My father’s eyes lit. He had struck a nerve. It gave him power. New energy.
“I’ll give you another option, Romanov.”
“What’s that?” I whispered, trying to find my way through the darkness to speak. No one had shown such satisfaction in my humiliation. Such joy in my despair. The memories sputtered like camera flashes. One, then two, then countless images of my father’s face, red and swollen. Yelling at a little boy. Threatening him with punishment. Promising to deprive him of supper. Broken blood vessels on his nose, close enough to study as he yelled loudly enough to spew spit on that boy’s face. The vile names. The intimidation. Ten years of hatred from an abusive, toxic father cracked open and seeped onto the cheap carpet in the hotel suite. I gripped the windowsill. He was a villain in my childhood. A monster in my nightmares. I didn’t know I was capable of hate this strong.
“What is it?” I repeated. I’d take almost any option to rid him from my life permanently. He had the power to do that—to make me agree to something I didn’t want to do just to erase him.
“I’ll tell your uncle to bring your share of the business here. He has suggested it in the past. It seems he may have been right. You may be better suited to deal for us here.”
I stared at him. “That’s impossible.” I walked away. “And a joke, I hope.”
“You’re staring at a ghost.” He grinned. “Nothing is impossible.”
“No.” I glared at him.
“It is the only concession I will offer.”
“There has to be another one.” Moving to Russia was the same as a death sentence. Embedding myself in the family business was almost the same. I never knew the details of what my father and uncle smuggled, but I had suspected for a long time: weapons, drugs, women.
There was a new smile on his face. One that made me regret asking.
“I’ll make a bargain with you, Romanov. It is a one-time offer.”
I swallowed. “Tell me what it is.”
He sat on the loveseat and reached inside his coat pocket for a cigar. The bodyguard strolled toward us with the humidor box extended in his hand. I watched Feliks select the cigar cutter and snip the end of the Cuban roll. He took his time to complete the process of lighting the cigar.
The first puff of smoke floated above my head.
“I will offer a year's extension. You can join Uncle Dusan a year from now. I will need your word that by the fall next year you will be in Russia, and we can expect to see you on the national team. Losing for team Russia will not be tolerated, of course.”
I pushed down the urge to strike him. “What else?” He would never give me more time without a catch.
His cheeks hollowed with another puff. “I need access to Colonel Fairchild’s house.”
I began to cough so hard I choked.
I cleared my throat when I was able to breathe again. “The national security officer? The man with ten security systems? That house?”
“You’re sleeping with his daughter. Marrying her. You didn’t take any of my previous threats seriously. Consider this the last one.”
“You want free access to his house, and that buys me one year in the States?” I posed.
He nodded. “Do we have a deal?”
My eyes darted to the bodyguard. The gun. The guard I knew was on the other side of the door and the one at the elevator. All armed.
“How do we trust each other?” I asked. “What if you change your mind in six months? How can I be sure you aren’t going to drag me across the Atlantic in a body bag?”
“Romanov.” He smiled. “We are family. Family always comes first.”
I felt bile rise in my throat as I extended my hand toward him. “You have a deal.”
He laughed. “I think this calls for a toast. Boris, the vodka,” he called.
I stepped away. “No. I’m not going to celebrate.” I stared hard. “Don’t ever ask me to do something like this again.”
I walked past Boris and didn’t take another breath until I was outside the hotel and knew no one was following me. I leaned over a row of hedges and vomited.
31
Sophie
I stared at the ceiling. When I had designed this room and chosen the color palette, I’d never thought I’d spend the night in it. I turned on my side, tugging the sheet with me. It was close to 1 a.m. Past time to be asleep, filled with dreams.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
I jumped. My eyes flew to the ceiling. It sounded like someone was walking upstairs. It wasn’t possible. I put one foot on the floor and paused to listen again, my ears straining toward the ceiling as if I could dial in sounds like a radio channel.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
I crept off the couch and tiptoed to the hallway. If they knew about the interior staircase, they could be down here within a matter of seconds.
I stared above. The footsteps grew louder and stronger, approaching the door. I ran across the room and yanked my phone off the charger.
“Come on, come on,” I pleaded to the blank screen. I had turned my phone off to eliminate any chances Roman would call drunk and sorry. I shook the phone in my hand, begging it to light up. I threw it on the couch. I didn’t have the patience or time for it to power up, and I couldn’t get to the phone behind the register without running in front of the stairs.
I dug around in my purse until I felt the slim, cold canister between my fingers. I clicked back the safety and pointed it straight ahead. I held my stance with firm feet.
I couldn’t look away. Aim was everything.
I kept my hand on the trigger. As soon as I heard the intruder's shoe hit the last step, I screamed and started spraying. I hollered, unleashing every last drop of Mace in the self-protection kit.
“Fuck! Stop it, Soph!”
I watched Roman roll to the ground in agony. He writhed, gasping for air and grabbing at his eyes.
“Oh, my God, Roman.” I panicked, dropping to the floor. I tried to pull his hands from his face, but I had made perfect contact.
I thought he sounded like an injured puppy, whimpering and coughing. He couldn’t speak or breathe with any kind of regularity. I had to get him to the shower in my bedroom.
“Just hold on to me, and I’ll get you under the water,” I promised. His body would take me down the stairs if I didn’t use the leverage of my hip and put his hands on the railing.
He did what I told him until we reached the top landing. He knew the apartment layout well enough to stagger to the bathroom while I held his hand, pulling him in the right direction. I turned the faucet on, and he quickly undressed, still wheezing and gasping.
I shoved him under the water, stepping in the shower with him. I grabbed the soap and began to lather his body. I washed every inch of him. I shampooed his hair and used a washcloth to gently dab around his eyes.
His hand flattened against the tile. He exhaled. “Shit. That hurt.”
“You’re okay?” I asked. His eyes were bright red, as if he had been painted as the devil for a Halloween costume, only worse. His pupils dilated from small to large, trying to work through the chemical reaction.
“Yeah.” He hung his head, letting the water wash over his massive shoulders. He turned to open his mouth under the shower stream, filled it with water, and spit it out.
“I’m sorry. I thought you were someone who broke into my apartment.”
“Wh-where’s your phone?” he sputtered.
“I turned it off,” I admitted sheepishly. “And it wouldn’t turn on fast enough. I grabbed the Mace and aimed. I’m so sorry.” I ran my hands through his hair.
He coughed into his elbow. “Fuck, that’s some wicked shit.”
“What were you doing upstairs?” I asked.
“Mom said you texted her you were here. I used my key to let myself in, and then I headed downstairs.”
I dropped my shoulders. “Will you be okay?”
He nodded. “I’m going to need to wash my clothes.”
; “I’ll take care of it.”
He leaned into the tile. His muscled body rippled under the water. I touched his shoulder, and my thumb pressed into his bicep.
“Where were you, Roman? You missed everything. The launch. The ribbon-cutting.”
His eyes barely opened. I didn’t know if it was because it was too painful to blink or because he couldn't look at me.
“I know. I’m sorry. There wasn’t anything I could do.” His eyes finally opened. “We need to have a talk, Soph.”
My stomach lurched. I tried to back up, but there was nowhere to go in the small shower. Roman took up all the space. His body, his energy, was everywhere. His arm reached for me.
“Let’s get dried off. I need to start at the beginning.”
* * *
I sat and listened to Roman talk. He told me about growing up in Russia. He told me how his father had pressured him to play harder than the other kids, skate faster, win the most. He told me that when he was as young as five, there were grave consequences if he didn’t.
He also told me that he recently learned his mother was only able to negotiate their immigration and her divorce by paying thousands of dollars to his father every month. It was why Sew Lovely was never closed. Why she never turned away a customer or an offer to alter a hem or repair a pillow.
He also told me that his father had a brother, Dusan. Together they had created a family business that was based on corruption, deceit, and theft. Roman didn’t know the details of what they traded or smuggled, only that none of it was legal.
I sat while he held a cold washcloth to his eyes. I replaced it when it grew warm. We drank hot tea and ice water. Anything that would stop his cough from starting up again. I thought it would take a while to work the vapors out of his lungs.
“Roman, why are you telling me this now?” I asked gently. It was as if one giant confession was the only way he could live. He'd never shared this much. Never.
“Soph, this is so fucked up,” he growled. “I don’t want you to know any of it. But I’ve kept this part of my life hidden from you since we met. Even when I found out about my mom’s debt a few weeks ago, I didn’t tell you.”
I sat next to him on the couch and folded my hands over his knees. “It doesn’t change things, if that’s what you’re worried about. I hate what happened to you as a little boy.” My voice cracked. I didn’t want to think about a tiny, innocent Roman being told he was worthless. “I hate what your father did. But I understand that Ruby did everything she could to protect you and give you a life here that was safe and wonderful.” I stroked the side of his face. “She’s incredible; what she did for you is amazing.”
He turned my palm to his lips and kissed the center of my hand. “She’s strong.” He smiled sadly. “Like someone else I know.”
I laughed. “You can’t put me in the same stratosphere as her. She’s a brave woman. She rescued you.”
“So did you, Soph.”
I sighed. He always did that. Put me on a pedestal. Looked at me as if I was an angel—his salvation. I couldn’t be either of those for him if he didn’t accept his own strength and ability to survive, and he had it. I knew he did.
“At least you don’t have to worry about Feliks anymore. I know now why you didn’t want to explain this to the league. They don’t need to know about your father. It’s a complicated, dark history that should stay private.” I paused. “But I support their message. There aren’t enough guys who face their problems. They need help. They need the Dr. Falcons in this world. At least your team cared enough to get help for you.”
“Sophie, stop. I haven’t told you everything.”
“Okay. Keep going.” I fell silent.
“He’s not dead.”
I felt paralyzed. “What?”
“Feliks is alive, and he’s here in Penny Hill.” Roman let the washcloth fall from his face. He looked at me despite the bleariness and bloodshot whites of his eyes.
“But you said he was dead.” I scanned his face for an explanation.
“He and my uncle faked his death. I didn’t get into it with him. I don’t want to know who he is hiding from, or what he did. He’s back, and he wants something.”
I’d never felt my spine slither beneath my skin. It was a hideous, cold feeling.
“What does he want?”
“I have one more story to tell you first.” He leaned against the couch. His bare chest was warm. “It’s about you and me.”
“I-I don’t understand.”
“He was there that day. Four years ago.” Roman swallowed. “Waiting for me in the car to make sure I broke things off with you.”
I reached for my neck. “W-why?” It was probably as splotchy as the spots Roman had from his skin's reaction to the pepper spray.
“He found out I was going to marry a girl whose dad was a foreign intelligence officer. And he couldn’t have that. He and Uncle Dusan decided it was the threat to their business that would take them down. Nothing I said convinced them to believe me. They couldn’t let it go.”
A crevice began to shift in my heart. It was guilt trying to climb out. I’d never told Roman about how my father’s distrust of him was because he was Russian. He struggled so much with his split heritage, and I knew if he realized my dad didn’t trust him, it would hurt. I'd kept it to myself. I'd told my dad he was crazy. It turned out Dad wasn’t crazy.
“This sounds like a movie, Roman.”
He nodded, stroking my hair. “It does. And I did it. I did what they told me to do. I broke it off with you.”
“Why did you listen to them?” I heard the way my words came out strangled, but I couldn't stop it.
“I didn’t have any leverage. No options. And they promised they’d hurt you if I was disrespectful to the needs of the family. Break your knees. Paralyze you. A car accident. Something. Everything.” He choked on a sob as his arms folded around me. “I don’t know if they were bluffing. I don’t know. I didn’t ask. One threat, and I just did it. I didn’t want you to get hurt.”
I curled against his chest, drawing my knees into his lap. I kissed his neck. “It’s okay. I’m okay. They didn’t hurt me. I’m okay, Roman.”
“I did, though.” He buried his face in my hair. “I hurt you worse than they ever could have.”
“I appreciate having my kneecaps,” I teased.
He tried to chuckle. “Even when I told you I was sorry, I couldn’t tell you why. I couldn’t tell you how much I hated myself for not fighting for you.”
“You did fight for me. You still fight for me.” I smiled.
“Soph, there’s more.”
I wasn’t sure I could take more, but he was flooded with guilt and nightmares. I had to listen.
“Okay. You can tell me anything.”
His fingers dug into my arm. After the scary stories he had recounted, I knew for some reason this was the hardest one. I could sense it. The way his body tensed. The way he kept taking breaths without speaking.
“I haven’t been honest since I arrived in Penny Hill about why I was sent home.”
I chewed the inside of my cheek.
“Something happened after game seven.” Each word was quiet. Spoken slowly. “It was a road game, and I had room at the Ritz. Team hotel. You know how that goes.” I nodded against his chest. “And I got drunk. Wasted. Drank everything in the mini-bar, knocked on my buddy’s door and drank what he had left over, too. I shaved off my beard. I was totally shitfaced and grabbed scissors and a razor.” My skin began to prickle. “I cut myself in a few spots. I didn’t feel it, though. I was too trashed. And of course I kept drinking. And then I…” He stopped talking.
I pressed against him gently. “What happened?”
“I climbed in a tub of water. I left it running.” His eyes lifted to the tin ceiling. Fat tears sat on his bottom lashes, and I knew he was trying like hell not to let them fall in front of me.
“It’s okay, you can tell me.” I rubbed his arm.
&nbs
p; “I didn’t plan anything. I swear to you.” He wiped his nose roughly. “But I didn’t not plan anything, either. It was blank. The world felt blank.” He frowned. “When I woke up, I had flooded three floors. The paramedics were there, resuscitating me. I’d gone under the water.”
I held his face in my hands, sitting forward on my knees. “Roman, you are here. You’re okay. You’re safe. I love you.”
His fingers dug into my arms as he dragged me back into his lap. “I swear I wasn’t trying to—”
I kissed his cheek.
“I wouldn’t do that. I don’t want to hurt myself. But that’s why the team intervened. They wanted me to face my demons.”
“Do you think Dr. Falcon has helped you do that?”
“When I let her. Yes.”
“You could have told me. I wouldn’t have judged you. I would never judge you.”
He rubbed my arm. “But if it got out... Do you know how the guys would look at me? What they would think?”
I pinched my lips together. “How do you know there’s not another guy struggling? Maybe someone who just needs to hear that you were in a dark place. Doesn’t matter if it was a drunk place, but you put yourself somewhere where you could have been seriously hurt. You were there, and you climbed out of it. You never know who could use a story like that.”
“And if they think I’m a loser? A mental case who can’t hold his shit together?”
I shook my head. “I see you. I know you. And that’s not the truth. Everyone has a chance to tell their story or have it told for them.” I’d always believed that to be true. “I’ve been working through it with the Russell attack. I know it’s not the same thing, but I know there are a lot of other women out there who don’t trust their gut instincts when it comes to men. Maybe I can help someone listen to that little red flag more closely. And you can help take away this stigma, this ridiculous idea that guys don’t need help. Because that is fucking moronic,” I groaned.
He chuckled. “You make it sound so easy.”
Cold As Puck: A Cold Love Series Novel Page 17