The Pieces Of Us (The Firebird Trilogy Book 3)

by Jennifer Loring

  She entered with her usual manifest glamour, and he rose to kiss her cold, red cheeks. Hannah doffed her coat and hung it over the back of the chair, her gaze drawn to his half-empty mug. “That looks amazing. Be right back.”

  The sublime sway of her hips, the denim embracing the curves of her ass, riveted him. Alex swiped his tongue over his lips.

  Let go, said the voice he sometimes listened for in the stillness. It’s okay to let me go, honey. A place in your heart will always be mine.

  He blinked back tears.

  Hannah returned with her hot chocolate. “You’re sad, Sasha.”

  “I’m not sad, exactly, just…I want to start this over.” He extended his hand across the table. “My name is Aleksandr Volynsky. I’m widowed, and I have a seventeen-year-old daughter who is the light of my life.”

  She closed her fingers around his hand.

  “I was married to an incredible woman, but it’s been almost a year and a half since her death, and I’ve met someone I’d like to get to know, as much as it terrifies me.” Alex stroked his thumb over her knuckles. He could almost feel Stephanie’s invisible push, shoving him out of their past and into his future.

  He lowered his lips to Hannah’s hand. A tender, revivifying kind of peace descended on him in granting himself permission to feel again, to conceive of a life without Stephanie when he had so recently conceded its futility.

  “I’m not trying to replace your wife. No one can do that. But however long it takes for you to feel at ease, I think you’re probably worth the wait.”

  Someone thought I was, once. Maybe I still am.

  They talked for several hours—about their children, their work, the Gladiators, and the ideal game at which to perform their duet. Words flowed now that he had invited her in. Of course Stephanie would wish for his happiness, as he had for her when the chance of their being together had seemed more remote than the furthest edges of the universe. A substantial portion of the heart Hannah was so deftly stitching back together forever belonged to his cherished wife. She was his first love, and would have been his only, had she been able to stay.

  Alex walked Hannah to her car, the awkwardness of their potential parting gesture—to kiss or not to kiss?—flirting between them. “I’ll call you soon.” He rested one hand on her slender waist. “Unless you call me first.”

  She smiled up at him and plaited their fingers together. “Drive safe.”

  “You too.” He gulped and lowered his mouth to hers, his brain energized and eager to absorb each new sensation—her scent, her touch, her warmth. He had slept with so many women and kissed so few, his lips a butterfly ready to flit away at the first sign of trouble and his head full of wasps.

  He must have been doing all right, because she increased the pressure. He caressed her tongue with his. His skin buzzed.

  “And a great kisser too.” A mischievous grin lit her face, deepened the fine lines around her mouth. “Now I really have something to look forward to.”

  His pulse thundered in his ears, drummed in his throat. “Thank you for being patient with me. I thought I’d blown it already—”

  On her toes, she pressed her lips to his again. “Call me later.” Hannah touched his cheek and smiled again, then climbed into her car.

  Alex waved as she pulled away. He was as giddy as…well, his teenaged daughter.

  Filigree snowflakes drizzled from a monochromatic sky, and he stuck out his tongue to catch one. Though cold had formed a shackle of pain around his ankle, he all but bounced down the street to the BMW, humming “God Bless America” all the way.

  Alex’s sex drive had flatlined along with everything else and was reluctant to return, finding no purpose in it without his devochka. But the full-force impact of the kiss chose now to blindside him, and he stole through the empty house, up the stairs. As soon as he closed the en suite door, he cast off his clothing, started the shower, and masturbated with the fury of a twelve-year-old boy who had stumbled upon his father’s porn stash. They had only kissed, but it was not her taste, not her tongue, nor the shape and texture of her beautiful mouth that had repaired his broken synapses.

  He propped his forearm on the tiles and bowed his head to it, scrubbing his fist over his cock. He hadn’t come in months, though no one would believe that sad truth. After a couple of minutes, he was ejaculating and thinking of Hannah and, if they survived the aftermath of his heartache, solitude was no longer a sustainable option.

  ***

  Anya

  Anya rapped her knuckles on the door jamb of Lucas’s office. “Got a minute?”

  Without cracking a smile, he glanced up from a book called Relentless, tucked a bookmark inside, and set it on the desk. “What can I do for you?”

  “Sorry, did I interrupt? That looks so important.”

  The tips of Lucas’s ears turned red. He tossed the book into a drawer and folded his hands.

  “Are you busy after school? I think my ankle needs some more work before the game tomorrow, and—”

  “I can’t tonight. It’s my birthday, and I have plans with some…friends.” He shifted his eyes to the right. “Sorry.”

  “‘Friends.’ You fucking liar.” She sneered. “Where are you going?”

  “Liquid. Where seventeen-year-olds can’t get in.”

  Anya raised both middle fingers. “Go fuck yourself. You show up at my house on New Year’s, make out with me—”

  “Shut up!” he whispered, cocking his head toward the door.

  “Right. I forgot all you care about is your job.”

  “That’s not…” Lucas sprung up from his chair and raked his fingers through his hair before letting his arms fall to his sides. “Do you think I’d be risking everything if that was all I cared about?”

  “What exactly are you risking? We don’t spend time together outside of hockey. You’re seeing other people. Everything is great for you. Well, it’s not for me.”

  He sat on the edge of the desk. Evading her stare didn’t hide the unhappiness that distorted his features. “We made a mistake, Anya. More than once. We can’t keep doing this.”

  “A mistake. That’s what I am to you?” She finally understood the meaning of the phrase “seeing red,” and dug her fingernails into her palms. Her pulse drummed a war song.

  “No—” Lucas started toward her, but she escaped to the door. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

  “It’s what you said.”

  “What do you want me to do?” He spread his hands in a gesture of blamelessness, as though he were the injured party. “You’re acting like a—”

  “Bitch? Child? What?”

  Lucas sighed and sagged back onto the desk. “Just go. Before either of us says anything else we might regret.”

  Anya flipped him off again and stomped off to study hall. She slunk into a seat in the back next to Hailey and whispered, “I need to get into Liquid tonight.”

  Hailey closed her math book, her face screwed into a frown. “That’s short notice.”

  “Can he do it?”

  “Of course he can. I don’t know how convincing it’ll be, but I’m coming with you. If we get busted, we’ll do it together.”

  True friendship. Not that Hailey ever passed up the opportunity for a little adventure. “Deal. Meet me there at eleven. And don’t forget the IDs! I’ll fill you in when we get there.”

  Hailey rubbed her hands together. “This is going to be so live, I can tell already.”

  ***

  Hailey’s brother, mastermind of petty crime, had forged Anya an ID naming her as Bellatrix Lemieux, age twenty-one. “Is this a joke?” She waved the card at Hailey. “Who the hell would believe that’s anyone’s name?”

  “They don’t care about your name; they care about your picture and birthdate. Besides”—Hailey grinned and arranged Anya’s hair over her shoulders—“you look like a Bellatrix.”

  “Ugh. Let’s go in.” She glanced across the lot at the blue Honda. Not too late to
call this off. Anya handed her dubious ID to the security guard just inside the door, who for a tense few seconds scanned it with a flashlight. If they caught her off guard with a question she didn’t know the answer to, or took the extra time to feel her ID for obvious forgeries, she was screwed. They’d hold her until her enraged father arrived to ship her off to Russia forever.

  “Go on in,” he said, waving her and Hailey in. The temperature swung from Arctic outside to a tropical heat generated by dancing bodies inside, and they shed their coats at the coat check.

  “So what’s the deal?” Hailey adjusted the cowl of her cold-shoulder knit dress, which hugged every curve.

  Anya frowned at her own outfit. In light of the casual dress code, and not wanting to stand out by being overdressed, she’d chosen a boring burgundy tank dress. But people came to clubs like this precisely to hook up, and virtually every woman there was sporting a tiny cocktail dress and heels.

  “You look great.” Hailey grasped her hands. “It’s Lucas, isn’t it?”

  “It’s his birthday. I saw his car in the parking lot, so he’s here somewhere.”

  “Is something going on with you two? Like, more than a crush?”

  Anya hiked her purse strap up and looked away.

  “Oh my God. Tell me, tell me, tell me!” Hailey yanked on her arm. She even stomped her feet.

  “I can’t. I mean, I will. Eventually. But I can’t right now. Just—do you see him?”

  They both surveyed the club. The dance floor tiles lit up in shifting fluid patterns with each step, as a giant mirror ball flung multicolored sparks onto the ceiling, the walls, the dancers.

  “Is that him at the end of the bar? Who’s the skank?”

  He hadn’t introduced the Wicked Witches, and as Anya had done her best to block out the memory of them, she couldn’t be sure this girl was one of the original two or yet another friend with benefits.

  “I do believe it’s time to make a scene.” Hailey hooked her arm with Anya’s and tugged her toward the bar. They squeezed in as every male eye soaked up Hailey’s figure.

  Except Lucas, who treated Anya to a vicious scowl and mouthed, “What the fuck?” He said something to the girl beside him, abandoned his barstool, and with a subzero glare jerked his head for Anya to follow him.

  They wound up in the hallway where the bathrooms were located, Lucas with his arms folded over his black button-down. “This is not okay, Anya,” he shouted over the squelching trance bassline. The kick-drum rhythm vibrated through the floor and into her feet. “Following me like this? Did you use a fake ID to get in here?”

  “You know what’s not okay? Leading me on like you have when you fucking know”—she shoved her palm against his chest—“how I feel!”

  Lucas closed his fingers around her wrist. “I’m not trying to lead you on. I…”

  “You’re a pussy. You like me, or say you do. Well, here I am.”

  He moved close to let someone pass behind him through the narrow corridor. Close enough that she could see a few curls of chest hair peeking from his shirt, open to the second button. His scent intoxicated her more potently than anything Hailey might order at the bar.

  “What do you want?” he whispered in her ear. “Do you want to punish me?”

  Now that he mentioned it…But she was drunk on him, unable to speak as a hand cupped her cheek and a wicked mouth claimed her lips. She hitched her fingers to his belt loops and drew him nearer.

  “Nothing changes even if I tell you what I want, because I can’t have it. Do you understand?” With ragged breaths, Lucas skimmed his lips over her neck. “I can’t have you.” He nuzzled her behind her ear. “The school district doesn’t care how we feel. Your father doesn’t care how we feel. So I need you to go home. I need you to forget this.”

  “No.” Anya pressed a demanding kiss to his mouth.

  His hard body melted against hers, his sad sigh warming her lips. “Please,” he murmured. His blue eyes shimmered.

  “It’s not about the district. It’s not even mostly about that. It’s you. Hurting so much that you think it’ll rub off on everyone else.”

  “Don’t.” Lucas stiffened and withdrew from her, his expression dimming. “I’m not your father. Anya, listen to me.” He waggled a finger at her. “This is done. Okay? It’s over. I’m going to get wasted”—he gestured at the bar—“fuck this girl, and go to sleep. Whatever you thought was going to happen tonight, it’s not.”

  “Is this what guys do when they can’t handle the truth, no matter how old they are? They get mean. God, you people have the most fragile egos.”

  “Go home,” he said, “and I don’t tell Coach you were here. You know you could get kicked off the team for this.”

  Anya jostled him out of her way. “The one thing I’d never do is threaten you. I guess I do know where I stand with you.”

  He wilted. He was, regardless of his attempts to convince her otherwise, fundamentally a nice person. But she was in no mood for apologies that amounted to nothing while they were stuck in this feedback loop. “Anya—”

  She held up a hand to dismiss him as she walked back to the dance floor. Hailey was chatting up three guys providing her their undivided, enthralled attention. She’d never have a problem like this. One guy didn’t work out, ten more were lined up for a chance. Anya slinked past, retrieved her coat, and sneaked out to the parking lot. She texted Hailey and made her promise to call if things got weird, then started the car for a welcome discharge of heat and stared at the entrance. A vile souring of her stomach accompanied the thought of him screwing that girl, even if at this point it was out of spite.

  He’s not coming.

  She smeared her palms over her eyes and put the Mercedes into drive.

  ***

  The lot had cleared of students and staff. From the Mercedes, Anya watched the rest of her teammates trickle out of the ice center, followed by the coaches. Where the hell was Lucas? He’d been all but avoiding her since that night at the club, having called off sick for the game the following day despite playoffs right around the corner. Each conversation was cursory, each touch as automatic and impersonal as one would expect from an athletic trainer and not a guy who had kissed her. Three times.

  Probably sneaked out a different door like the coward he was. She cruised around the lot and spied his car in the far corner, beneath a snow-covered tree. Hiding. Anya parked and shut off the engine, her breath condensing in the cooling air. A shadowy figure jogged across the asphalt, lost his footing on a slick patch but with a flailing of arms regained balance before he hit the ground. Bracing herself for the biting cold, Anya left the Mercedes and slammed the door.

  “You stalking me again?” He said it with a half-smile, but it was exactly like stalking. Like she was crazy, jilted, lurking in a dark parking lot waiting for him to come out when she should’ve been home by now.

  She almost slinked back into the car in shame. “You know why I’m here.”

  “Anya, this isn’t the time—”

  “Then when is? Because you sure as hell haven’t made any effort to talk to me otherwise. You’ve gone out of your way to pretend I don’t exist.”

  Lucas bowed his head and scuffed his heel on the icy asphalt. “I’m supposed to be setting an example. Not sticking my tongue down my athletes’ throats.”

  “What, do you think I’m going to send my father after you? I’m not some Southern belle worried about her reputation.”

  “Anya…” Breath steamed from between his lips. He combed a hand through his hair. “I tape you, I massage you, I treat your injuries. I touch you all the time, and…I want to keep touching you. I keep thinking about the way you taste.” His gaze drifted past her. “The way you feel.” He flinched when she skimmed her fingers over the back of his hand. “I thought if I kept my distance or acted like an asshole, maybe you’d get sick of it, and you’d find someone who can be with you.”

  “I can wait five months, Lucas. Can you?”

 
; He took a small but obvious step back. “The point is you shouldn’t have to. Besides, you’ll be leaving for college after that.”

  She fixed him with a pointed stare. Ignored the little voice telling her to kiss his cherry cheeks, his nose. “So even if I choose to wait, I’m wasting my time because you don’t do long-distance?”

  Lucas twined a lock of Anya’s hair around his finger. His eyes glinted, metallic in the wintry moonlight. “You’re smart. Beautiful. But you have a little rebellious streak, don’t you? You really don’t care about the trouble we’re already in if someone finds out we’ve kissed. Or that you’ve been to my apartment and I’ve been to your house.”

  “I’m Aleksandr Volynsky’s daughter. What do you think?”

  He didn’t laugh. Fear—not that this might end for good, she thought, but that she would tell someone—flashed in his eyes. Women did in these kinds of entanglements. Blackmailed their lovers unless they got what they wanted. Those poor, helpless men. Women had been subjugated since the beginning of history so men didn’t have to concede that they were the real slaves, enthralled by the magic of pussy. “Then care about what it means for me if anyone finds out. Supplying alcohol to a minor. A school employee kissing a student—that’s plenty to get me fired.”

  “I’m not one of those people, Lucas. I’m not going to ruin your life, whatever happens between us. I’m not some vindictive child.” Anya glanced around the lot before jerking her chin at the Mercedes. “Get in. It’s freezing out here.”

  They dove into it. Heat blasted from the vents; Anya peeled off her gloves and blew into her hands.

  Lucas cupped them in his and puffed onto them, his parted lips a provocation to kiss. “Better?”