plug every single one. He would not allow her in. And he especially would not allow their common denominator—Mia—to be used as a pawn, even if Mia had set this chess match in motion.
“I should go to sleep,” he said, though he doubted he would get much rest tonight.
She looked crushed, and he hated her for making him feel guilty.
“I just wanted to thank you for letting me stay to take care of Mia. As soon as she’s well, we’ll leave.”
Yes, you will.