Chapter Nineteen #2
Not her mother.
Me.
Ever since the day I moved in next door to her family, I’d seen Emaly for who she is.
Kind, considerate, and passionate. There isn’t one day that goes by that she hasn’t tried her hardest at something.
She wasted years of her life trying to earn her father’s approval, only to finally accept that she never would.
Before fully acknowledging that her body couldn’t handle the physical strain that her brother could.
Mikhail either doesn’t see the resentment on my face or doesn’t give a shit. “And when she informed us that you two had gotten married behind our backs with no prenup, no ring, and no plan, clearly, there was nothing I could do. Trust me, I tried.”
It takes everything in me not to snicker.
Emaly had shown me the texts, voicemails, and emails from her parents after news broke that we’d gone to a courthouse with nothing but a photographer, two friends, and a judge.
Neither of our families were there, and they’d found out when the rest of the world did via social media.
It wasn’t until a few weeks later when we decided to do the engagement photos hanging in my home.
Mikhail and Valeria questioned where the proof was of our relationship, because they didn’t believe the marriage certificate was enough.
Anybody with eyes could see that Emaly and I loved each other. But only those close enough could see what kind of love it is.
Inevitably, that’s why nobody gets close.
Not until Winter came into my life.
Following Mikhail’s heated voicemails that used a lot of expletives spoken in both English and Russian, he sent money bribes to convince her to annul the “ridiculous marriage” that she “trapped” herself in.
When he realized she wasn’t going to change anything about her life, he gave her the silent treatment and threatened to cut her off.
It was pointless given her lack of handouts throughout her life.
She barely accepted any money from them to begin with, so their control was nonexistent.
Everything Emaly has done, she’s done on her own. Not with her family’s help, money, or title. When Mikhail realized he had no real sway with her financially, he used the next best thing to keep her around. Emotional warfare.
Which is why I wound up signing a contract with the Fairbanks Fireflies. He knew if he couldn’t get to her directly, he’d get to the person closest to her. And while I’d like to think I’m the equivalent of a gold medal in her eyes, Ronnie’s existence pushed me to silver.
But I’ll take second place if it means her happiness is intact.
“Do you have a point to all of this?” I ask casually enough not to give away my growing irritation. “Because I’m supposed to meet Coach Hoffman at his place for a get-together with the team.”
Something I’m not looking forward to since Clarkson texted me about it this morning to inform me he’d drag me there if I tried skipping, but it’s a distraction from what transpired between Winter and me.
“And when she moved forward with med school, I could see the determination on her face clear as day. She is a Yokav, after all. She was not going to let anything her mother and I thought get in the way of becoming a doctor.”
Is that a hint of…pride in his voice? He’s never acted like she’s done anything worthwhile since she stopped skating.
With Sasha going on to win medals and become one of the world’s best-known Russian figure skaters, Emaly accepted the shadow she was stuck in that would never compare to her little brother.
Once again, I ask, “Is there a point to this history lesson? Out of everybody in her life, I think I’d know the events that occurred so far since I’ve been the most prevalent person she’s shared them with.”
He makes a thoughtful noise. “That is my point. You of all people know what’s going through my daughter’s mind. Even on different coasts, you know her whereabouts and motives. So what I would like to know is what she’s hiding from me. Because I know it’s something.”
Something triggered this line of questioning. He’s never cared enough to ask about what’s happening in her life before. “Why?” I dare ask. “What does it matter to you?”
This man only ever reaches out and pretends to give a fuck when it benefits him. So what is he after now? What control is he seeking? He already has me, and there’s nothing Emaly has that can be taken when there’s so much he’s in the dark about.
He leans forward, the creak in his chair echoing in the room as he pins me with eyes that look nearly black.
“You may believe whatever you want about me, but she is still my daughter. And one of my sources said she was seen leaving a neurology office crying like she’d been told she has six months to live. Care to explain what that’s about?”
His sources? I clench the arms of the chair when I realize what he’s implying. “Are you having Emaly followed?”
That’s a huge invasion of privacy. I’ve had people looked into, sure, but never followed. I never even went through with getting intel on Winter because I’d craved the information directly from the source—tit for tat. A trade-off of secrets.
Chances are, whoever is trailing Emaly has a lot more intel than they should.
Emaly and Ronnie live together in our San Diego home.
They work together at the same hospital.
If there is somebody trailing her for Mikhail, they’ll probably have seen the patterns.
Emaly could easily write off Ronnie as a coworker if she’s asked, but I know she wouldn’t stoop so low.
Not if it means hurting Ronnie.
Mikhail intertwines his fingers on the desk. “I need my questions answered since neither of you is willing to give me any information when I request it.”
The tips of my fingers ache from how hard they dig into the material of the chair arm. “Don’t you ever get tired of being this much of an asshole?”
My question barely causes a reaction from him. He doesn’t seem pissed or offended by it. If anything, his lips twitch upward.
That is, until I say, “If your daughter wanted you to know anything about her, then maybe you should have made it easier for her to share. All her life, you’ve done nothing but critique her.
Judge her. Tell her she isn’t good enough.
On what goddamn planet do you think that means you’re owed any explanation from her when she’s finally happy? ”
His spine goes rigid as he glares at me.
“Is that what she is? Happy?” He spits out the word with venom in his tone.
“How can she be happy when she’s married to a man who can’t keep his dick in his pants?
Who lives across the country rather than being with her?
Supporting her? Who spends more time focused on himself and his own pleasures versus anything to do with his wife? ”
I stand and crowd his space, leaning my hands on his desk and getting as close as possible to him with the table between us.
“Out of everybody here, I am the only one who has ever supported her. Not you. Not your wife. Not your son. The only time you ever have her around is when you need something, and you use that time to tear her down like she’s nothing.
She is one of the smartest women I know.
One of the kindest people I know. She deserves so much better than a father like you. ”
He rises to match my stance, barely an inch between us, when he seethes, “Evidently, she’s not as smart as you claim if she’s settled for you.”
There’s a tentative knock at his office door followed by a nervous clearing of a throat.
“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” a woman’s voice says, clearly anxious about intercepting whatever she sees through the glass wall.
“But you have a phone call on line two that you’ve been waiting for.
They finally have time to talk, but now is their only slot. ”
Mikhail doesn’t look away from me. “Tell them I’ll be on in two.”
Heels scamper away quickly, clearly not wanting to bear witness to our spat in here. Especially if I wind up missing and the center of a 20/20 episode.
The next question he asks takes me by momentary surprise. “Is my daughter sick?”
I blink, my guard dropping only for a second before the walls go back up. Because he sounds like he cares for once. Like he’s worried. “She’s always been sick. You know that. You just chose to ignore it when she told you.”
His nostrils flare. “The doctors never found anything when we took her. Do you know how much money we spent on specialists?”
Why is it always about money?
“Well, guess what,” I say crudely, squaring my shoulders back.
“The doctors you hired were yes-men. They told you what you wanted to hear to get her back on the ice. She never wanted to be there, but you refused to listen. You pushed her and pushed her until she nearly broke. Do you really blame her for not wanting anything to do with you? For settling for a man like me if it meant getting away from the person who controlled her like a pawn rather than a human?”
Mikhail does not like that. Not one bit.
His hand grips my shirt, yanking me forward until I nearly lose my balance as my thighs press against the edge of his desk.
“There have been Olympic athletes with severe lateral sprains and tendon damage who still competed in the Games and were able to win gold medals. It is not uncommon for people like us to encourage their children to push past the pain. Yokavs are strong. We are determined—”