Firebird (The Firebird Trilogy #1) Page 9

  Her mother called. She let it go to voice mail. When Joe’s parents called, she deleted the message without listening to it. He had surely told them everything. She didn’t need to listen to them harangue her for ruining their precious little boy’s wedding. His life. Also, you’re a slut. You should be ashamed of yourself. As if she weren’t. As if she’d left a trail of broken, weeping lovers in her wake.

  But someone had.

  It would be poetic justice, dating Alex in order to punish herself with the inevitable. He would cheat on her as she had Joe. She had to concede that point to her jilted ex-fiancé. Yet she couldn’t envision Alex pursuing all those other women the way he did her, nor could she explain away his sorrow.

  The longing to be together again.

  Chapter Eight

  Aleksandr

  While the rest of the team had settled into their rooms, in a fit of temper Sasha had chatted up a woman at the hotel bar who didn’t know the first goddamned thing about hockey and fucked her in the hot tub upstairs. Afterward he lay in bed, stripped to his underwear and channel surfing. Jacob had long since fallen asleep. Sasha too needed some sleep before the morning skate, but he was bored. Restless. Thoughts buzzing like wasps in his head. Stephanie. Their almost-child.

  He muted the TV. He stepped onto the balcony and pulled the sliding-glass door shut behind him, then lit a cigarette. It was hard not to think about her there. Or anywhere, but especially in LA. He leaned his elbows on the railing and looked out at the city.

  “Someday,” he’d said on their final afternoon, in his embarrassing and faulty English, “we are together, always. Like we are meant to be.”

  “I have something for you.” She’d dug into her pocket and placed something in his palm. A sterling silver ring with ‘I love you’ engraved on the inside. “It’s a promise ring.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’m yours and you’re mine.”

  He slid the silver circle onto his right ring finger. Then he kissed her one more time, tasting cherry ChapStick and salty tears. “I am always yours.”

  Sasha laid his thumb over the Call button. Most people thought he wasn’t capable of love, let alone having a soul mate. But no one knew about Stephanie, the one safe harbor to which he could retreat from the world, if only until recently in memory alone.

  She wouldn’t want to talk to him after how he’d spoken to her. He wanted nothing to do with himself, either. And the ring, his beloved treasure all these years, gone in one of his stupid paroxysms of anger.

  A warm breeze whisked his hair. He’d been setting himself up for pain since the night she’d approached him in the locker room. Breaking his heart seemed all she cared to commit to. He tried to hate her for it, focused on how much he hurt so he’d remember that she made him feel horrible, thus preventing him from wanting to be around her anymore. Negative reinforcement, stupid child that he was.

  The taste of her persisted on his tongue, her tang on his fingers. His body mourned the loss of her.

  He started a text, then deleted it. He crushed out the cigarette. There had to be a reason why, despite her protestations, she didn’t stay away. Why fate had brought him back to her.

  To his only love.

  ***

  Stephanie

  “Steph,” Rhonda said over the office line, “there’s a delivery up front for you. Flowers.”

  Oh no. “I’ll be right up.”

  A vase of white daffodils with a card tucked between the stems sat atop Rhonda’s desk. Stephanie picked them up and attempted a quick escape. No one had commented on her absent ring, if they’d noticed at all, or thought it inappropriate to do so.

  “They’re out of season, you know. He’s trying to tell you something.”

  “You know about flowers?”

  “A little. Interesting choice, if they’re from your fiancé.”

  “Who else would they be from?” Stephanie winced, her voice shrill with feigned naïveté.

  “I don’t know.” Rhonda waggled her manicured eyebrows. “Aleksandr Volynsky, maybe?”

  Sweat dampened Stephanie’s palms. She hissed, “Shh!” and scanned the room for potential listeners. A recent college grad waiting for an interview flipped through King County Today’s latest issue, where she would find Stephanie’s masterpiece on the Paramount Theatre’s current run of Wicked and the musical’s dumbing down of the book’s sociopolitical overtones. “Why would you say that? You really think he sends flowers?”

  He used to pick wild flowers for me on the way to school. I pressed them in my textbooks and kept them in the box. Wild hyacinth, poppies, lupines. Every morning for the entire spring, I went to school with a bouquet.

  She swallowed the memory like a mouthful of spikes.

  “Do I look blind? I saw him singing that song for you at the bar. And I did in fact notice you’re not wearing the ring anymore.”

  “I can’t talk about it here. Some people in our office would love to throw this in my face.”

  “Shawn.”

  “He’s dying for an opportunity to destroy my career. He already thinks I’ve been sleeping with Alex since day one. I’ll call you tonight.” She pulled open the office’s glass door.

  “Steph,” Rhonda called. “Daffodils mean new beginnings. Or unrequited love.”

  Genus Narcissus. A beautiful boy who had spurned the love of a nymph, breaking her heart so completely that she faded away until only her voice remained. How telling that he thought of himself not as Narcissus—everyone else did—but as the lovelorn nymph.

  She had watched his postgame interview last night, his mounting frustration with the media’s insipid questions and the insinuation the team’s failures rested with him. “I’m one person,” he’d snapped. “Last time I checked, this was a team sport. You guys will write whatever you want anyway, so let me tell you what’s really on my mind. Go fuck yourselves.” And stalked away.

  That morning, the league had fined him twenty thousand dollars and ordered him to publicly apologize or face suspension.

  “I’m sorry for my response to the media last night.” His eyes flamed with barely inhibited fury as he read a prepared statement. “I have a duty to my team and to the league, and I let them down. My actions were unprofessional, and though I’ve always had a contentious relationship with the media, it is ultimately my responsibility to conduct myself in a manner befitting someone representing the NHL. I regret my words, and it will not happen again.”

  The media alone wasn’t responsible for his outburst. That was why, every time she’d attended a Gladiators game in LA or Anaheim, she hadn’t made contact or gotten his attention despite paying a premium for center-ice tickets. She was water to his sulfuric acid, unstable and explosive. Though she could not hold herself accountable for the consequences, she’d done everything to provoke them.

  The office emptied out for lunch, and for once, she was free for the hour. When Shawn left, she opened the card.

  I’m sorry.

  Aleksandr

  “So am I,” she whispered.

  Stephanie arrived home that evening to find Joe’s belongings gone. He’d disowned everything they had bought together, naturally wanting no reminders of her.

  The Earthquakes had played in San Jose last night; today was practice and a flight to Winnipeg. Eight months a year traveling the country and Canada. Hardly seeing their families even while home. The drinking, the cheating, the divorces. The puck bunnies. Three guesses what Alex would be doing as soon as they landed. He hadn’t even bothered to call despite the flowers.

  She checked her email, her texts, and her call log. Nothing. She raked her hands through her hair.

  I wonder what the media would pay me…

  A swell of panic incited her to try Alex again. But when his voice mail answered, she did not leave another message.

  ***

  Aleksandr

  Sasha wandered away from the rest of the team to the windows overlooking the runway. Coach ha
d scratched him for the Winnipeg game despite the public apology, and Stephanie had called again. The urgency of her message compelled him to return it. He’d put it off all week, the road trip having done what he’d hoped. It had frightened him. She’d been the only one to pierce his protective carapace, psychologically fortified over the years no matter how many times it cracked. Stormed his mental fortress. There was no protection, not from her, and his shell would never grow back the same way again.

  “Alex, I’ve been trying to reach you.”

  He failed in his attempt to suppress a smile at the sound of her voice. “I got your message. Sorry I couldn’t call sooner.”

  “It’s fine. Is now a good time?”

  “I’m in the airport. About half an hour until boarding.”

  “Okay. Joe was snooping through my phone last week, and he found the texts and call logs. He also went through my desk and found the journal you gave me. So you can imagine how that turned out. He left.”

  His smile faded. “Stephanie, I—”

  “It doesn’t matter now. Listen, I don’t know if he said this because he was pissed or if he’d actually do it, but he threatened to expose us to the media.”

  “So?”

  “So?”

  Wrong answer.

  “Alex, I’ll never work in sports journalism again if people think that’s how I get my stories. Being a woman is hard enough. And if the rest of it gets out…”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “I deleted the logs and texts, so it’s his word against ours if it comes to that. Please do the same. I want to make sure we’re on the same page.” All business. No trace of emotion in her voice.

  “I’ll say whatever you need me to.”

  “Good. Our relationship has been strictly professional, and you don’t question my ethics at all.”

  “Stephanie, I never meant to—”

  “What’s done is done. I just needed to let you know what was going on.”

  “I’ll give you the story,” he blurted. She was about to remove herself from his life again, and this time he could not offer an unselfish argument against it.

  A beat of silence. “What do you want out of it?” Her voice was strained now. Tired.

  “Nothing.”

  “Everyone wants something, Alex.”

  “I’m sorry I’ve been making this difficult. I just…want to be your friend.” They’d never been just friends. It had created a less than stable foundation for a relationship built solely on their enchantment with each other.

  “It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”

  “I—”

  “Call me when you’re back in Seattle. We’ll set something up, and then we can move on.”

  His throat felt stuck with thorns. “Okay. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  The call disconnected. He stared at the screen for a moment before moving to tuck it back into his pocket. It buzzed again halfway down. Danny. His timing, as always, was impeccable. With a sigh, Sasha pressed Accept.

  “Sasha, why are you dicking around with this interview? What did I tell you?”

  He groaned. “I just talked to her. We’re setting it up when I get home.”

  “Good. Your team isn’t exactly lighting up the Western Conference, you know. We need to do damage control.”

  “I never said I could turn this team around by myself. It’s not fair to—”

  “Life isn’t fair, Sasha. What are you, six? Do the fucking interview.”

  He hung up. Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he returned to the black vinyl chairs, many split or dusted with crumbs, his teammates had claimed. They ignored him, some because their eyes were closed and earbuds stuffed in their ears, most because he hadn’t yet performed miracles despite being a league leader in points. He couldn’t play the goddamned game by himself. Days like this, he wondered why he didn’t retire from the NHL and bolt for the KHL as Kovalchuk had.

  Not the worst idea ever. Free from everything. From her.

  Even Jacob, engrossed in texting his wife, left him alone. Sasha found a vacant seat away from them.

  And then we can move on.

  He did not want to go back to Seattle.

  Chapter Nine

  Stephanie

  Stephanie had convinced Alex to meet at her apartment. She could control the situation there, but as she busied herself with straightening up, her anxiety metamorphosed into nausea. Her new digital voice recorder sat on the coffee table, along with the small journal in which she’d written her questions. Stay on track. Third time’s a charm, right?

  She’d attempted to call Joe, but he had shunned her as expected. Too soon, though she needed the assurance he wouldn’t do anything stupid. She had seen nothing on the internet yet. Hopefully he’d cooled down, started to move on.

  The door buzzed. She sucked in a deep breath to avoid throwing up on her shoes. Alex, wearing a navy blue suit, white herringbone dress shirt, and a blue silk pindot tie, stood in the doorway. He shifted his weight from foot to oxford-clad foot, his eyes tired, bloodshot, and smudged with purple underneath.

  “Hey. I came straight from the airport.”

  “Hey. I can tell.” Why did he always have to look amazing? “Come in.” Try not to be utterly stupid around him for five minutes.

  “This is nice. Mine is too big for one person. I don’t know why I bought it.”

  “Make yourself at home.”

  Alex smiled and took off his jacket, handing it to her outstretched hands. He slumped onto the couch and loosened his tie.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Not sleeping well.”

  Stephanie handed him a glass of ice water and sat a safe distance away.

  “Thank you. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I was being selfish, and…” He shook away the thought, whatever it was, and directed a pointed stare at her left ring finger. “Anyway, I’m sorry.”

  “To be honest, I don’t think you are.”

  He crinkled his nose as though he’d caught a bad smell. “I’m not good at this shit. When there’s another man in the picture, they don’t usually find out. And if they do, well…” He waved a hand over himself. “They’re too intimidated to do anything about it.”

  “I was looking for an excuse to leave. Too much of a coward to just get up and do it.”

  Alex fidgeted with his shirt cuffs, then flicked lint from his pants. Anything to avoid eye contact. “Is that what I was? Just an excuse?”

  “You’re never ‘just’ anything, Alex. And you were right. Joe was my security blanket. I should’ve handled it differently. A lot differently. But it’s over now. Life goes on.”

  “You miss him.” He contemplated the ice cubes in his glass.

  “It was five years. It takes some getting used to.” Uncomfortable silence spread between them like a stain. She had to change the subject. Had to stop the intolerable urge to touch him, even as an act of comfort for the blame he shouldered. “So…thank you for the flowers. They were very pretty.”

  “You’re welcome.” He continued to stare at the ice as if partaking in a divination ritual. “I’m sure you heard about the road trip. Two and four. I put up at least a point almost every night, except when I’m being scratched for telling the media the truth. The rest of the team barely shows up.” Alex set the glass down and wiped his hands on his pants. “I spend so much time with my team, the fans, women, and I still wonder what the fuck the point is.”

  Maybe everyone was right. He couldn’t change now, and why was that a surprise? He’d cast himself in the role so long that his personality had conformed to it, hardened around it. He had answered the nagging question of who he was in the most cynical way possible.

  But his pretense had shown signs of brittleness, and if stretched enough, perhaps it could break.

  He clinched his hands in his lap and stared at them. “I should go.”

  “No,” Stephanie said with more desperation than she intended.
She’d feared this. That this ridiculously talented, ridiculously handsome man would take up residence in her heart again, not that he’d ever truly departed, despite her brain’s attempts at eviction. “Not just for the interview. I could use a friend right now.”

  “Are we friends?”

  “I’d like to be.” Against her better judgment, she clasped her fingers around his. Everything where he was concerned had been against her better judgment.

  “I should be honest with you. About why I’ve been putting off the interview.” He was rubbing his thumb over her fingers, sending an ecstatic chill through her. “I thought once you got the story…”

  “I wouldn’t want to see you again. Alex, I can’t pretend you aren’t here.”

  “I’m glad I am.”

  They studied each other. A lifetime ended and began between them.

  She reluctantly withdrew her hand and switched on the recorder.

  ***

  Aleksandr

  “I’ve even thought about going to the KHL,” he said by way of conclusion. “Then the NHL and local media wouldn’t be up my ass eight months out of the year.” He winced at the stricken look on her face. Did she want him to stay?

  She shut off the recorder. “Makes sense, I guess, going back to Russia.”

  “I think I’m too American now.” Sasha glanced at the kitchen clock. “Do you want to go out? It’s been hotel to arena to hotel, and I get a little…” He circled his index finger at the side of his head and cuckoo-whistled. “Besides, it’s Friday night. I can’t let you sit here by yourself, even if I have a curfew.”

  “Should I change? I feel a little underdressed next to you.” She was wearing a metallic print, hip-length tunic over skinny jeans, and black riding boots with buckles at the ankles. Beautiful the way she was.

  He removed his tie, rolled his sleeves to the elbows, and undid the first two buttons on his shirt. Smiling, he tracked her gaze to his chest. “Better?”