Isn't It Bromantic?

by Lyssa Kay Adams

  Now, temptation mingled with curiosity, propelling her feet forward until she stood at the threshold. A glance around the space told her very little had changed since she’d last been here. The same king-size bed sat in the middle of the room covered by the same plain, navy blue comforter. Matching tables sat like bookends on either side with twin lamps. She had no right to snoop around his things, but voyeuristic need overrode her sense of propriety. A few feet inside the room, the door to the master bathroom stood open on the left. She paused to look inside. The products and toiletries lined along the sink were like intimate insights into his daily rituals. A towel was folded haphazardly and draped across the sink. Heat filled her chest cavity as her mind pictured him there, wrapped in a towel as he dragged a razor down the hard angle of his jaw. Such a simple task. Such a manly task. One that wives around the world watched their husbands do every single day, but not Elena. She’d never witnessed her husband engage in that particular act of grooming.

  Elena tore her eyes away, swallowed hard, and approached the bed. Only one side was disturbed or appeared like it was regularly slept on, and the relief that flooded through her at that thought was as swift as it was humiliating. A quick scan of the room revealed no evidence that a woman—a Michelle—regularly stayed there. Elena returned to the bathroom and studied the products on the sink again. All men’s things. No lotions or nail files or ponytail holders or boxes of tampons.

  But when she walked back out, the glint of gold caught her eye. She approached his dresser. And there, on top, discarded like yesterday’s mail, was his wedding ring.

  “You’re my best friend, Elena. I want to take care of you. Come to America. You can start over and make a new life.”

  “I don’t understand. What are you saying?”

  Vlad dug a pair of rings from the pocket of his jeans. One, a simple, manly gold band. The other, a circle of diamonds that twinkled in the light of the streetlamps above. Life moved in slow motion as he lowered to one knee.

  “I’m asking you to marry me.”

  She was so stunned that she couldn’t speak, and he took her silence as rejection. His cheeks blazed red as he stood. “I’m sorry. It’s stupid. Forget I said that. Or, maybe just think about it. I—”

  She whispered her answer. “Yes.”

  Her brain had revisited that moment so many times. Wondered how things might have been different if she’d said no. If she’d had the presence of mind to recognize her own vulnerable desperation and his eager generosity for what they really were—a toxic combination that was doomed to combust. Elena had long since accepted that she’d made the only decision she could at the time, but she had also wished a million times since then that she could go back and do things differently, to stop herself before she made selfish choices that would inevitably hurt him. She wouldn’t do that to him again. Maybe Claud was right. Maybe the best thing she could do for Vlad was to leave as soon as possible.

  Elena looked down at her own ring, still wrapped snugly around the finger where he’d placed it all those years ago. She tugged it off and, after a moment of hesitation, laid it next to his.

  A knock at the door signaled the arrival of the team staff. She walked out, Neighbor Dog closely behind, and pulled the door shut.

  * * *

  * * *

  “The Western conference finals will end tomorrow with either the Nashville Vipers or the Vancouver Canucks heading to the Stanley Cup, but the Vipers will face a battle without their best defenseman, Vladislav Konnikov, who is recovering in a Nashville hospital from surgery for a broken tibia suffered in Friday night’s game. Team sources say it is uncertain when he will return to the team. The Vipers have moved Adam Lansberg into the rotation to replace Konnikov—”

  Vlad zapped off the TV, casting his room in darkness but for the lights from the parking lot outside. The shadows matched his mood. All day, he had prayed for privacy amid the constant stream of team staff, nurses, and other medical personnel. But now that he had silence, he longed once again for distraction because the instant his mind was disengaged, it replayed the sound of Elena’s suitcase wheels growing fainter down the hallway.

  He’d told Elena that his mother would get her hopes up if she knew Elena was here. Which was true. His mother would say it was a sign that she was right all along, that Elena had just needed time to get over what happened with her father so she could love Vlad fully. Mama would read something into the fact that Elena had dropped everything and hopped on a plane in the middle of the night to stand next to his bed, run her fingers over his hair, and assure him everything was going to be okay.

  But that wasn’t why Vlad sent Elena away. It wasn’t only his mother’s hopes he worried about. It was his own. He would think it was a sign that she’d hopped on a plane in the middle of the night. At least with his mother, he could blame her eternal optimism on being a natural romantic. She was a literature professor at Omsk State University, a specialist in the great Russian poet Alexander Pushkin. Whenever he had doubts, Mama was ready with a Pushkin quote to encourage him to hang on a little longer, to believe in the future of his marriage.

  But seeing Elena had made at least one thing clear. He couldn’t avoid his parents any longer. He’d never gone this long without calling home. He couldn’t even be sure when he last did. April, maybe? It had simply become too painful to keep lying to them, especially Mama, so he cut them off as much as his friends. Telling her the truth—that he and Elena were getting a divorce—was going to be torture. But it was time.

  Vlad pressed his mother’s name in his contacts list, put the phone to his ear, and braced for impact.

  “Finally.”

  Vlad winced. It was a feat of linguistic majesty the way his mother could convey an entire spectrum of human emotions with a single, curt word. “I’m sorry, Mama. It’s been busy here and—”

  “Too busy to tell your parents that you’re okay? The only person we’ve heard from is Josh.”

  “I know—”

  “And do you know how we found out that you were hurt? A journalist called us, Vlad. For comment. We didn’t even know!”

  “Let me talk to him,” his father said in the background. Then, a moment later, his father’s voice boomed clearly. “If you weren’t already injured, I’d break your other leg.”

  “Papa, I’m sorry. I haven’t had a chance to call until now.”

  “You haven’t called in months.”

  “Let me talk to him again.” His mother returned to the phone, this time with a slightly softer tone. “How are you? Are you in any pain?”

  “Not right now. I can’t really feel anything.” In his leg, at least. His chest was caving in on itself.

  “Josh said you’ll start rehab in about a week?”

  “Yes, I hope so.”

  His mother paused, and he could hear her brain working. “You are going to need someone to help out.”

  “The team will provide someone—”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Elena will do it. She’s almost done with school.”

  And there it was. Elena had found her way into the conversation like he knew she would. “Mama—”

  “Have you called her yet? She must be so worried.”

  Vlad dropped his head to the pillows and closed his eyes. “Mama, listen to me—”

  “Please tell me you’ve called her. How are you ever going to have a normal marriage with her if you always hold her at arm’s length?”

  His eyes flew open. “What are you talking about?”

  Mama made a dismissive noise.

  Vlad pressed his hand into the bed to sit higher. “She is the one who moved to Chicago. You told me to let her go.”

  “Yes, but I never told you to make her believe she would never be welcomed back.”

  Vlad wanted to pound the heel of his hand against his head to make sure his ears were working correctl
y. Was Mama blaming him for the state of his marriage? She had never spoken to him like this. Never. “All I have ever done is give her the space you said she needed.”

  “You’re right. It is all you’ve ever done. So call her now, Vlad. Tell her you need her now. Before it is too late.”

  Vlad had to clear his throat twice to form his next words. “It—it is already too late.”

  “Not if you call her.”

  “Mama, you’re not listening to me.”

  His mom’s silence was as loud and bone-shattering as a defensive hit against the boards. He could imagine her standing straight in the kitchen, her hand fluttering to her ever-present strand of pearls. They’d been a gift from his father on their tenth anniversary, and Vlad had never seen her without them.

  His mouth was suddenly dry. “Mama, Elena and I—”

  “No.”

  “We’re getting a divorce.”

  “Why, Vlad?” she asked in a voice that finished him off.

  He closed his eyes against the assault of guilt. “You know why.”

  “No, I don’t. You two are meant to be together. You always have been—”

  “She’s coming back to Russia,” he blurted out, cutting her off.

  “What?” His mother breathed. “What do you mean?”

  “She wants to come back and become a reporter like her father.”

  “No. That can’t be true. She married you so she could get out of Russia.”

  Yeah, and that was the only reason, which was the problem. “I guess she changed her mind.”

  “And I suppose you’ve done nothing to try to stop her.”

  There it was again. The insinuation that this was all his fault. He swallowed against the burn of irritation. “Of course I tried.”

  “Really? Because it seems to me you just did your normal shut-down-and-withdraw routine.”

  “What does that mean? What is my shut-down-and-withdraw routine?”

  “You’re like a skittish, hibernating bear when you are scared, Vlad. You shut people out and go into hiding. Like an absolute bear.”

  He resisted the urge to growl like one. “She’s leaving me.”

  “Leaving you. Is that how you see it?”

  “How the hell else am I supposed to see it?”

  “If you opened your eyes, maybe you’d see that you left her a long time ago.”

  “I—I can’t believe you’re saying this. You are the one who has told me for years to keep hanging on, to give her time, to—”

  “Have you ever told her you love her?”

  It was his turn to go silent.

  “I assume that means no,” she said.

  “I told her that when she was done with school, I wanted a real marriage with her.”

  “That’s not the same thing as telling her you love her.”

  “There’s no point. Not when there is only love on one side.” Oh shit. He slapped a hand over his eyes and held back a groan. But it was too late. His mother pounced like a panther.

  “Oh, Vlad. You do love her.”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “But it’s what you meant.”

  What was the point in denying it? “Mama, it doesn’t matter.”

  “It would matter if you simply told her.”

  He opened his eyes and turned his head to stare out the window. “What makes you think it would change anything?”

  “Vlad, love changes everything.”

  “Only in books.” And he was done with those. Done with the fairy tales. The Alexander Pushkin romanticism. The unrealistic expectations. He’d even once thought he could write his own book, but not anymore. He hadn’t looked at his manuscript in months. He was done with all of it.

  “I hope you don’t really believe that,” Mama said, her tone heavier with disappointment than he’d ever heard.

  “Tell Papa I said goodbye.”

  “Vlad—”

  He hung up.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Elena awoke the next morning to the sound of a mournful meow.

  After blinking in confusion for a second, she sat up and kicked off the blankets. She found a cat draped across the floor in front of Vlad’s bedroom, poking its paws through the tiny space between the closed door and the carpet.

  “Sorry, kitty. He’s not home.”

  The cat rolled over when Elena spoke.

  “Come on,” she said. “I will feed you.”

  The longhaired calico followed her all the way downstairs and into the kitchen. She must have known where Vlad kept the food and treats, because she began to meow at the pantry door. Elena picked her up and checked the collar for a name tag. There wasn’t one.

  “Guess we’ll have to settle for Neighbor Cat for now,” she said, setting her down.

  Neighbor Cat didn’t seem to care what she was called once Elena poured a small bowl of food.

  According to the clock on the microwave, it was nearly nine—much later than Elena normally slept. She decided to blame it on the fact that it had taken hours to fall asleep last night and not on the fact that the bed was more comfortable than she remembered. It was unbelievably soft, like sleeping on top of a giant down pillow. She hadn’t been in the right state of mind during the few months she had lived with Vlad to appreciate it then, but now? Now it would be hell going back to the concrete block that was her futon. But it was well past time to figure out how and when she was going back. She hadn’t booked a plane ticket yet and didn’t even know if she could get a flight out today. If she couldn’t, she’d stay in a hotel by the airport. Vlad clearly didn’t want her at the house when he came home, and she wasn’t going to take advantage of his generosity by asking if she could. She didn’t even feel comfortable raiding his fridge for breakfast or making tea. This was his house, his space. She was a visitor and always had been.

  Elena sat down in one of the tall leather chairs that lined the long island in the center of the kitchen. She’d left her laptop on the counter before bed last night and now booted it up to search online for a flight. When the travel website prompted her to select a return date, she checked the button for one-way and sucked in a shuddering breath as it hit her that this was the last time she would ever be here. When she left this morning, she would never be coming back. And though she’d known for months that she would eventually face these lasts—last time in the house, last time seeing Vlad—the reality of it soured her stomach. There were things she still hadn’t said to him, things she wished he knew and understood. But maybe that was just as selfish as her decision to marry him. He obviously was ready to move on. She had no right to burden him further with her excuses.

  She chose a flight for late that night from Nashville to O’Hare. Then, because she didn’t trust herself not to start crying, she busied herself with getting ready to go. She showered quickly and, after dressing, left her wet towel in the laundry room on the second floor. She repacked her few belongings quickly and then walked back into his bedroom to get some clothes for him to drop off at the hospital on the way to the airport. Searching through his drawers felt like an invasion of his privacy, so she simply grabbed the first things she saw—a sweatshirt, a pair of shorts, and some boxer briefs. Next, she grabbed a toothbrush and some toothpaste from the bathroom. In his closet, she found an empty drawstring backpack to put them in.

  The orderly line of clothes hanging on one side of the walk-in closet made her pause for a moment. The neatness of it all, the tidiness, brought a pang of homesickness she had no right to feel. This wasn’t her home. But the sight of his suit coats, some still in the plastic bags from the dry cleaner, felt intimate. She ran her fingers down the sleeve of one, a dark navy that probably looked amazing against his olive-toned skin. She’d seen pictures of him walking into arenas before games, dressed in one of these suits with dark sunglasses shading his expression f
rom the cameras. Sometimes, she’d watch his games and marvel, That’s my husband, but he never really was.

  And now it was time to say goodbye.

  Neighbor Cat was asleep at the bottom of the stairs. Elena crouched and gave her a scratch. “Take care of him, okay?”

  Her heart wanted to linger, to look around a little longer. Her brain told her to go. She drove one of his cars—a spacious SUV—and would leave it at the hospital so someone could drive him home in it. She’d just call an Uber to take her to the airport from there.

  The security guard didn’t question her this time, but she felt like a zoo animal on display when she exited the elevator on the fourth floor, dragging her suitcase behind her. A small circle of people wearing tracksuits bearing the team’s logo stood next to the nurses’ station, consulting with an official-looking man in a sport coat and a tie. They turned as one and stared at her with unmasked curiosity. Madison was among them, so Elena waved like they were old pals.

  “Tell him I’ll be in in a few minutes to go over the rehab plan,” Madison said.

  Elena nodded but didn’t stop. Their eyes followed her every step down the hallway toward his room and when she paused at his closed door. Did she need to knock? With the eyes of the staff burning a hole in her back, she quickly rapped her knuckles on the door and opened it before he could respond. She braced herself for whatever he might say, but she found him staring listlessly at the TV on the wall, the remote in his non-IV hand.

  He turned it off when he saw her. “Hi,” he said, pressing his hand to the mattress to straighten against his pillows, gingerly, though, so as to not disturb his injured leg in the harness.

  He was slightly more covered today. The hospital gown now hid his chest, but tufts of dark hair still poked through the top. And rather than detracting from the muscular appeal of his body, the thin, diamond-printed gown accentuated it. His biceps looked like they’d rip the fabric if he flexed. Vlad wasn’t the flexing kind of guy, though. His body was a machine with one purpose—hockey. And he was as oblivious to his stunning physique as he was to the way his smile could make a person want to lean into him to absorb some of his warmth. He’d never understood how handsome he was, how attractive women found him. Elena had always felt lucky to know that his sexiest quality was his kindness.