Isn't It Bromantic?

by Lyssa Kay Adams

  “How is Vlad?” she asked.

  “Sleeping like a baby,” Colton said. “He took a pain pill and fell asleep in mid-sentence.”

  “And his bath? You made sure he didn’t get his incision wet, right?”

  “Yep,” Mack answered.

  “And he didn’t put any weight on his leg?”

  “All good,” Del said, darting his gaze around the room to communicate something with his friends.

  “Did he eat something before taking his pill?”

  Noah nodded. “He had some tea, and I brought him some gluten-free muffins.” He pointed to a bakery bag on the counter with a logo for a shop called ToeBeans Café. “My fiancée owns it. There are some more, if you’re hungry.”

  He had probably only offered it to be polite, but she hadn’t even expected that, so it took her a moment to respond. “Thank you,” she finally said.

  “So, can we help you carry in the groceries?” Yan asked.

  “That is not necessary but thank you.”

  “Nah, we got this,” Mack said, gesturing with his head toward the garage. They all followed him, and a task that would have taken her ten trips back and forth was done in two. She unpacked the bags as they brought them in.

  “Wow,” Colton said, surveying what she’d bought. “So, like, did you just raid the gluten-free aisle at the grocery store?”

  Elena adopted a sheepish look. “I want to make him his favorite meals, but I wasn’t sure what to get to adapt my recipes, so I sort of got a little of everything.”

  The guys all exchanged more of those none-too-subtle looks that made her squirm.

  “So,” Mack said, shoving his hands into his back pockets. The pose was far too casual to actually be casual. “Vlad told us you’re almost done with school.”

  Her hands stilled against a box of gluten-free crackers. “Um, yes. That’s right. I’m getting my master’s degree.”

  “Congratulations,” Noah said.

  “And you’re planning to go back to Russia,” Colton said. His tone was flat, careful. Probing without being accusatory.

  “Yes,” she said. “To be a journalist.”

  “We need good journalists, now more than ever,” Noah said.

  “Yes, I agree.” She carried the crackers and two boxes of gluten-free cookies to the walk-in pantry. The silence outside the small space became unbearable, like a heavy humidity had descended on the kitchen. She didn’t need to walk out to know they were likely having another one of those eyes-only conversations about her.

  “Vlad told us about your father,” Malcolm said when she reemerged. “We’re very sorry about what happened. We had no idea.”

  Guilt forced her gaze downward. “He has kept a lot of secrets for me. To protect me.”

  “It’s great you could be here now to take care of him,” Del said. “How long do you plan to stay?”

  “Until he doesn’t need me anymore.”

  They did it again. Looked at one another meaningfully, as if they could read one another’s thoughts. It was quickly becoming annoying.

  “Well,” Mack said, standing tall. “We’ll get out of your hair now.”

  “Thank you again for coming,” she said.

  “Some of us will be back tomorrow to hose him off again,” Colton said. Del smacked him upside the head as they walked out. The rest of the guys bid her goodbye and filed from the kitchen. Only Malcolm remained behind.

  He shoved his hands in his front pockets. “Vlad is one of the best men I’ve ever known.”

  Her heart hammered. “Me too.”

  “He’s been here for every single one of us during some of the hardest times in our lives. We will be there for him too.”

  “I’m glad. He’s lucky to have friends like you.”

  “To be honest, I’m not sure we deserve him.”

  To her horror, tears turned her vision watery. She quickly looked away. “I know exactly what you mean.”

  He studied her a moment longer and then said he’d see her tomorrow. As soon as she heard him leave, she gripped the kitchen counter and leaned against it. They hated her for what she’d done to him. Sure, they’d been polite, but it was obvious that they held her in no greater esteem than the Loners. She wished it didn’t matter, and really, it shouldn’t matter. She was leaving. And though she was relieved Vlad had such a strong group of friends, being surrounded by them filled her with loneliness. She was his wife, but those men were his family.

  She quickly finished putting the groceries away and then went upstairs to check on Vlad. Just as they said, he was sound asleep. A blanket covered most of his lower half, but once again, his broad chest was open to her thirsty stare. It lifted and lowered in a steady rhythm with every deep breath. Her fingers itched with a sudden, insane urge to touch him. To feel that coarse chest hair beneath her soft palms. To curl up next to him and press her cheek to the place where his heart beat strong and sure.

  A heat rash rose up her neck as she backed out of the room, clicked the door shut, and leaned against it. She had to get over this, this . . . lust. There was too much to do to stand around ogling him. She’d bought enough food to make several of his favorite meals this week. For her, nothing was as distracting or as comforting as cooking. So she headed back to the kitchen and got to work.

  She wanted to make his favorite soup for lunch—solyanka, a thick, briny broth with sausage, pickles, and dill—and then beef stroganoff for dinner. She also wanted to get started on the pelmeni for tomorrow’s dinner. The Russian dumplings were another of his favorite. His mother used to fill them with potatoes, mushrooms, and onions, but all the gluten-free recipes she’d found recommended letting the dough sit overnight. The dumplings were a lot of work, but she’d cook all night if necessary to make them perfect for Vlad. The distraction would be welcome, too. Anything to keep her mind off the delicious man he’d clearly become.

  How could she still be so affected by him? Clearly, her libido had not caught up to reality. Maybe she was just sex starved, but if that were the case, she would have the same reaction to every good-looking man she encountered or any man who showed interest in her. But she didn’t. Only Vlad had ever made her stomach flutter, and she’d never forget the first time it happened. That first whiff of womanly awareness, of gut-tugging breathlessness that forever changed him in her mind from boy to man, from friend to . . . something else. She was sixteen, and he was eighteen, and like a million times before, he whipped his shirt off in front of her to jump into the pool. But unlike the million times before, she saw him. Really saw him. Gone was the lanky boy from childhood, and in his place was someone who made her heart jump around.

  Her heart was still jumping. Maybe it always would. Maybe that was her personal cross to bear. Her penance.

  Elena shook off the memory and threw herself into the cooking. An hour later, the soup was simmering and the dough was done for the dumplings when she heard a dog bark out front.

  Elena peered around the corner from the kitchen. Neighbor Dog had his nose pressed to the window to the right of the door. His tail wagged when he saw Elena, and he let out another enthusiastic woof. Elena walked to the door. “Um, go home, doggie.”

  “You can let him in.”

  Elena whipped around to find Vlad leaning heavily on his crutches at the top of the stairs.

  “What are you doing up?” she asked, rushing up the stairs two at a time. “You should’ve called for me.”

  “I smell solyanka,” he said, voice thick with the remnants of sleep. He’d put on a shirt and some basketball shorts. One side of his hair stood on end as if he’d fallen asleep on it while it was still wet.

  “It’s almost done. I’ll bring you some. Go back to bed.”

  “I want to come downstairs.”

  Elena hovered behind him as he crutched down step by step. The dog woofed again when he
spotted Vlad.

  “Let him in,” Vlad said, nodding to the door.

  Elena opened the door, and Neighbor Dog bounded inside. “Your leg!” she warned.

  Vlad simply snapped his fingers, and the dog sat in obedience.

  “Good boy,” Vlad said. He looked up at Elena. “Do you need any help in the kitchen?”

  “I’m supposed to be helping you. Let’s go to the couch.”

  Neighbor Dog kept pace at his heels as Vlad made his way down the hallway before turning left into the living room. The spacious room was sparsely furnished but cozy. A long gray sectional couch faced a large fireplace, which was flanked by two plush chairs and wide windows overlooking the backyard. A leather ottoman doubled as a coffee table in the center, and above the mantel hung a large flat-screened TV.

  “Sit,” Elena ordered. “I’ll push the ottoman closer for your leg. Do you need ice?”

  “Not right now,” Vlad grunted, scooting backward until his knees touched the couch. Then, holding his crutches for balance, he lowered slowly to sit. Elena quickly shoved the ottoman until he could rest his leg on it. He sank back against the couch cushions and rubbed his eyes. Neighbor Dog rested his head on Vlad’s good knee in search of a scratch.

  Vlad obliged. “How long was I asleep?”

  “About two hours.”

  “I don’t remember when my friends left.”

  “They said you sort of passed out.”

  He scratched his hand down his thickly whiskered jaw. “I feel drunk.”

  “And you were going to come down the stairs like that?” One corner of his mouth quirked up in an apologetic smile, and her heart jumped. “I’ll go get you some soup.”

  She raced back to the kitchen before he could see what he was doing to her. Then she dished up a bowl of the simmering broth, poured a tall glass of milk, and carried them both to the living room, where she set them on the small table next to the couch. “I should get you a tray or something.”

  “I don’t need one,” Vlad said, reaching for the bowl. “I pretty much eat all my meals like this when I’m home.”

  “That’s not very Russian of you.”

  He shrugged with one shoulder. “It’s too quiet to eat at the table alone.”

  The image that conjured was so full of loneliness that Elena felt a swell of something inconvenient in her chest. Vlad ate alone with someone else’s dog at his feet.

  Vlad swallowed a large spoonful, and a moan escaped from his lips. “Holy shit, Lenochka.”

  This time, her heart completely stopped. Lenochka was the affectionate nickname that he and his parents used to call her when they were young. It was a common diminutive for Elena in Russia, but her own father had never even called her that. It had been years since she’d heard it.

  “It’s good?” she asked, her voice strangely tinny.

  “Better than good. I’m going to eat the entire pot.”

  That was exactly the response she’d been hoping for, and she couldn’t hide her satisfied smile as she sat down on the opposite end of the couch. “Well, save room for dinner. I’m making beef stroganoff tonight, and tomorrow I am going to make pelmeni.”

  “You are going to spoil me.” He shook his head, but as far as protests went, it was a weak effort. “Pelmeni is a lot of work. You don’t have to do that.”

  She shrugged. “I want to. You’re going to need to eat well if you’re going to heal, and I like cooking.”

  “I know you do.” He swallowed another heaping spoonful and then looked at her. “Did you already eat?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Go get some and eat with me.” He then added in a rush, “If you want.”

  “I— Yes. Okay. I’ll be right back.”

  She served herself a smaller portion and returned to her spot on the couch. After tucking her legs beneath her, she dug in. The flavors exploded on her tongue. Spicy and sweet and sour. She could have made this for herself in Chicago, but the memories it conjured were too powerful. Like now. “This was the first thing your mom taught me to make.”

  He looked over quickly. “It was?”

  “Whenever she made it, I would eat so much that she finally offered to show me how to make it for myself.” She smiled into her bowl. “I started cooking it for my dad almost once a week after that. I think he got sick of it, but he didn’t want to hurt my feelings, so he ate it.”

  Vlad tensed next to her. “He should’ve been making it for you.”

  “I would’ve starved. He could barely fry an egg.”

  “He should have learned like a normal father.”

  She stirred her soup. “My father was never going to be that.”

  “He could have if he’d tried.”

  The stern gruffness of Vlad’s tone plucked a familiar chord of resentment, and the disharmony that hummed between them was an old song. Vlad had never hid his anger at her father for how often he was gone when she was a child, because Vlad had never understood the importance of her father’s job. Which was one of the reasons she didn’t want Vlad to know she was trying to finish her father’s story. He would never, could never, comprehend why it was so important to her.

  The scrape of spoons against bowls was the only sound in the suddenly and uncomfortably quiet room.

  “Let’s watch TV,” she suggested.

  Vlad picked up the remote from where it rested between them and hit the power button. It was tuned to a local sports channel, which was showing a preview of that night’s game of the Nashville Legends, the team that Gavin, Yan, and Del played for.

  “Do you ever go to their games?” Elena asked, grateful for the chance to change the subject to something safer.

  “Once my season ends, yes,” Vlad answered. “I went to a few games last summer with the rest of the guys.”

  “Do they ever come to yours?”

  “Of course. We are very supportive of one another.”

  He probably hadn’t meant it as a dig against her, because Vlad never said anything intentionally harsh, but it stung all the same. As if reading Elena’s mind, the sportscasters suddenly changed direction and began to talk about Vlad’s team.

  “For the first time in franchise history, the Nashville Vipers have won the Western Conference finals and earned a spot in the Stanley Cup championship. The Vipers defeated the Vancouver Canucks last night four to three in game seven of the conference series.”

  Elena reached for the remote.

  “It’s okay,” Vlad said, covering her hand with his. The unexpected touch strummed an entirely different tune inside her, and she discreetly slid her hand from beneath his before she gave herself away. Vlad didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were locked on the TV.

  “The Vipers will face the New York Rangers in game one of the Stanley Cup at seven o’clock Saturday night in New York. It’s a bittersweet victory for the Vipers and their fans without their top defenseman, Vlad Konnikov.”

  Elena looked over at Vlad. He sat eerily still but for the up-and-down bobble of his Adam’s apple beneath the scruff of whiskers darkening his neck.

  “Team sources tell us he is now recovering at home from surgery to repair his broken tibia—”

  The chime of the doorbell sent Elena nearly out of her seat. Soup sloshed onto her hand. With a quiet curse, she set the bowl on the table next to her side of the couch and stood. “I’ll get it.”

  She braced herself in case it was the Loners again, but when she glanced out the windows on either side of the front door, just one person stood on the other side.

  A very beautiful woman.

  Elena opened the door slowly, and the woman smiled brightly. Elena forgot for a moment that she was expected to smile back. She was Russian. Smiling at strangers was an American trait that still did not come naturally to her. “Can I help you?” she asked belatedly.

 
The woman’s smile faltered. “Oh, I’m sorry. Are you Elena?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s so great to meet you finally,” the woman said. “I’m Michelle. I’m a neighbor of Vlad’s. The Loners told me you were back.”

  Oh, God. This sophisticated woman was the mysterious Michelle? She wore a stylish outfit of white jeans and a sleeveless black blouse, and her hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail—the kind Elena could never pull off with her naturally wavy hair.

  “Yes. I am back,” Elena finally said. Then, when she realized the woman was waiting expectantly to be invited in, Elena moved away from the door. “Do you want to come in?”

  “I don’t want to disturb you. I just wanted to drop this pie off for Vlad. I meant to come by earlier, but I thought I should wait until he got settled.”

  Elena accepted the pie from Michelle’s outstretched hands. “Is it gluten-free?” she blurted.

  Michelle blinked. “Y-yes. I know he can’t eat gluten.”

  “He’s in the living room eating lunch,” Elena said, trying to edge out the flatness of her voice with her long-forgotten smile.

  Michelle nodded politely and gestured with her hand. “I’ll follow you.”

  The woman’s fancy sandals clicked on the floor, and Elena suddenly felt as frumpy as she knew she looked in her shorts, oversize Medill sweatshirt, and house slippers. Elena was tempted to tell Michelle to take her shoes off, but apparently Vlad was not as strict about maintaining that particular Russian tradition at home as she was. None of the Loners or his friends had removed their shoes either.

  Elena walked into the living room first. Vlad looked over his shoulder. “Who was it?” Before she could answer, Michelle strode in behind her. Vlad did a double take.

  “Michelle,” Vlad said, clearing his throat. “Hi.”

  Unease pooled in Elena’s stomach. Why did Michelle make him nervous? “She brought you a pie.”

  Vlad glanced at it and then back at Michelle, who was rounding the couch to stand in front of him. “Thank you,” Vlad said. “That was very nice of you.”