What's Left Of Me (The Firebird Trilogy Book 2)

by Jennifer Loring

  He brought her to the edge several times, then switched the rhythm and pattern as she slid his palms up and down her thighs. Now drawing lazy circles around her clit, now giving it furious flicks of his tongue, now sucking until she was writhing and twitching, her screams incoherent and rapturous.

  Her chest was heaving as she collapsed back onto the sheets. She coughed—deep, braying—and stared up at the ceiling. “Holy shit.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah. Just…wow.”

  “Thank you. And you’re welcome.”

  She snickered and elbowed him, then twisted a lock of his hair around her finger. “I love you.”

  Anya wailed with hunger.

  “So much for post-coital bliss. I’ll get her.” Stephanie tweaked his ear and grabbed her robe, wrapping it around herself as she left the room.

  He was going to enjoy it, at least for a few minutes. Alex stretched out and relaxed on the pillows, banishing thoughts of the people who believed he hadn’t earned this happiness, who conspired to snatch it from him when he’d begun to stop believing that himself.

  She returned with Anya and a bottle and perched on the edge of the bed. The night of Anya’s birth, the nurse had ordered she stay in the room to facilitate bonding, despite Stephanie’s exhaustion and her insistence that she wasn’t breastfeeding. She begged. The nurse pushed back. Only when Stephanie broke down in frustrated tears did Alex step in and demand to see the nurse supervisor. Under normal circumstances, Stephanie never let him fight her battles. He wasn’t about to let them deprive her of the sleep required to recover, and one night wasn’t going to destroy the bond between her and Anya.

  They had won, though he hated to think it was only because the nurses found him physically threatening. He hadn’t raised his voice, but his wife in tears aroused a side of him he’d abandoned on the ice, except when it came to his family. A side best left unprovoked.

  He laid his chin on her shoulder. “Hey, you know what tomorrow is?”

  “Sunday?”

  “And your first Mother’s Day.”

  “Already?” She set the bottle on the nightstand and eased Anya onto her stomach over her lap. Stephanie gently rubbed her back. “Seems like you just got here, little girl. And I suspect your father is up to something.”

  “Whatever do you mean?” Alex kissed her cheek. “I’m just saying, don’t make any plans tomorrow. And on that note, I need to go on a supply run.” He headed to the en suite for another quick shower. “Do my girls need anything while I’m out?”

  “I think we’re good. Oh—something chocolate, please? I don’t even care what it is.”

  “You got it.” He started the shower but peered into the bedroom one more time. Stephanie, having successfully coaxed a burp out of Anya, was rocking her and murmuring words too soft for him to hear. The loss Stephanie had carried inside her for so long, one he’d felt no less acutely when he learned of it, had found its miraculous cure. The what-ifs and could-have-beens resolved the moment of Anya’s birth, that miscarried ghost lain to rest. The dreams they might have invested in it were now Anya’s for the taking, and with her genes, he had a feeling she’d settle for nothing less than greatness.

  ***

  Stephanie

  Anya had cried briefly, sharply, then stopped moments after Alex got out of bed. He hadn’t returned, but as Stephanie dozed off again, a racket arose from the kitchen. Mother’s Day. She smiled and rolled over, grabbing one of his pillows to cover her head.

  The thump of Alex’s heavy, careful footsteps up the stairs, and his singing drifting down the hall, roused her again. He was carrying a tray bearing a long-stemmed rose, a huge Boston crème donut, and a large iced latte. Her all-time favorite breakfast. He’d tucked an envelope beneath a napkin. She sat up so he could place the tray on her lap, and he climbed back into bed beside her.

  “Anya’s asleep.” He kissed the corner of her mouth and put an arm around her shoulders. “Enjoy, Mama.”

  Stephanie leaned against him. “You are the sweetest.” She broke off a chunk of donut, licked the chocolate frosting, and popped the dough into her mouth to savor the rich, vanilla custard filling. She wiped her hands and edged her finger along the envelope’s seal until it opened. The scent of Alex’s cologne wafted from the folded purple stationery inside.

  Dear Anya,

  I’m writing this letter because I want to tell you that you have the most incredible mother in the world. I fell in love with her the second I saw her—it might sound silly, but it’s true. We were only sixteen, and even so, I knew I was going to marry her someday. That kind of thing doesn’t happen much anymore, but if you take anything from it, it’s that you should never stop believing in true love. Your mama and I spent many years apart after I had to go back to Russia, but here we are now, married and with a new baby (that’s you!). I’m even in the process of becoming naturalized. By the time you can read this, I’ll be a US citizen.

  Your mother hasn’t had the easiest life, but she has the kind of strength most of us can only wish for. Your papa was a real jerk once upon a time, yet she gave me another chance, even though it was hard for her to trust me again. She loved me when I needed it the most, for reasons we’ll talk about when you’re older, and that’s what I’m going to do for her every day for the rest of our lives. Thanks to her, this Russian boy became something more than just a hockey player. He became her husband, and now he’s your father, and there’s nothing in this world I could want more than my two beautiful girls.

  I know there will be days as you grow up when you and your mama don’t see eye-to-eye—just remember that everything she says and does is because she loves you. Someday you’ll thank her for it. I know I do.

  I love you, baby girl. And you, Stephanie. You are my heart and my soul, my breath and my life.

  Love Always,

  Papa

  She laid a hand over her heart and looked up at Alex, who brushed a tendril of hair from her forehead.

  “Happy Mother’s Day.”

  Tears blurred her vision. Alex kissed them away as they fell.

  “I’m not done with you yet. You have a date at the spa. Massage, facial, nails, lunch, the works. So eat your breakfast and get out of here. You need a day off.”

  Stephanie sniffed and with a hand on his cheek drew him closer to kiss him. He brushed his tongue against hers, flashed a sly grin, and pulled away.

  “As much as I’d love to practice making you a mama again, you have somewhere to be. I’ll be downstairs so you don’t get distracted.”

  Her fingers tingled with the desire to touch him. She ran them over his biceps, drank in the blended fragrances of deodorant, arboreal cologne, and fresh laundry that created his unique scent. “Too late.”

  The latte jiggled on her lap, but Alex caught it before it tipped over. “Remember,” he whispered in her ear, “Mother’s Day lasts all day.” He held the straw to her lips. She took the plastic cup from him and watched him hobble out of the room. He may have lost his old swagger thanks to the limp, but his ass was as enchanting as ever.

  Stephanie switched on the TV, the channel set to TWSN. Some sports talk and opinion show she’d never bothered to watch because she couldn’t stand the two blowhards who hosted it.

  They were talking about Alex.

  “Even if he’s innocent,” one of them was saying, “what were the Gladiators thinking, hiring a twenty-seven-year-old kid as an assistant coach? Sure, he has seven years of playing experience, but does that translate to coaching ability? If this was anyone other than the Gladiators’ former captain—and granted, he led them to a Stanley Cup—would we be seeing him at the NHL level rather than the AHL or even juniors?”

  “Maybe it is favoritism, but we haven’t seen him in action as a coach yet. The Gladiators’ special teams can’t get much worse when they’re already ranked twenty-ninth in penalty killing and twenty-sixth in power plays—”

  She clicked it off and stuffed the donut into h
er mouth, her neck and shoulders knotted. She needed that massage after all. And maybe a punching bag for the gym.

  Chapter Five

  Alex

  “What is with you people?” Alex leaned forward and squinted at the woman across from him. Spasms lurched through his stomach. He’d lied to Stephanie about where he was going and had been late on top of it. “You’re coming out of the woodwork lately.”

  Courtney flipped her chestnut hair over her shoulder. Her smarmy smile instigated the urge to throttle the bitch. “A million or your wife and the whole world find out you’re a freak.”

  “I’m not a freak,” he said through clenched teeth and glanced around the coffee shop.

  “Does your wife know what you really like to do during sex?”

  His cheeks caught fire.

  “Oh, that’s right. You’re bipolar. That’s your excuse for everything now.”

  What once boiled over as violent rage now threatened to become tears. Which was worse—looking like a psycho or a pussy? “Shut the fuck up. Don’t you dare say a word about my wife.”

  “Aw, you have a sensitive side now. I hear fatherhood does that. The stories your daughter is going to hear about you.”

  He shot up from the table and, gripping the edges, reared over her. “You’re not going to see a dime from me, and neither is that other lying súka. You want to release it? Go ahead. Let the world see what a filthy whore you really are.”

  She sank back in her chair, her face pale, as his revulsion swept over her in blistering swells.

  “You have a boyfriend, isn’t that right? He’d never touch your nasty piz′da again if he saw that video. Does he know he got my sloppy seconds?”

  “You hate women, don’t you?”

  “I hate women like you. Now stay the fuck out of my life.” Alex limped away and down the street, where he sat in the Mercedes, shaking, tears simmering in his eyes. Too heated to drive home, too appalled at the things he’d said so easily despite his hatred for Courtney. How easily he’d said similar things to Stephanie when he was in the hospital. The blatent animosity.

  That kind of man was unfit to raise a daughter.

  ***

  Stephanie

  Stephanie sat forward with her arms resting on a table as the doctor scrubbed her skin where he would perform the biopsy. She tried not to pick at the nail polish applied after her mani-pedi at the spa the other day. Anything pink or girly made her cringe; fortunately, she’d found a color called Night Breed, black with silver glitter, that was too fun to pass up.

  The doctor had given her a mild sedative, but she was far too awake and aware of the procedure. Too cognizant of the implications should the result be positive. A pinch stung her back when he injected a local anesthetic. “I’m going to make a small incision, then insert the needle into the abnormality. Keep still for me, okay?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth. Pressure, then a short, sharp pain in her back and through her lung where the needle located its target. The doctor extracted the aberrant tissue and applied more pressure to stop the bleeding before bandaging her.

  “We’ll have results in no more than a week. Go down the hall for your X-ray, then we’ll get you out of here.”

  “Does it look cancerous?”

  “I’d rather not make any guesses. Sometimes things that look cancerous aren’t, and vice versa. We’ll call your doctor as soon as we know one way or another.”

  “All right. Thank you.”

  Stephanie plodded down the hall, her gown flapping against her exposed back. I’ll be fine if I believe I am. A child’s logic. But even a child wasn’t stupid enough to believe anything was fine.

  ***

  Alex was sitting in the great room, hunched on the couch with his head in his hands. Medication couldn’t prevent his dark moods completely, only dull them, and they remained obvious when they struck. Stephanie fed Anya, changed her, then put her down for a nap. Alex hadn’t moved.

  “Alex? Honey?”

  He curled his fingers tighter in his hair, his cheeks blotchy.

  “What’s wrong?” She sat beside him and lowered his hands. Strands of black hair fluttered onto his lap. “Stop,” she murmured. “Stop hurting yourself.”

  His beautiful face contorted into a mask of heartrending agony he concealed behind his hands.

  “Alex, talk to me. Please. Do you want me to call your doctor?”

  He shook his head. “I just want to be normal.”

  “You’re Aleksandr Volynsky. You’re never going to be normal.” She nuzzled his ear. “What happened? You were fine when I left. Did everything go well at your meeting?”

  He gave her the look of someone about to vomit. “You’re going to leave,” he whispered.

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I lied to you. I didn’t have a meeting. I just didn’t want you to know where I was going.”

  Her chest tightened. “Go on.”

  “I met with someone who…” He smeared his hands down his face and stared out the windows. “She has a video.”

  “A video.” Stephanie’s stomach turned inside out. “Well, I suppose we should’ve seen that coming eventually.”

  “I wanted to make the video. She didn’t do it secretly.”

  “I see.”

  “It was two years ago. But I don’t want you to think…I can’t let you see that. Even if she releases it. She wants a million dollars to keep it off the internet. Please don’t watch it. I can’t—”

  “Alex, slow down. Breathe. She’s blackmailing you? Over a sex tape?”

  “It’s not just…I did things.” His Adam’s apple dipped. “Please don’t ask. Please don’t make me tell you.” Tears thickened his voice.

  Jesus, what is in that video? What don’t I know about him, even now? “Why?”

  “If it gets out, they’ll convene a grand jury. I know they will. It’s the evidence they’re looking for that I could hurt someone.” He bowed his head to his hands again. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

  “Alex—”

  He ground the heels of his hands into his eyes, leaving them red and puffy, then stood up. “I’m sorry. I’m going for a walk,” he said, his voice brittle.

  “All right. Just…”

  He stopped at the door and turned to her, waiting for her to say it. Don’t do anything stupid.

  “Don’t forget your phone.”

  Alex snatched it from the counter and left without another word.

  ***

  Stephanie wheeled Anya into the en suite and parked her by the shower, then shed her clothes and sank into the tub’s hot, frothing water. Massage jets eased the tension from her muscles but not from her mind. No Alex. Not even a call, and her attempts had gone to voicemail. He could’ve met up with Jacob and gone out somewhere. She consoled herself with that possibility, but she couldn’t put out of her mind what must be on that video. What he’d deemed so depraved he’d break down over it.

  The front door opened and closed. Keys clanked on the counter, then footsteps padded up the stairs. She watched the doorway. Alex peered in, caught sight of Anya, and leaned over the bassinet to give her a tender kiss. Then, straightening, he gazed at Stephanie from across the room. His stare fell upon the tips of her breasts visible above the water.

  She pressed a finger to her lips before licking them. No speaking, not right now.

  He stripped off his clothes, his exquisite, tattooed body awakening her appetite for him. She shifted to make room, and Alex climbed into the tub. He remained flaccid even when she straddled him. With his hands on her waist, he closed his eyes and nestled his face in the crook of her neck.

  She laid her cheek against his hair and circled her arms around his broad shoulders. “You know you can tell me anything.”

  “Not this.” He let out a heavy, shuddering sigh. “I don’t want Anya to grow up hating me.”

  “How could she ever hate you?”

  “The way I treate
d people…I don’t hate women.”

  “Who said you did? Alex, what is on that video?”

  Alex cradled her head and, having compelled her lips to part, slid his tongue slowly over hers. He captured her bottom lip between his and sucked on it before letting go. A delicious distraction, but not enough to quell her fears.

  “I’m worried about you, Alex.”

  “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

  “I know that.” She stroked his hair and gazed into his eyes, portals revealing a terribly frangible creature within the suit of armor he’d constructed to protect it. They were watering, looking back at her but their focus turned inward, toward whatever secrets he withheld. Stephanie grazed her fingertips over the firebird on his arm. When are you going to give him the hope he needs?

  “Your biopsy,” he said softly. “How did it go?”

  “We should have results in a week, maybe less.” She lifted her chin, hoping to inspire in at least one of them a confidence she didn’t feel. The burning sensation under her breastbone persisted. “Alex, I need to know you’re okay. For Anya.”

  “I don’t know if anything is okay. Not you, not me. Do I?” He broke eye contact. His shoulders sagged, and his face slackened with the exhaustion of so many burdens. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”

  Her hands fell away from him, having lost their purpose. Suddenly cold, she chafed her arms instead. “All right.”