Unsportsmanlike Conduct

by Sophia Henry

  Oh, boy. I fought to keep my eyes closed, trying not to show that I’d been faking.

  “She’s not in a coma. She’s just sleeping.” Mom’s voice was soft, a tone I never imagined it would have if she ever met my Russian boyfriend.

  “Is she okay?” he asked.

  “She’s bruised and she’ll be very sore, but she’s fine.” Mom brushed my hairline and ran her hand across my hair. “I’m surprised she’s not awake yet.”

  “I am awake,” I confessed through the oxygen mask. Not because I wanted to give myself up, but because I didn’t want to hear my obnoxious mother grill Pasha.

  Heads swiveled toward me—more heads than I’d realized at first. My parents, grandparents, Lena, and Pasha all stood in my room. It was like a clown car had unloaded while my eyes were closed.

  I made no apologies as I lifted the mask off my nose and mouth. I just shrugged, looked at Pasha, and said, “I wanted to hear what you had to say.”

  Instead of responding with anger, as I’d half expected, Pavel laughed.

  “This is not Greek boy. Why you say you meet Greek boy? You lie to us, Kristen? You lie to us?” screeched my grandmother, whom I called Yia Yia. I’d known she’d be the one who’d have the biggest problem with Pasha. I’d been sure that if my parents ever met Pasha, they would give him a chance. At least until things got serious. Then I’d have some begging to do. But Yia Yia would have none of this dating-outside-of-my-culture business. In her view, it couldn’t work. Wouldn’t work. Actually, I had a deep-seated feeling that she wouldn’t let it work.

  “Russian Orthodox boys are similar to Greek Orthodox boys, yes?” Pasha asked. “I am not so different.”

  “Russian boys nothing like Greek boys,” Yia Yia spat. She put one hand to her chest and reached behind her back with the other, blindly searching for a chair. Pasha jumped up to allow her to sit.

  “Can we have a minute?” I asked, since I knew Yia Yia’s “heart troubles” were pure drama, not anything to worry about.

  My grandfather, whom I called Pappoús, put a hand on Yia Yia’s shoulder to guide her out of the room, but my tiny, feisty grandma shrugged it off. “You tell him goodbye, Kristen,” Yia Yia warned, shaking her index finger at me.

  Pappoús said something in Greek in her ear and she scowled at him, but she allowed him to lead her toward the exit. My mother and father followed.

  “I have no doubt Yia Yia was one of the best Greek tragic actresses as a girl,” Lena whispered, leaning in to kiss my forehead. “And I told you he’d be trouble.”

  “ ’Cause I need the told-you-so from you right now,” I teased.

  Lena squeezed my arm before leaving the room.

  As soon as the door closed, Pasha asked, “Why would you fake your death?”

  —

  “I didn’t fake my death,” Kristen said defensively, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “You knew I was scared. You should have opened your eyes.”

  “I wanted to hear what you would say if you thought I was on the verge of dying.”

  “That’s fucked up.”

  “So is getting sent back to the minors and fighting people,” she countered without apology. “You have a career to think about. You’re replaceable, Pasha.”

  I staggered away from the bed, stunned she’d called me out like that. Except I was talking to Kristen, so it wasn’t that much of a surprise.

  “It wasn’t an insult,” she explained. “It’s the truth. All athletes are replaceable. You need to be your best at all times.”

  “How can I be my best without you?” I asked.

  “You were the best before me.”

  “Let me say that differently. How can I be the best after you? I can’t think. I can’t sleep.” I dropped into the chair next to her bed and took her hand.

  “I can’t handle a pathetic dude.”

  Had she always been this frustrating? I lifted my palms up in frustration. “Why are you trying to be mean?”

  “I thought you liked my honesty.”

  “You are too much like me. Is that how I sound?”

  “You told me I should have sucked your dick and left.”

  I laughed, then immediately threw in a fake cough to attempt to hide it. I was such a jerk.

  “See! You love how blunt and honest you are.” Kristen coughed.

  The cough was real, I knew, and it freaked me out. I leaned closer, my heart jumping into my throat with every hack. Kristen closed her eyes and patted my arm.

  “The days we spent together on that cruise were the most amazing of my life. I’d never felt so free to be myself. I didn’t have to hide. It was like being with my best friend,” she said.

  Someone knocked on the door, and, as if on cue, Auden poked her head in.

  “Am I interrupting?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Kristen and I answered at the same time. Kristen waved Auden forward. I got up and stepped aside, giving Auden some room.

  “Your grandma sent me in to break you guys up,” Auden said.

  “How’s that for karma, eh, Pasha?” Kristen lifted her eyes to mine.

  “I deserve that,” I admitted, shaking my head and casting my eyes to the floor. And I did. I still regretted trying to break Auden and Aleksandr up during one of the lowest points of my life.

  “But I’d never do it.” Auden put a hand on my shoulder. “Aleksandr loves you too much.”

  I straightened and glanced at the door. “Where is he?”

  “In Charlotte, where you should be.”

  “I’ll get back there soon,” I whispered. Auden and Kristen both fell silent for a moment. “Talk!” I demanded so that they’d stop looking at me like I was a fucking sick dog. “Don’t feel bad for me. I’m the asshole here.”

  Auden grinned. “I didn’t mean to bust in, but I had to make sure you were okay.”

  “My two best friends are at my bedside and my family has their ears pressed to the door. I’ve never been better,” Kristen told her.

  “I’ll get them away from the door,” Auden said.

  “Oh, good,” I sighed. “Because I need to get laid.”

  Auden’s nose and mouth scrunched in disgust. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” She stooped down and pressed a kiss to Kristen’s forehead. “How can you like this pig?” she asked after she straightened. But on her way out of the room, she winked and squeezed my forearm.

  Kristen spoke as soon as Auden was gone. “So where do we stand? Because I really like you. A lot. I haven’t stopped thinking about you. But I need you to be all in. Be honest. Be blunt. I like Pasha when he’s using his powers for good.”

  “I want all of that. And I’ll speak only the truth from now on.” I grabbed my hair and groaned. “Why do you not speak Russian? I could communicate easier.”

  “I like to make it hard for you.” Kristen reached out and grabbed my jeans behind the button at my waist.

  “Yes. You have no problem with that.” I leaned over and kissed her softly. My heart sped up, elated to have her lips on mine. Having the chance to kiss her again was like being on a breakaway. The same excitement and exhilaration rushed through my veins.

  “I’m not breakable,” Kristen whispered.

  “No, but you’re not ready for me to jump you in this hospital bed.”

  “You’re not the boss of me.” She tugged my waistband and pulled me toward her.

  I tried to brace myself before I fell onto her, but I didn’t have time, and my full body weight fell on top of her.

  “Owww!” she moaned.

  I immediately lifted myself onto my hands. “This is what you call karma. And now your grandmother is going to bust in and kill me.”

  “She’ll get over it.” Kristen stretched her neck to kiss me.

  “Not sure. She seems like she hates Russians. What did we do?”

  “Yia Yia hates anyone who’s not Greek. Do a few shots of ouzo with her and she’ll get over it.”

  “The stuff Panikos m
ade me drink on the cruise that tastes like black licorice?” I made a face at the memory of that shit.

  “Learn to love ouzo if you want to be with me,” Kristen teased.

  “I’d drink gasoline to be with you.”

  “Well, that just seems stupid.” She laughed. “Good thing we’re in the hospital.”

  Yes. Good thing. Because being here meant she was alive. And I would spend every second she had making her life the best it could be.

  Epilogue

  DAY 179

  ROYAL OAK, MI

  “Kristen.”

  “Kristen!” I shook her shoulder, rousing her from the last few minutes of sleep before her alarm went off. I couldn’t help it—I was too excited to wait.

  “Hmm?” she mumbled without opening her eyes.

  “Mike Kingston just called me.”

  “Who?” she asked.

  “Mike Kingston,” I repeated. “The Aviators’ coach.”

  Kristen opened her eyes and bolted upright. The sheet fell, revealing her bare chest. I smiled in appreciation at the greeting. Kristen leaned over and pressed her lips on mine. “Morning.”

  I pushed her hair away from her face. “I’m going back to Charlotte. Tonight.”

  “It’s because they traded Malone, isn’t it?” she asked.

  I loved when she pretended to know hockey. A few months ago she couldn’t even tell you what a hat trick was; now she was in the running to replace my agent. I appreciated that she took an interest and tried to learn because she knew it was my career, my passion.

  Two days ago, the Aviators had traded Travis Malone to the Florida Panthers. He was the second-line center, but they had to trade a strong player to get the veteran defenseman the team needed. Trading Malone opened up a position at center. Which meant this might be my chance to stay in the NHL—for good.

  Kristen placed her palm on my cheek and held my gaze. “This is it. I can feel it.”

  Her confidence in me filled me with pride.

  “You want to feel something else?” I asked, lifting my eyebrows.

  “Yes,” she answered without hesitation, and I tackled her back onto the bed.

  Because that’s exactly what she loved about me—my ability to take a serious moment and turn it into something sexual.

  Since Kristen’s car accident two months ago, I’d been lucky enough to wake up next to her every morning I wasn’t traveling with the Pilots or in Charlotte. Because we both like to take things fast, I’d moved out of Svetlana’s house and into Kristen’s almost immediately. We tried to live separately—two doors away—but realized it didn’t make any sense when we spent every free second together anyway.

  “Live in the moment” is one of her mottos, and we’d already jumped right in.

  No regrets.

  —

  The sun beat down, penetrating my hair and burning my scalp, a reminder that I should have worn a hat for today’s run. I’d done an olive oil treatment on my dry locks this morning, which increased my scalp’s sensitivity. And I probably smelled disgusting.

  I slowed to a jog when I reached the corner and looked both ways down West Second Street. Just as I stepped out into the road, a man jumped out from behind a lamppost and ran straight into me.

  “Geez!” I screamed as he wrapped his arms around me, saving me from hitting the ground. “Why do you like to do that so much?” I asked.

  Pasha kissed the top of my head. “Reminds me of how we met. When I fell for you.” It made his weird habit of jumping out and scaring the shit out of me sound so sweet.

  “Are you packed?” I asked, looking both ways on West Second Street again and resuming my run.

  My super-awesome athlete boyfriend matched my stride easily. “I’ll throw few things in my bag and go.”

  “You could be in Charlotte for a while this time,” I reminded him.

  “You can bring the rest of my stuff when you move there with me.”

  “What?” I stopped running.

  “If this is it—the real thing—would you move to Charlotte with me?” Pasha asked.

  His question gave me all the girly feels. Of course I wanted to move to Charlotte with him and spend the rest of my days frolicking barefoot in the sunshine of our love.

  Okay, maybe that was a little much, but that random dorky thought was the first thing that came to my mind, because he wanted me to be with him. He wasn’t trying to push me away. I’d broken down that defensive wall. Which made me feel complete, happy, and alive.

  I almost blurted out an answer without thinking, but I didn’t have the luxury of making big decisions—or any decisions—without thinking.

  What about my job? What about my doctors? What about health insurance? Technically, my parents still carried me because the management group I worked for didn’t offer insurance and it was cheaper than getting an individual plan.

  Before I could answer, Pasha started speaking again. “I talked to a lady at the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation in Charlotte. She gave me all the information on the best doctors in North Carolina. I know you must go there often, and I will take you. Every time. I will drive you to Chapel Hill. And Auden will be around in case there is ever a time you need someone and I am on a road trip. My first priority is to keep you healthy.”

  Warmth rushed from my cheeks all the way to my toes. “Your first priority is hockey.”

  “Life—your life—is more precious than hockey. I can get another job. I cannot get another you.”

  “Stop talking like that. I’m strong and independent. I’m not going to be a burden on you or your career.”

  “You are not a burden, Kristen! You are my life now. Hockey is hockey. I will play my ass off to make you so much fucking money we can afford a live-in doctor.” Pasha paused. “Female, of course.”

  “Of course!” I rolled my eyes.

  “I didn’t mean it that way,” Pasha explained. “I’ll get an old lady for you. But I will not have another man in our house tempting you.”

  “How did such a sweet conversation go south so fast?”

  Pasha ignored me. “So what do you say?”

  “There’re still a lot of things I have to think about, and I need to talk to my parents,” I said.

  Pasha nodded, looking at me with wide, eager eyes.

  “But I want to try it out,” I answered honestly. “I want to be with you. I want to support you.”

  Pasha swept me off my feet and spun me around. “We will take it one day at a time.”

  There was nothing more perfect than jogging through the streets of Royal Oak, Michigan, on an unseasonably warm day in February.

  Well, sure, breathing in the salty scent of the ocean while jogging around the track on a cruise ship in the Caribbean would have been better.

  But I wasn’t complaining, because I had the love of my life jogging next to me.

  To every single person who lives their life with love, respect, and compassion for all. We can change the world. Together.

  #BeKindLoveHard

  Acknowledgments

  To everyone who beta-read and critiqued Unsportsmanlike Conduct: Jeni Burns, Gennifer, and Logan. Thank you for your feedback—and your kind words about the story.

  To my editor, Sue Grimshaw: Thank you for pushing me to leave my comfort zone and embrace dual POV. This story was (literally) one-dimensional without being in Pavel’s head. And I can honestly say this is my absolute favorite book in the Pilots world.

  A huge thank-you to everyone at Random House/Loveswept/Flirt who work their tails off for the Pilots series. I’m grateful to work with such a talented group of creative professionals and an amazing publishing house.

  Huge thanks to every author, reader, blogger, and friend I’ve connected with in the writing world. I’m grateful to be part of a supportive environment with people who build up their peers to help each other do well and succeed. Special thanks to #TZWNDUBC, my (original) RT girls, the Bad Girlz, the authors of the NAC, and my Hockey with Heart peeps.
>
  Big thanks to my visual inspiration for this book: Tomas Tatar, of the Detroit Red Wings. Neither the story nor character has anything to do with him or his life, but Pavel looks an awful lot like Tatar. ;)

  Thank you to Puck Hcky for the Tatar Signature Series and for supplying me with endless inspiration on social media. You have been freakin’ awesome to me, and I appreciate all of your support.

  To my entire family: Thank you for all your love and support.

  To Jeff, Boo Boo, and Cha Chi: Thank you for being proud of me. I’m a very lucky person to have you on my side. I love you with all my heart. You make my life better.

  And thanks to you. I appreciate every single reader who has given the Pilots series a chance. Especially all of my peeps who hang out in my Facebook group: Sophia’s Celly-bration! Wanna join the fun? Go to Facebook.com/​groups/​903135643104357.

  For information on cystic fibrosis and how you can help people with CF live longer, healthier lives, please visit CFF.org.

  Think love. Speak love. Teach love. Spread love. Surround yourself with people who do the same.

  #BeKindLoveHard

  BY SOPHIA HENRY

  Pilots Hockey

  Delayed Penalty

  Power Play

  Interference

  Unsportsmanlike Conduct

  Breakaway (coming soon)

  PHOTO: JEFF BENNETT

  SOPHIA HENRY, a proud Detroit native, fell in love with reading, writing, and hockey all before she became a teenager. She did not, however, fall in love with snow. So after graduating with an English degree from Central Michigan University, she moved to the warmth of North Carolina for the remainder of her winters.

  She spends her days writing books featuring hot hockey-playing heroes. When she’s not writing, she’s chasing her two high-energy sons, reading, watching her beloved Detroit Red Wings, and rocking out at concerts with her husband.

  SophiaHenry.com

  Facebook.com/​sophiahenryauthor

  @sophiahenry313

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