“I’m going to make cottage cheese bars,” she said in that same wispy voice. “And vareniki.”
“That’s too much work.”
“And a kurnik.”
His stomach growled that the mention of another one of his favorites. It had been years since he’d had the traditional layered chicken pie.
“Oh, and dressed herring.”
She moaned it in a way that snapped every last nerve. “We don’t need all that. Make some tea cakes and call it good.”
“I just want your friends to get the full Russian culinary experience.”
“They eat pizza and wings. They won’t know the difference.”
“Colton seems to like my cooking.”
Vlad cracked a knuckle. Colton needed to start eating at home. He didn’t like this feeling, whatever it was. His skin felt too tight over his bones, and something burned in his chest.
She finally glanced over. “Why are you so grumpy?”
“I’m not grumpy.”
“You’re acting grumpy.”
“Have you decided where you’re going to live in Russia?” he asked, because why the hell not? He was already grumpy.
“What?” she asked. She did a double take, tearing her eyes briefly from the road. “Where did that come from?”
“It’s something we should probably talk about, don’t you think?”
“Now?”
“Why not?” He twisted in his seat to look at her and then instantly regretted it because all he could see was the gentle curve of her jaw. “What about your car? Are we going to ship it?”
Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I—I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far. I’ll probably leave it with you.”
“You can’t leave it here. What will you drive in Russia?”
“I will buy a new one.”
“That’s ridiculous. Why would you do that when you already have a car?”
“Because I’ll be making my own money. I’m not going to keep relying on you, Vlad.”
It annoyed him when she said stuff like that. A reminder that all of this had been nothing but a transaction to her. He rubbed the center of his chest again.
“There’s no use fighting about this stuff now,” she said. “I don’t even have a job yet.”
“You should apply to the paper in Omsk. You could live with my parents.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh yes. I’m sure they would love to have their son’s ex-wife move in.”
“You are like a daughter to them, whether we are married or not.”
“Well, the last time I looked, the paper in Omsk doesn’t have any openings.”
“But I’m sure they would make an exception for you—”
“Vlad, stop,” she snapped, once again peeling her gaze from the road. “You don’t understand how journalism works. Could you just send your résumé to any hockey team and ask to play for them? No.”
“Why are you being so stubborn?” Vlad asked, eyebrows tugging together.
“Why are you being so stubborn?”
“Because I’m just trying to protect you, Elena.”
She turned onto his street. “I don’t need your protection. Maybe you haven’t noticed, but I’m not the same scared little girl you married.”
“I have noticed,” he said as she pulled into the drive. “And I’m proud of you. If I haven’t said that before, I’m sorry.”
“There’s a lot we don’t say to each other.” She eased the car into the garage and killed the engine. Irritation was evident in her movements when she threw open her door and slid out. He waited for her to come around to his side before opening his door. She handed him his crutches like always and stepped back so he could get out. But in the cramped space between the car and the wall of the garage, she could only move so far. She was blocked between his open door on one side and his body on the other.
The mundane suddenly became meaningful, and he began to notice all those small moments of awareness about which Malcolm had waxed so poetically. The fresh-aired scent of her hair. The light spray of freckles across her nose and cheeks. The way her lush bottom lip curled out farther than the top, giving her a perpetual look of someone who’d just been kissed. The way he suddenly felt like he was seventeen again, sitting next to her along the banks of the Om River, his body hyperaware of hers in a way he’d never experienced before. The way the air moved against his skin whenever she flipped her hair off her shoulder. The way his fingers itched to catch a soft tendril and tickle it across his palm. The way her collarbone formed a straight, sensual line above the swell of her breasts beneath her shirt. The urgent, overwhelming, burning need to kiss her.
Her eyes strayed to his mouth and lingered there. Every breath became a labor of willpower under her scrutiny. Kiss me. The words were there on the tip of his tongue. Why couldn’t he say them? Why couldn’t he move, take that first step? Now, like then, he couldn’t do it. “Elena,” he rasped.
She blinked, and that cool detachment returned. She stepped back with a forced smile. “Thank you for taking me today. You should go inside and rest your leg.”
“My leg,” he said, disappointment weighing his voice down.
“It’s why I’m here, right?”
Right. And as soon as he was healed, she’d be leaving. How many times was his brain going to have to remind his heart of that fact?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Wakey, wakey, hands off snakey.”
Vlad thought he’d imagined every kind of possible hell. Now he knew he’d missed one—waking up to find Colton leaning over him.
“Time to wake up, little butt,” he said. “You’re going to be late for your appointment.”
Vlad rose up on his elbows. “What time is it?”
“Almost nine. You’re supposed to be at the arena in a half hour. I let you sleep too long.”
He had his one-week post-op appointment today. He didn’t recall any plans for Colton to take him. “Where is Elena?”
Colton shrugged and crossed the room to Vlad’s dresser. “I figured you’d know. She texted me this morning and asked if I’d take you because she had something to do.”
Vlad sat up in alarm. “She didn’t say where she was going?”
Colton opened the top drawer. “Maybe she had some more errands to run for the party. She didn’t tell you?”
No. She didn’t. Vlad checked his cell phone to see if he’d missed any texts from her. But nope. Nothing.
Colton pulled out a T-shirt and a pair of shorts. “Did you guys get in a fight or something?”
Vlad swung his legs off the bed and reached for his crutches. “No.”
“Then why didn’t she tell you she was leaving?”
“I don’t know,” Vlad lied. He knew exactly why. Because after whatever that was in the garage yesterday, she’d withdrawn back into her shell. After serving him dinner, she disappeared into her bedroom like every other night this week.
Vlad got dressed, brushed his teeth, and thought briefly about shaving. But at this stage of beard growth, it would take more time than he had. Colton helped Vlad down the stairs and into the front seat of his car before tossing the crutches into the back seat.
“Thank you for doing this,” Vlad said.
“Did you get any more writing done?” Colton asked as he pulled out of the driveway.
Vlad grunted.
Colton turned at the corner. “Is that a yes or a no?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
Vlad scowled at his reflection in the window. “And what?”
Colton waggled his eyebrows. “Did they kiss yet or not?”
“No.”
Colton tsked. “Don’t cheat your readers, man. It’s a romance. Give us the romance.”
“I know it’s a romance, but it ha
s to make sense. And kissing right now would not be in character for them.”
“Or maybe you just don’t want it to be in character for them.”
Vlad twisted in his seat. “Why would I not want it to be in character for them? I like kissing. I love kissing. But the timing is still wrong.”
“Why?”
“Because Elena doesn’t want him to! She has made that absolutely clear.”
Colton tore his eyes from the road. “You mean Anna.”
“What?”
“You said Elena.”
Heat erupted from his cheeks. “No, I didn’t.”
Colton sucked on his teeth. “Yeah, you kind of did.”
“Obviously, I meant Anna.”
“Obviously.”
Vlad felt a vein pop in his forehead. “Fuck off.”
Colton started whistling to the radio.
They arrived at the arena twenty minutes late, but it was still more than enough time for word to spread that Colton Wheeler was in the house. Vlad left him signing autographs and posing for selfies in the hallway outside the medical facility.
Madison told him to wait for her in one of the consultation rooms. While he waited, he glanced at his cell phone for the hundredth time. Still no message from Elena. Of course, he could text her, but what would he say? Where did you go? That would sound whiny. Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving? That would sound needy.
Why didn’t you kiss me yesterday? That would be downright pathetic.
Madison walked in then, knocking as she opened the door. “Ready for me?”
Vlad leaned on his hip and shoved his phone in his pocket. “Ready.”
The two grad students walked in behind Madison as she approached the bed. “We’re going to take a look at the incision before sending you in for the X-ray, so why don’t you lie back?”
Vlad reclined as Madison opened up the brace. “How’s the pain?”
“Fine. I haven’t had much.”
The other two trainers moved in next to Madison. “We’re going to take you through some range of motions, okay?”
Vlad tensed as one of the trainers slid a hand beneath his knee and gripped his ankle with the other. “Just relax,” Madison murmured.
Relax. Sure. His entire body was a lit fuse. His career was on the line. His wife was nowhere to be found. And his nerves hummed with frustration of the sexual kind. He forced himself to let out a long breath and loosen his muscles. One of the trainers lifted and bent his leg, heel toward his glutes.
“Good,” Madison said quietly.
For the next ten minutes, they manipulated his leg to gauge strength and flexibility. Every new position made him hold his breath, but there was no pain, and Madison seemed pleased with his progress.
“Okay,” she said finally. “You can sit up.”
Vlad crunched his abs to haul himself up. “Now what?”
“We’re going to have you put some weight on it.”
The trainers helped him off the table. He balanced on one foot and waited for Madison’s instructions.
“We just want you to stand, nothing else. Okay? When you’re ready, lower your foot to the floor.”
He held loosely onto the trainers’ arms as he extended his leg and touched the floor for the first time since the injury. He winced in anticipation of pain, of weakness. But when the sole of his shoe touched the ground, he felt neither. The trainers let go of him, and he damn near pumped his fist in victory.
He was standing.
On his own.
“Good,” Madison murmured. “How does it feel?”
“Fine. It is good.”
Madison smiled. “You’re doing great. Let’s get an X-ray to make sure the bone is healing well, and I think we’ll be ready to move you into the next phase of rehab.”
Madison handed him his crutches, and he followed her out of the room and down a hallway to the on-site X-ray room. They draped him in protective gear and once again had him lie down on a long table. The technician took several pictures from different angles, and then Madison told him to wait for her back in the consultation room as she reviewed the images.
He checked his cell phone as he waited.
Still nothing from Elena.
When the door opened again, Madison walked in with a confident smile. “Everything looks great.”
A half hour later, he crutched back out into the hallway with an updated rehab plan, a new brace, and still no message from Elena. He found Colton in the hallway, this time leaning suggestively toward a young woman in a trainer uniform who clasped an autographed towel to her chest.
“I’m done,” Vlad announced.
The young woman stammered and turned red as she jumped away from Colton like she’d just been caught making out with him. Colton turned around and grinned. “Hey, little butt. Do I still have to give you your baths or what?”
The woman excused herself and scurried away.
“Sweet girl,” Colton said.
“Leave her alone. She is probably still in college. And no, you don’t have to bathe me anymore. I can get the incision wet now.”
Colton gave a last look as the girl walked away. “So does that mean you’re healed, or what?”
Vlad crutched down the hallway. “No. But I get to start putting some weight on it next week and daily rehab.”
“Guess that means Elena doesn’t have to stick around much longer, huh?”
Vlad punched the button for the elevator. “What the hell does that mean?”
Colton shrugged innocently. “You’re going to be up and around on your own soon. No reason for her to stay.”
“I’m not going to be up and around on my own soon. I still have to use crutches for several weeks.”
“Yeah, but you won’t be quite as helpless.”
The elevator arrived, and they walked in together. Vlad punched another button. “What is your point, Colton?”
“Nothing. Just that she might not feel like there’s any reason to stay much longer.”
Vlad imagined throwing Colton against the boards. Instead, he rubbed the center of his chest. The feeling he didn’t like was back.
“You wanna grab some breakfast?” Colton asked. “I can call the guys, see who can meet us.”
The Six Strings Diner was their regular gathering spot, a local-favorite restaurant in downtown Nashville where he and his other highly recognizable pals could eat in peace. More than one painful secret had been shared over plates of enormous American breakfasts.
“Come on,” Colton cajoled. “I’m hungry, and we need to talk about all the sex your characters aren’t having.”
“Fine,” Vlad grumbled. At least it would give him something to do besides sitting at home and waiting for his wife. Colton texted the guys and asked who was available. Mack said he could be there in fifteen, Malcolm in ten, and Noah responded he was on his way. No one else could make it.
“You could just call her, you know,” Colton said as he pulled down the parking ramp.
“If she wanted me to know where she was, she would’ve told me.”
“You’re kind of stubborn, you know that?”
“Shut up.”
Colton obeyed, miraculously. Noah and Malcolm were already at the diner when they arrived and had grabbed their normal table. Colton earned a few surprised gasps and excited points, but for the most part, other customers left them alone. That was one of the reasons the guys ate there. It was a local place with few tourists to interrupt them.
“Good news,” Colton said, dropping into a chair. “Our boy here got clearance to wash his own magnificent ass from now on.”
“I’ve been washing my own ass,” Vlad said, picking up the menu. He had the whole thing memorized, though, so it was really just for hiding behind.
“He’s also really gr
umpy,” Colton said. “Elena left his morning without telling him where she was going.”
Mack walked in then and joined them at the table. “How’d your appointment go?”
“I am healing on schedule.”
“Well, that’s some news worth celebrating,” Mack said. “But does that mean we don’t get to bathe your stupendous ass anymore?”
“For the last time, I can wash my own ass!”
The waitress appeared right at that moment. She blinked but said nothing. The Six Strings staff was used to bizarre outbursts from their table. The guys all ordered their usual, and the waitress said she’d be back with their coffee and tea.
“Make any progress on the book?” Malcolm asked.
Colton snorted. “I already asked, and they still haven’t kissed.”
Noah groaned. “Come on. Do I have to smoosh their faces together?”
Vlad shook his head. “No. They are still not ready.”
“Or maybe Tony is just a wuss.” Colton shrugged.
Malcolm tsked. “That’s a gendered insult that you need to erase from your vocabulary, Colton.”
“What? No, it’s not. I use that word all the time.”
“It is a merging of wimp and pussy and is used to describe weak men with an implication of effeminacy. You can trace its roots to both misogyny and homophobia.” The guys all stared in reverent silence. Sometimes, Malcolm morphed into a professor, and they all learned something that made them better men. “Our society has allowed men to get away with a lack of emotional intelligence by equating the expression of a full range of human emotion with femininity.”
“My apologies,” Colton said. “What I’m trying to say is that Tony is a big, fat scaredy cat.”
The waitress returned with their drinks. When she left, Vlad growled. “He is not afraid. He is realistic.”
“Maybe it’s the author who’s afraid, then.” Malcolm said it with a raised eyebrow, a challenge against Vlad’s authorly manhood if he’d ever seen one.
“I am not afraid of my own book.”
Colton snorted. “Hell, you’re too scared to even let Tony admit to himself how he really feels about Anna.”
“He loves her!” He wanted to grab the words and shove them back in, because now that they were spoken, the guys would stop at nothing to make him do something about it. To make Tony do something about it, that is.
Isn't It Bromantic? Page 15