Chapter 13
Shit. Shit shit shit.
I stand there staring at the closed door like it personally betrayed me, heart hammering so hard against my ribs I’m surprised Viktor can’t hear it from the hallway.
Of course Damian would send someone. I knew he would eventually—probably after I ignored the tenth call and the team started losing games without their chaotic right winger.
But I expected Elias. Or maybe even Zara with a media crisis folder and a lecture.
Not him. Not Viktor standing on the other side of that thin piece of wood like some silent Russian storm I’ve been trying to outrun for a week and a half.
My stomach does that stupid fucking flip it always does around him, equal parts anger and something softer, something I hate myself for still feeling.
I drag a hand through my hair, breathing hard, willing my pulse to calm the hell down.
I don’t move. I just stare at the door, willing him to leave, willing myself to not care that he actually came.
Then his voice filters through the wood, far too gentle for how much I want to punch him again. “Soroka…”
My eyes squeeze shut. The nickname hits like a cheap shot to the ribs. I’ve heard it a thousand times, but tonight it feels different—raw, careful, like he’s finally saying it with meaning instead of just habit.
“Stop calling me a fucking bird!” I huff, voice cracking louder than I want it to. I sound pissed. Good. I am pissed.
There is a pause on the other side. Then Viktor speaks again, quieter this time, almost hesitant. “Magpie.”
I blink at the closed door, confusion cutting through the anger for a second. “What??”
“It means magpie,” he says simply, like that explains everything. Like dropping that bomb through a door after weeks of silence is normal.
I stare at the wood separating us, my brain short-circuiting.
Magpie. The loud, shiny, chaotic bird that steals things and builds nests where it doesn’t belong.
The nickname I always thought was just him calling me annoying clicks into something heavier, something that makes my chest ache even worse.
I don’t know what to do with that. I don’t know what to do with him standing out there after everything.
I yank the door open so hard it almost slams against the wall behind it, but I catch it at the last second with my still-sore hand.
Viktor is standing right there in the dim hallway, his eyes locking onto mine the moment the door flies open.
My stomach does that stupid fucking flip again and I glare up at him, breathing hard through my nose.
“What do you want?” I refuse to step aside even an inch.
Viktor doesn’t move. He just stands there, steady as ever, looking at me like he’s been carrying the weight of the last month and a half right alongside me. “Can I come in?” he asks, that accent wrapping around the words in a way that pisses me off even more.
I roll my eyes so hard it hurts, crossing my arms over my bare chest as I lean against the doorframe.
The anger that’s been simmering for weeks—hell, for over a month before Thanksgiving and every silent day since—explodes right there in the hallway.
I don’t let him in. I just start yelling, not caring how loud my voice gets or who might hear us through the thin walls.
“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” I hiss, stepping forward but keeping him firmly on the other side of the threshold.
“You go radio silent for over a month, treat me like I’m nothing after that night in Vancouver, disappear to Russia without a single word, then come back and still won’t even look at me—and now you just show up here?
At my sister’s door? What the fuck, Viktor?
You think showing up after a month and a half of treating me like I don’t exist is going to fix anything? ”
My voice cracks but I keep going, glaring up at him with everything I’ve got.
“I punched you on the ice because I’m so fucking tired of this—of you watching me like you care and then shutting me out like I’m poison.
Of waiting for you to decide I’m worth something.
So what do you want? Huh? Because I’m done chasing a ghost who kissed me like I was everything and then ran. ”
I’m breathing hard, fists clenched at my sides, eyes burning as I stare him down in the hallway, waiting for him to say something—anything—while my heart tries to beat its way out of my chest.
“Cole… does the entire building need to know you hate me?” Viktor asks like he’s trying to talk down a wild animal. Which, to be fair, might be accurate right now.
“Yes!” I huff, the word flying out before I can stop it, sharp and childish and full of every bit of frustration I’ve been carrying.
My chest is still heaving, eyes burning as I glare at him.
Then I see it—his mouth twitches, just the tiniest bit, like he’s fighting the urge to smile.
The absolute audacity of this man makes something snap in my brain.
I reach blindly to my left, grab the first thing I touch off the coat hanger—a soft black scarf—and hurl it at his stupid massive chest with everything I’ve got.
The scarf hits him square in the torso and flutters uselessly to the floor. Viktor doesn’t even flinch. Of course he doesn’t.
“Do you want me to explain myself here in the hallway?” he asks, still way too steady.
“Yes!” I throw back, arms crossed tight over my chest like that might keep me from doing something even stupider.
Viktor tilts his head slightly, studying me with that hyper-observant intensity that always makes me feel stripped bare. “Do you want me to get on my knees and beg you to let me inside?”
“Yes!” I say automatically, still riding the wave of pure rage, before the actual words register in my brain.
My eyes widen. “Wait… what?” I choke out, voice cracking hard as heat floods my face.
The image of Viktor—6’6” of quiet, terrifying defense—on his knees in my sister’s hallway suddenly short-circuits every rational thought I have left.
My stomach flips violently. I hate him. I hate how easily he can still do this to me.
“You— you’re ridiculous!” I yell as I point an accusing finger at his chest. “You don’t get to just show up and say shit like that!
What the fuck is wrong with you? You think begging is going to fix a month and a half of you treating me like I don’t exist?
Like I’m some kind of inconvenience you can ignore until you feel like dealing with me? God, you’re such an asshole!”
I’m breathing hard, still glaring up at him, but some of the sharp edge of my anger dulls just a little.
The sheer ridiculousness of the moment—of him offering to beg, of me actually considering it for a split second—cracks through the wall I’ve been hiding behind.
My shoulders slump slightly as the exhaustion from the last week and a half crashes over me.
I’m so fucking tired of fighting this. Tired of missing him. Tired of pretending I don’t.
I drag a hand down my face, muttering a curse under my breath, then step aside reluctantly, holding the door open wider. “Fine. Get in here before the whole building hears me losing my mind.”
Viktor doesn’t hesitate. He steps inside, ducking slightly under the doorframe, and the second he’s past the threshold the apartment suddenly feels way too small. I close the door behind him with a soft click, leaning back against it for a moment as I try to steady my breathing.
Lena appears from the hallway leading to her bedroom a few moments later, clearly drawn out by the yelling.
She takes one look at Viktor standing in the middle of her living room and then swings that sharp, pointed big-sister glare straight at me—like I’m the one being unreasonable here.
I roll my eyes hard, crossing my arms tighter over my chest as she gives me a look that says don’t fuck this up before she turns around and disappears back down the hall without a word.
The apartment door to her room clicks shut, leaving Viktor and me completely alone in heavy, suffocating silence.
I’m still leaning against the front door, heart pounding, when Viktor speaks again.
“Soroka…”
I spin on him instantly, glaring with every ounce of frustration still burning in my veins. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I was scared. I still am. But clearly me pulling away is doing more damage.”
I blink at him, completely thrown. The anger is still there, simmering under my skin, but confusion cuts through it like a blade.
“Scared??” I shriek, my voice pitching higher than I mean for it to.
“What the fuck are you scared of?? I don’t bite!
” I throw my hands up, pacing a short step away from him before spinning back.
“Well… actually at this point I might. Turn feral, start barking too.”
Viktor raises one eyebrow at me, that almost-smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth again like he’s fighting not to react to my ridiculous threat.
The sight of it only makes me more flustered, my face heating up as the weight of his words starts to sink in.
Scared. Of what? Of me? Of us? After everything, that’s what he’s been hiding behind?
Viktor sighs, and then one of his big hands comes up to cup my face.
His palm is warm and rough against my jaw, thumb brushing lightly over my cheekbone, and for a second his dark eyes go impossibly soft.
It steals the breath right out of my lungs.
I’m still pissed, still vibrating with hurt and anger, but that touch—gentle in a way only he ever is with me—makes my brain blank.
Before I can pull away or snap at him again, he starts talking.
In Russian, clearly thinking I can’t understand a word of it. I freeze, staring up at him as the words pour out.