Firebird (The Firebird Trilogy #1) (5 page)

“I know,” Stephanie murmured, wishing she didn’t.

“Then why did you stop emailing me?”

“People drift apart,” she lied. “You were playing pro at eighteen. You have everything. What did you need me for?”

“No one else knows me as anyone but this. Everyone I meet wants bragging rights or my money. Except you.”

“People suck, Aleksandr, but you can’t go through life not trusting anyone. Do you want to be alone forever?”

“Of course not. And maybe that’s why I ended up here. To find you again.”

Her breath stuck in her throat. “Aleksandr, I can’t. Please.”

“Are you happy?”

“What kind of a question is that? Of course I’m happy.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “You’re lying.”

“I don’t have to prove anything to you.” Stephanie spun away from him, but he closed his fingers around her wrist like an iron cuff and tugged. She stumbled into him. He tilted her chin, his soporific eyes begging her to share the moment with him, to understand. To remember, as if she’d ever forgotten.

“I saw you when you came in. I sang for you.”

“Aleksandr, please. You’re just drunk.”

His hot, vodka-laced breath caressed her mouth. The room blurred, spun a little. She staggered back, but he caught her again and pulled her close. How foolish to think time alone could have extinguished what had been her responsibility to snuff out. Embers that, left to smolder as they had, could set the whole forest aflame.

“Do not,” she ordered.

He wouldn’t listen, of course. His youthful insouciance was part of his allure, and she loathed herself for falling for the bad-boy act. The version of him she’d loved had been sweet, kind, the boy she’d envisioned marrying someday.

Aleksandr, one hand still touching her face, lowered his head. “Or what?” He brushed his lips over hers, the kiss flirting between them with each breath, each heartbeat. His lips commanded hers to open, and she invited in his tongue. Her arms too disobeyed her, and she cradled his head as he slipped his arms around her waist, coiling her fingers in his hair. So many years had passed and yet their two broken halves, the edges still sharp, fused in an instant. She had stitched herself back together after they’d said good-bye; she had functioned as a living thing ever since, if only externally, but still she grieved.

And now, the spark of life.

“Get off me,” she said without conviction.

He backed her into the corner and shielded her with his body. Devoured her again. She wilted, succumbing as he surged over her, through her, like a great, dark river. He paused for a startled breath before sealing their mouths together again.

She pulled back. “I said—”

“Shh.” His tongue once again found no opposition. He cupped her face as if she were porcelain, yet each kiss was cracking her veneer. He had been the center of her universe once, and she the catalyst of their decay.

Stephanie dropped her hands, traitorous appendages that they were, to her sides and shoved him away. Tears stung her eyes but not from guilt. “I have to go.”

“Stephanie—”

“This did not happen. Do you understand me? It never happened.”

“I’m not the one with a fiancé.”

She flipped him the finger, then stormed out of the bar. How dare he throw that in her face? She wasn’t the one who had instigated the…

Thinking the word made her complicit. And she couldn’t tell Joe. It would eat away at her, but she deserved the punishment. For lying all these years.

Puck bunny.

***

Aleksandr

Sasha gazed with disdain at the vodka in his glass. He didn’t want to wash away the taste of her.

“Hey, man, you okay?” Jacob sidled up to him, dark beer sloshing over the pint glass and onto his hand. He sucked it off. Jacob White, second-line center. Should have been a career AHL-er, now one of the many unworthy beneficiaries of expansion.

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Who was the girl?”

“Someone I used to know.” Sasha stared straight ahead, into the main bar. Wanting to go wherever she was.

“Don’t blame you for not talking about it. The media is all over your ass.” Jacob gave a sympathetic chuckle. “I wouldn’t want to be you right now.”

Even I don’t want to be me right now.
“I need a fucking cigarette.” Sasha set his glass on someone else’s table and elbowed through the crowd to the front entrance.

No sign of Stephanie, who had dissolved into the drizzle like a phantom. He started to pull his phone from his pocket but let go, lit a cigarette, and walked home.

***

Stephanie

Joe was at the kitchen table, tapping away on his MacBook. Stephanie craved nothing more than to slink past him and crawl into bed, but there was no way to avoid at least a cursory conversation. She tugged off her shoes and dropped her bag onto the counter. She hoped he was too busy to do more than acknowledge her.

“How was happy hour?”

“Fine.”

Joe frowned but kept typing. “You look a little rough. Everything okay?”

“Yes. I’m just tired. And I drank too much.”

“Don’t stress over that guy. Even if you get fired, it’s not the end of the world.”

Goose pimples pebbled her arms. They could work through it if she confessed. A meaningless kiss. A drunken indiscretion. “I’m going to bed. Good night.”

Joe furrowed his brow. “What’s wrong, Steph?”

“Nothing.”

He shrugged and returned to his computer, granting her the mercy of not pushing the issue any further.

Chapter Five

“Volynsky likes the good stuff! He splits the defensemen with a toe drag and goes top-shelf on the Blackhawks’ netminder. If you had any remaining doubts Aleksandr Volynsky is the best in the league, doubt no more.”

Christ. Of all the things Joe could watch. He didn’t care about hockey, so he must have turned it on for her benefit. The irony.

Stephanie slumped on the couch with a cup of coffee. The hangover had stopped curb-stomping her skull and dwindled in aggression to a minor thumping.

“What’s going on, Steph? And don’t tell me ‘nothing.’ I’ve known you too long.”

“I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

“Well we’re going to, because you’ve been acting weird since you got home last night.” Joe took the mug from her and set it on the coffee table so he could hold her hands. “You know you can tell me anything. Whatever it is, I’ll understand.”

Stephanie combed her fingers through her hair. “No, you won’t.”

“You don’t have a choice, so try me.”

She scanned the room, searching for an escape route. An excuse. Anything. She trembled with the adrenaline surging through her veins. “Sometimes people find themselves in situations they never expected to be in. And they don’t see what’s coming.”

“Did someone hurt you?” He cracked his knuckles. A dark thought flitted through her mind: Paint herself as Aleksandr’s victim. Let Joe have his macho fantasy.

It sickened her more than telling him the truth.

“No. I’m fine. Physically. You’re the one I’m worried about.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“Last night at the bar, Aleksandr showed up.”

“Volynsky?”

She pursed her lips and gave him her most withering glare.

“Sorry.”

“I was drunk. He was too. Things got heated. And then…he kissed me.”

“Wait.” He shook his head as if to clear his confusion. “What? You were arguing, and then he kissed you? Like, forced himself on you?” Red splotches crept up his neck into his cheeks. He was determined to believe Aleksandr had attacked her, assaulted her. There could be no other explanation, and she didn’t blame Joe for shutting out any other possibility. She’d be heartbroken if he confessed he’d kissed another woman.

At least, she thought so.

“No, Joe. I didn’t initiate it. I didn’t want anything to do with him.”
Keep piling on the lies.
Maybe she’d even start to believe them.
“But I didn’t resist, either. Like I said, I’d been drinking.”

“So, what, I have to go with you whenever there’s a happy hour? Keep an eye on you?”

She studied his face for signs of sarcasm, but his expression revealed nothing.

He took a slow sip of coffee. “Okay. The guy kissed you. You were drunk and didn’t put up a fight. Maybe that was for the best. I mean, if he was drunk too, he could’ve gotten violent.”

That was her Joe. The rationalizer. The fixer. Aleksandr would be the sole perpetrator of this egregious sin.

“Listen, I still have to get this interview with him, or Dave is going to fire me. But if it makes you uncomfortable…”

“He could be intimidating you into letting the interview go. You said he seemed angry with you before, right? He could be trying to sabotage you.”

It would be so much easier if Aleksandr were doing any of those things. Joe didn’t understand. Didn’t even know the worst of it.
But let him believe what he needed to; she had no reason to make the situation worse. Not if he were willing to work through it, move past it, and hold her blameless. Besides, once Aleksandr
did
know the truth…well, that ought to solve everything. He’d never speak to her again.

The thought brought tears for which she had no explanation. “I suppose he could be.” She turned off the TV so Aleksandr’s name stopped intruding on the conversation, but his presence lingered, an apparition they both refused to acknowledge. And there he would remain.

“So be careful around him, okay? Get the story. Nail him.”

“He’s a hockey player, not a serial killer. He didn’t do anything wrong except kiss your drunken fiancée in a bar.”

Unspoken anger clouded his expression. “I don’t trust the guy. I’m sorry. I don’t want him to hurt you.”

He’s the one hurting.
She shook her head. The conversation had exhausted her, and she saw no benefit in dragging it out further. “I’m sorry, Joe. I shouldn’t have let it happen. So are we okay?”

“I’m not throwing away five years because this jerk kissed you. I want to marry you. I did yesterday, and I do now.” Joe gave her a gentle kiss she was appalled to find deficient. “So yeah, we’re fine. It’s done and over with.”

I kissed him back!

She was doing a fine job of sabotaging herself, no assistance needed. If she could get the memory lodged in her brain of Aleksandr’s green eyes and their longing, their pain, to loosen its grip. If she could forget the way he tasted, the way his body felt against hers. And stop comparing Joe to him.

Are you happy?

“I need to go into the office,” she blurted.

“It’s Saturday afternoon.”

“I know. But if I don’t get this interview, I’ve got six days to come up with something worthy of saving my job.”

“Good point. Is there anything I can do?”

“Not this time. Go ahead and eat dinner without me. I’ll grab something downtown.”

“Okay. Good luck, babe. I know you’ll figure it out.”

That made one of them.
Aleksandr held her career in his hands. It provided the memory with the bitter flavor she needed to wash it from her mind.

***

“Stephanie?”

“Um…hi, Aleksandr.” She glanced around to make sure no one was eavesdropping.

“Hi. I acted like an asshole the other day. My place, the bar, take your pick. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said, taken aback. She’d been sure
sorry
was not part of his vocabulary.

“I was wondering, do you still have hockey equipment?”

What an odd question. “Yeah. Why?”

“Do you know where the Highland Ice Arena is?”

“Yes.”

“Meet me there at seven thirty.”

“I—”

The call ended.

What was this? How many more excuses could she come up with?

Stephanie answered a few emails, then headed home to dig out her equipment. Joe was putting in another late day, so she avoided any problematic explanations as to why she was loading a sports bag with her hockey gear. She flung the bag and stick into the backseat of her ancient Honda Civic and drove to Shoreline, fifteen minutes north of downtown. Stephanie pulled into a spot near Aleksandr’s conspicuous 215,000-dollar black Mercedes-Benz roadster. She retrieved her equipment and walked inside to find the arena empty except for the attendant and the man sitting on the bleachers with a sports bag and stick of his own, locked in a contemplative gaze at the ice.

She set her equipment down. “How did you rent the place just for us?”

“It’s an ice arena. I’m a famous hockey player.” He smirked. His face had retained its sweetness despite his debonair looks.

“Mind telling me what this is about?”

“I’ve been…not myself. Thought a little friendly competition would be fun.” He nudged her thigh with his stick handle. “I’m an asshole, by the way. Newsflash. Let’s get changed,
da
? Don’t want to keep you out too late on a school night.” He winked, and something in her shifted, an ice shelf cleaving off. She walked toward the women’s locker room.

“I can’t promise there won’t be full contact,” he called after her.

She shook her head and, biting her lip to keep from smiling, entered the deserted locker room. She was just trying to get a story.
Right?

They met on the ice, and Aleksandr sized her up as she’d expected him to. “Been a while since I’ve seen you in a hockey uniform. That’s a good look.”

“Thanks.”

“We should warm up first. Don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“I still play adult league sometimes.” Stephanie stuck her tongue out, then dropped to the ice and ran through the usual stretches.

Aleksandr didn’t bother. He watched her, smiling that beguiling smile.

“Why do I feel like you wanted to see me on the ice with my legs spread?”

He pressed a hand to his chest in mock indignation. “
Me
?” When she got to her feet, he passed a puck to her. “Still have a good shot?” He cocked his head toward the net.

“I guess we’ll find out.” Stephanie stared at the puck. She wound her stick past shoulder height, then slapped the ice behind the puck, using her weight to bend the stick and release its energy. As the blade struck the disc, she rolled her wrists and shifted her weight to release the stick’s momentum through the puck. After the follow-through, her stick was pointed at the back of the net, right where the puck had landed.

“
Otlichno!
” Aleksandr skated over and high-fived her. “Question: why don’t they allow checking in women’s hockey?”

“Some people think it’s sexism. That we can’t handle it, even though we’re being checked by other women and not by men. Some people think it allows a more skilled game to develop, like European hockey.”

“If I recall, you liked taking the body.” That impudent smile again.

“I think checking has its place,” she said, veering the conversation back to hockey. “Otherwise, we’re playing soccer on ice.”

“Good point.” Aleksandr scooped the puck out of the net. “Speaking of which, I could use a workout partner. It’s early enough you could still make it to work on time.”

“You do sound a little lonely.”

“It’s funny, isn’t it? I worked my ass off for this. To be the best. And now I am. And…” The inner corners of his eyebrows drew up and in, the corners of his mouth down. Sadness, the purest of expressions. “Forget it.”

“No. Tell me.”

“I don’t trust anyone, remember?” He flipped the puck and juggled it on his stick blade. “Especially the media.”

“Not even me?”

“I did. But that was a long time ago.” He shook his head, and a lock of black hair tumbled over his brow. He pushed it back into place. “Anyway, let’s see you try to knock me off a play.” With a devious laugh, he skated away with the puck.

“What? You’ve got to be joking.”

“We’re having fun, remember? Besides, you played defense!”

“None of my opponents were ever six feet five!”

He circled back and skated right at her. She moved backward but stayed with him, tried to poke-check the puck away, until he deked to his right and potted it into the net. “One–nothing. Better step it up.”

“What about my slapshot?”

“Okay, one–one.” Aleksandr dropped the puck at the other end and began his rush. This time Stephanie skated to center ice. As he neared her, she took two more strides, drove her shoulder, hip, and elbow into him, and bounced onto the ice, grateful for the padded shorts that prevented her from breaking her ass. He tipped a little, leaving his right skate for a moment before regaining his balance and shooting into the net again.

“Two–one.” He skated back to her and held out his gloved hand. “Almost had me, though. Nice check.”

She grabbed his glove with hers and let him pull her up. “Thanks. It’s getting late, though. I should probably head home.”

Aleksandr pouted a little.

Dear God, stop that.
“But this was fun. You’re not so bad when you aren’t throwing me out of your house.”

He raised his stick lengthwise to her chest and backed her to the boards. Those green eyes probed hers, searching for what he knew he would find even if she couldn’t say the words.

“Please don’t look at me like that,” she whispered.

He lowered his stick and held her with his body instead. He tossed his gloves onto the ice. Her heartbeat ticked faster. “I’m a very sore loser. And you’re not exactly putting up a convincing fight.”

She flung off her gloves as if to start roundhousing him but instead set her hands on his waist. Proving his point.

“You loved me once. Make me believe you’re happy now.”

She could not.

“What are the chances we’d end up in the same city?” His kiss behind her ear, a thunderbolt. “I remember every detail too. You took your shoes off as soon as we got there because you hated wearing heels.”

An unexpected smile crept over her face. “Still do.”

“You tasted like strawberry lip gloss and spearmint gum. You smelled like apples. Even now, the smell of apples makes me think of you.” He grazed his lips against her neck, and she shivered. “Call me in the morning if you want to run with me. Good night, Stefania.” Aleksandr gathered his gloves and stick. She already missed the warmth, the feel of his body. He stick-saluted her as he skated to the other side of the ice, then opened the gate and disappeared into the men’s locker room.