21
Sophie
We took our time driving back to Penny Hill. Roman stopped at roadside stands. We bought peaches and a small watermelon. He had rolled the top down on the Jeep, and I tied a scarf over my hair to keep the flyaways from attacking me too much in the wind.
He kept his hand planted on my knee, occasionally sneaking up my thigh. It was messy and complicated, but I knew we were us again. I peered at him over my sunglasses. I wanted to know how he was going to deal with losing the cup. After this morning, it was evident he hadn’t come to grips with the loss yet. If I could wrap myself around him and take away the pain, I would. But he had to work through it. I was worried he wouldn’t face it. He could win three more Stanley Cups, but if he didn’t deal with the guilt and shame for missing that final play, it was going to eat away at him.
“See that exit?” He pointed over the dash.
“For Nahalia?”
He nodded. “Let’s go.”
“To Nahalia? Why?”
He had already switched on the turn signal and was merging right to exit.
“I want to skate.” His eyebrows waggled.
My stomach flipped. Five minutes later, we parked in front of the Nahalia Iceplex. I stared at the big building shaped like a warehouse. There were only a few cars. There weren’t a lot of skaters in the summer. I heard the roar of the ice machines outside, and one of the Zambonis was being worked on in the sun. It seemed out of place.
“Ready?” Roman jumped out of the Jeep and jogged to my side to open the door for me.
I had been sure I would never end up here again. I swore to him I’d never skate with him again. I’d never glide over the ice. I wouldn’t watch him play.
“Soph?”
He was waiting on the sidewalk. Just how many promises was I going to break to make this work?
“Yeah.” I grabbed my bag and slung it over my shoulder before closing the door. “I’m coming.”
The girl behind the register was either too busy texting her friends or had never watched a hockey game to freak out over the NHL’s star goalie. She didn’t flinch when Roman paid for two sets of skates. He rented a hockey pair, and I asked for figure skates. He also bought socks and a set of sweatshirts with the Nahalia Iceplex logo on the front. I looked ridiculous, but I’d appreciate it the moment we opened the doors to the ice and the blast of cold air covered my body.
We sat on long wooden benches and laced our skates.
“Tight enough?” he asked, squeezing my ankle.
It had been years since I had worn a pair, but I remembered how they were supposed to feel. I remembered how to snag the top lace under the hook. I remembered how to check the ankle support.
I stared at him as he offered his hand. I couldn’t believe I was about to do this. There was only one man I’d ever skated with. Every time I thought about getting back on the ice, my heart did something physically painful. A strangled beat. A suffocated pulse. Whatever it was, it made me change my mind every single time. Ice meant Roman. Ice also usually meant pain. So I had chosen to stay away. A deliberate choice. An act of self-preservation. But not today.
He led me through the set of double doors that divided the skate rentals and visitor observation areas from the rink. Our hands were still clasped as I stepped onto the ice with him. His eyes flashed with mischief. Our skates slid onto the frozen surface with a swoosh. There was no other sound like it in the world.
“Want to try to keep up?” he dared, letting go of my hand.
“No, thanks. You go ahead. I’ve got to get used to it again.” I could tell he was dying to sprint full-speed. I wouldn’t be surprised if he started doing drills right here in front of the father-daughter duo at the other end of the rink. The dad was keeping a small girl in pigtails and a pink puffy coat from slipping.
I had to catch my breath. Not from skating too fast but from the cold. Roman. The skates. The sound the blades made on the ice. His athletic body hurtling faster and faster with grace and precision. I’d never tell him he looked graceful, but he had an ease on the ice. It was where he belonged. Like a swimmer in the pool. This was his element.
He did a lap and swung around backward to wave at me as he skated past. I shook my head, trying to take it all in.
Did he know I hadn’t been able to keep the threats I made the day he left me? All the willpower in the world hadn’t been able to stop me from falling back into us. I felt as if I was back where we started. Was he going to bring it up?
I heard him whir toward me. His were the only strokes on the ice that fast.
“Come on.” He gripped my waist, and I shrieked as he pulled me faster on the ice.
There was always a chance I could lose my balance and fall flat on my face, but as long as he held me, I thought it was nearly impossible.
“Seems like someone missed the ice,” I teased.
His fingers curled into my waist. “I missed this, Soph. Only this.”
I looked up at him. His eyes were fixed on the curve up ahead, but I was melting from the words. Thawing the aversion I’d held to the ice. Because of Roman. I swallowed as we took the turn faster than I would ever have attempted. It was always because of Roman.
I couldn’t believe we'd skated a full hour. My thighs burned, and I questioned whether I had pulled a muscle in my ass. I rubbed my backside as we left the iceplex. The sun was startling, and I whipped the sunglasses out of my bag. I wasn’t ready for the heat and bright light.
“That was awesome,” Roman commented, holding the door for me.
“I definitely wasn’t planning on skating today.” I slid into the seat and reached for the seatbelt. I had to maneuver so the backs of my thighs weren’t scorched by the black seats.
“You did great.” He hopped behind the wheel. “A pro.”
I laughed. “I don’t think so, but thanks. It was fun.”
He kissed the tops of my knuckles. “Yeah. It was fun. Next time we should try a pickup game.”
“Next time?” I gazed at him, admiring his strong, handsome features. “There’s a next time?”
“We came to an understanding last night I thought.”
My stomach churned. God, what was his final takeaway from our big talk?
“What was it?” I asked.
“You and me.” He held my fingers close to his lips. I could feel his breath rush over my skin. My shoulders tingled. “There’s going to be a next time for everything we do from now on. Not a do-over, Soph. We’re in this, right?”
I nodded. “Why didn’t you say it like that last night?” I asked. There was no way he didn’t hear how loudly my heart was pounding.
He let the engine run as he slid an arm around my back and drew me to him. I thought the father and little girl walked past us on the way to their car.
“I needed ice time to clear my head.” He smirked just before his mouth covered mine. He cupped the sides of my face, taking the kiss deeper and hotter. I moaned against his tongue, craving the words that had just slipped off it.
It was several minutes before we came up for air. If my lips hadn’t looked swollen and blistered before, they did now.
“You’re sure?” I asked, trying to make sure there was no doubt. No confusion about what he was saying.
He nodded. “I don’t want to go back to what we used to be. I want what we are now. I want you, Soph. And I swear I won’t fuck it up this time.”
We stared at each. I’d lost track of time.
“Soph?”
“Hmm?”
“Aren’t you going to give me an answer?” I hadn’t realized he was waiting for me to affirm anything he said. I thought I had poured my heart out to him last night at the penthouse. “Do you want this, too?”
I nodded, biting my lip. “I do.”
He took a giant inhale. “Back to Penny Hill?” He untangled his limbs from my body and reached for the gear shaft.
“We are crazy.” I laughed as he threw the Jeep in reverse.
&nbs
p; “Someone has to be.” He pointed us toward the interstate.
* * *
I didn’t like watching Roman pull out of the parking lot behind the Golden Page. I let the curtain fall back into place when his taillights were no longer in view. He had to return the Jeep, and he wanted to check in with his mom. He was going to grab another change of clothes and be back before bedtime.
I wondered if his confession in Nahalia meant he was willing to talk about bigger issues ahead of us. I lugged the overnight bag to my bedroom and hauled it onto my bed.
The vise grips he had clamped to the bedpost to hold the wood glue were still attached. I giggled when I saw them. I fell back on the bed, bouncing on the mattress. I was still studying the clamps when I spotted something that didn’t belong in my bedroom.
I sprang forward and ran my finger through the flakes on my bedside table. I raised my finger to study the gray and black bits. They weren’t dust, and they weren’t debris from a spider web. Those were my first two guesses. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. I rubbed my thumb over my forefinger and sniffed lightly.
Oh, my God. I rushed to the bathroom to wash my hands. There was no mistake. It was a small pile of cigarette ash. When I entered the bedroom again, the only thing I could smell was smoke, even though nothing was burning, and I couldn’t find a cigarette anywhere. I checked the trash cans. I even dropped to my stomach and looked under the bed.
Had I imagined it? I tried to think of an explanation. I raised the windows and turned on my ceiling fan. I ran to the interior door that led to the bookshop. The deadbolts were in place. It didn’t make sense. I ripped the sheets off the bed and threw them in the washer. I couldn’t assign an explanation to what I had found. Maybe I was overreacting. But I dumped twice the amount of detergent I usually did into the cup and ran the sheets through a second cycle before finally tossing them into the dryer.
I poured a glass of wine and waited for Roman.
He would know what to do. And he wouldn’t think I was crazy for being scared shitless that someone had been in my room. I only wish I had told him sooner that I might know who it was. I shivered and drank the wine. I waited.
22
Roman
“Mom?” I slammed the kitchen door, marching through the house and dropping my duffel bag in the laundry room. “Mom?” She wasn’t in the living room. I charged up the stairs. I checked in her bedroom and in the extra bedroom she used as her home sewing workshop.
I wanted to ask her if she’d follow me to the car return and drive me home. I thought I could use the ride back in the car with her to tell her about Sophie. I wanted her to know we were back together. Not just together—we were fire and ice again. Us.
I jogged back to the first floor and turned down the hallway. I opened the door to the screen porch, and my jaw slackened.
“Mom?”
My eyes fell to the tray on the wicker table. There was a pitcher of iced tea, a plate of cookies, and painted glasses. I couldn’t look at her. My eyes fixated on the Italian leather shoes and suit on the man in the chair next to her. Everything in me drained. The hope. The light. Sophie’s infectious laughter and love that I swore thirty seconds ago would fuel me for the rest of my life. It was siphoned from me as quickly as if someone had gutted me from scalp to heel.
I staggered.
“Roman.” Mom’s voice was steady. “I know this is a surprise. I didn’t know how to tell you on the phone, so I didn’t call,” she stammered. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
“You’re a fucking ghost,” I growled at my father. “A corpse. Right? That’s what I’m looking at. A dead man.”
He was slow to stand. Even slower to try and walk toward me. I hadn’t seen him since the day he ripped Sophie from me. He looked older, grayer, more wrinkled. I thought his shoulders slouched more. Designer clothes couldn’t hide aging.
“Son.” He smiled.
“No,” I barked. “Don’t call me that. You don’t have a son.”
“You will not be disrespectful,” he snarled.
“I don’t think I can be disrespectful to the dead. Shouldn’t you be in hell right now?”
“Roman.” My mother couldn’t sit any longer. She moved between us. She had never looked so small. I noticed she was wearing her sewing apron. “Don’t say anything else.” I heard the fear in her voice.
“You threatened her, didn’t you? You son of a bitch.” I gritted my teeth as I stepped in front of Mom. I wanted her shielded behind me. I’d vowed when we moved to the States I’d never let him hurt her again. It was a child’s promise when I was ten, but I was now twice the man my father was, and I could do something about it. Break him in half. Knock him unconscious. Make him hurt. Make him bleed.
“No. Ruby and I were having American tea. What do you call it? Iced tea?”
My jaw clenched painfully. Mom touched my elbow. “Let’s all sit. Okay?”
“Mom, you can go upstairs. I’ll handle him.”
I saw the hesitation. There was a reason she had left Feliks Sorrow seventeen years ago. I gently squeezed her shoulders. “Go. I promise it will be okay.”
She nodded and turned for the screen door. Dad didn’t try to stop her.
When she was gone, I faced him. “Leave her out of whatever fucked-up plan you have.”
“Sit,” he ordered me. I was reluctant to listen, but I knew I couldn’t throw him out of the house without learning his intention. Shit. I hated myself for it, but I wanted to know why he let us believe he was dead.
I took the chair in the corner. I could see the door to the kitchen, the door to the deck, and the stone path that wrapped around to the driveway. If my dad had brought any of his employees with him, I might at least not be caught off guard.
“That’s better, Romanov.”
I groaned. “Don’t call me that.”
“It’s your given Russian name. Are you going to change Sorrow, too?” he chided.
“I’m American.”
“And Russian,” he posed.
“Why are you here? Not to discuss my birth certificate, I’m guessing.”
“In part, yes.” He stroked his white beard. It was also new. I’d never seen him with a beard before. There was a stab of recognition when I thought about my playoff beard. Did it make us look even more alike?
“If it’s to tell me I was switched at birth and you’re not my father, I’d be happy to hear it.”
“Nyet!” The apples of his cheeks reddened.
I leaned closer. “Get it over with.” Something inside my chest hardened.
“It’s time you return home,” he replied smugly. “Russia needs you.”
I blinked and then laughed louder than I knew I was capable. “You’re fucking kidding me right now, Dad. Funny. Patriotic pride. You have your countries mixed up.”
His eyes beaded together. “Your uncle has taken over the family business in my absence. He has no sons. He needs you to step in.” All the cousins on the Sorrow side were girls. I hadn’t spoken to them since we immigrated.
“Right.” I nodded. “Leave the NHL. My life. Hockey. Okay, I’ll pack up.”
“You will be on the national team and play for your country.”
“The United States is my country. I play for the Dire Wolves. I’m under contract. There’s nothing you or Uncle Dusan can do about that. I’m locked in. I won’t break the deal I made with the NHL. You two can handle the business. You always have. I’m out.”
He hissed. “You can’t walk away.”
“Mom walked away,” I countered.
My father’s expression changed. His features relaxed. There was a carelessness in his eyes. He knew something I didn’t. I ground my teeth together. How had she left? How did a young American woman divorce her dirty, rich Russian husband and take their only son to Virginia? Damn it. I’d always thought it was through legal divorce. My father hadn't been much of a father to begin with. Giving me up hadn't seemed far-fetched.
I stared a
t him. “What did she pay for it?”
“She didn’t say?”
I wanted to punch his fucking teeth out.
“What did you make her promise?” I roared, charging off the chair. I yanked him by the shirt collar and shook him. The vein on the side of my neck throbbed.
“Everything has a price, Romanov. Everything. Even family.” He smiled.
“Shit.” I shoved him onto the loveseat. I couldn’t look at him. I studied the lines on the lawn I had made with the mower. “You once told me family comes first.”
“She didn’t want to be my family anymore.”
“She sends you money, doesn’t she?” I closed my eyes. All those hours. All the stitches. The hems. Late nights, bleary-eyed, existing on coffee and energy bars. Working on days off. Holidays. No vacations.
When I had made my first minor-league paycheck, I had tried to pay off her car. I had tried to make a mortgage payment. She refused. When I signed a bonus with the Dires, I had wanted to do something special for her. I'd tried to open an account for her so she could stop working weekends. She wouldn’t accept a penny. And now I knew why. All her money went back to Russia. To him. To the monster that gave me half his DNA.
“How much?” I whispered.
“What?”
“How much does she have left to pay you? What’s the balance?” I wasn’t going to let Mom be beholden to him another day.
“Are you offering?”
I turned on my heels. “I am. I’ll write you a check tonight. And then you leave her the fuck alone.”
“I’d have to calculate the interest from the months she missed payments.”
“You mean the months she thought you were dead?” I growled, balling my hands into fists. God, Mom had thought she was free when he died. She had felt the shackles fall away the same way I had.
“It’s generous of you, son.” His accent was thick.
I shook my head. “We both know you don’t need that money from her. You took from her anyway. And your own child. Do you have any idea what she sacrificed? What she gave up to send that money?”
Cold As Puck: A Cold Love Series Novel Page 12