Chapter 39 Bohdan
Bohdan
“You should wear your sunglasses.”
Sloan taps my shoulder, and her skin only touches mine through the linen of my shirt, but it feels like lightning.
She shrugs the tote off her arm, and the strap of her tank top slides down her skin, revealing the B, prominent from the sun.
She starts to dig through her bag for my prescription glasses, moving past the myriad of pills and medication she threw in there this morning before we got off the boat.
I wrap my hand around her wrist, her pulse skittering beneath my fingers. I try to smile reassuringly before planting a rough kiss to the side of her head, because for the next few days, I can. “I’m okay, Zlatí?ko. Promise.”
“Are you sure?” She frowns, glancing down at the open tote again. “It’s really bright.”
It is really bright.
It’s the type of day that has the potential to send me into hiding.
The sun beating down mercilessly on the cracked streets of Rome where we wait in this impossibly long, snaking line to get inside the Colosseum for some sort of exclusive tour Talon organized.
All of us dehydrated because we drank too much at the disco, and Sloan and I certainly stayed up way too late.
Jay groans every time he has to shuffle forward in the line, a ridiculous pair of thick white sunglasses that somehow look good on him hiding his eyes, and his usually immaculately swept-back hair falling askew over his forehead.
Tia’s features contort into a frown whenever Talon shouts—which is a lot. He’s glued to his phone, spouting out random facts about ancient Rome. She tugs the wide brim of her hat down with a whimper to cover her ears.
The corner of my mouth twitches.
It’s bright out here, and it’s bright inside my brain for the first time in a long time.
But Sloan’s not wrong—I should wear them.
I just don’t want to miss a single second. I don’t want to see it in shades of grey.
I want the whole thing in loud, screaming Technicolor.
Sloan’s lower lip pouts and she looks a bit insolent, but I grin at her, throwing an arm around her shoulder and pressing my thumb into her skin. “I’ll be okay. I promise. And I know where to find the sunglasses if I need them. You’ve got the whole arsenal in there.”
She rolls her eyes, tips her chin up when she closes the bag, and slides it back on her shoulder, covering up the tattoo, but she doesn’t move away from my grip. She leans in, resting her head against my chest when we shuffle forward in the line.
“Being a gladiator would have been so fucking cool.” Talon waves his phone around, a wide smile stretching on his face.
“No. It wouldn’t have,” Sloan offers flatly.
Talon stops, ignoring the throngs of waiting people behind us. He cocks his head, flashing his phone so quickly no one has a chance to see what he was reading. “And why is that, Sloany?”
She folds her arms over her chest. “Contrary to whatever film and television have made you believe, they were prisoners of war, criminals, and sometimes slaves. They fought to the death for the entertainment of a corrupt empire, and they had very few rights.”
Talon blinks.
I don’t need to see her to know she’s rolling her eyes. My smile stretches.
“And archaeological evidence and forensic examination of their skeletons show just how brutal it was. Multiple, repeated fractures. They’ve even found evidence of bite marks that belonged to a lion on a man’s pelvis.”
“A lion?” Talon leans forward, ignoring everything else, before he turns and shakes Jay’s shoulders, repeating himself. “A lion!”
“Why?” Jay moans, shoving Talon away and clamping his hands over his ears.
Talon stretches his arms wide and starts walking backward again when someone somewhere in the back of the line shouts for us to hurry up. “Why am I the only one who thinks that’s cool?”
“You’re the only one who isn’t horribly hungover.” Tia flips the brim of her hat up.
Talon points at me. “Bohds looks fine. Not even wearing his sunglasses.”
“I am.” I nod, grip tightening against Sloan’s shoulder.
“I think we all know why.” Talon gestures between me and Sloan, raising his eyebrows. “And I had like, four mimosas at breakfast. The only way out is through, my friends.”
Jay stops, pushing his sunglasses up to hold his hair back. He frowns, this wild look of utter dismay on his face. “Wait—did that sort of make sense?”
“No.” Tia flicks Jay’s shoulder at the same time Talon lifts his palm for a high five.
Jay shakes his head, hands coming to grip the sides of his hair. “It did. It did make sense. Someone send fucking help.”
The front of the line clears, and Talon sprints up to the ticket booth. “Sorry, Jay. No can do. It’s gladiator time.”
“It’s not gladiator time. If it was, you’d be sprinting towards an arena full of armed men or maybe, if we were lucky, a bear.” Sloan fishes her sunglasses out of her tote and tries to get me to wear mine in one last half-hearted attempt.
I shake my head.
Talon leans against the ticket counter, propping himself upon his elbows, pointing his chin towards Jay. “If you thought the life of a gladiator was bad, Sloany, you should hear this guy’s knees when he tries to stand up.”
Jay holds his palms wide in indignation, looking to me for support.
But I shrug, cringing. “They are creaky. I’ve heard them.”
An entire lifetime of skating and playing and getting hit will do that to you.
Talon knocks a fist against the wooden counter, eyes alight with excitement and realization. “Maybe playing hockey is like the twenty-first-century version of being a gladiator—horribly toxic culture, my back is fucked, Jay can barely stand, and we all saw Bohdan break his head open!”
Sloan tenses under my palm, but before I can say anything, Jay clutches the side of his head again. “No—seriously. Someone help me. Because that sort of made sense, too.”
Tia lays her hand on his arm, all feigned sympathy and understanding. “We really should get you inside.”
Sloan angles her head, blue eyes soft when they land on mine. She’s got this quiet smile, cheeks soft and pillowy, one freckle visible beyond the frame of her sunglasses.
I think the whole thing might be in Technicolor for her, too.
Her eyes find my mouth, and I still know everything there is to know about her, so I know she wants to kiss me.
I meet her half way.
Just a brush of my mouth against hers. Gentle. Nothing like last night—two people scraping for stolen, fleeting moments.
This kiss feels a bit like forever.
But it’s not forever, and for once, it’s not Talon interrupting us. It’s my phone ringing in my pocket.
Sloan pulls back, her smile shifting to this funny, little line of mischief, and she reaches into my pocket, fingers scraping against my upper thigh through the thinner material, and she pulls out my phone, triumphant, looking like she’s about to hang up on whoever it is when her eyes land on the screen.
She hands it to me wordlessly, blinking a bit too much and chewing on the inside of her cheek.
Shay.
“I’ll be right there. I’ve gotta take this.” I jerk my chin towards Talon, Jay, and Tia, where they wait with a guide just beyond the ticket counter.
I run my thumb over Sloan’s cheek, and she smiles before walking over to join them, a bit braver than I think she actually feels when this giant reminder of my failed career and the thing that drove us apart waits on the other side of the phone.
Shay wastes no time when I pick up.
“Have you been ignoring my calls?”
I close my eyes, pressing my fingers to my temple out of habit. “No. I told you, I didn’t buy the Wi-Fi package on the ship. Service has been in and out.”
“I understand you aren’t playing anymore, but for the love of God, Bohdan, if you tell me you squandered away millions and can’t afford a Wi-Fi package on a cruise ship—”
“Maybe I just didn’t want to talk to you,” I cut in.
“Maybe I don’t want to talk to you either, but we don’t always get what we want—evidently.
Zane is on my ass, Bohdan. I need to know if you’re interested or not so I can start negotiating.
Are you done soul-searching with Valdez and Choi?
” Her tone takes a noticeable dip when she says Talon’s name.
She never got over the fact that he absconded to Sweden.
“Two more days. And it’s not just Talon and Jay here. Tia’s here too . . . with Sloan.” I’m not entirely sure why I tell her, but I hear the small intake of breath and her voice changes to understanding.
“Ah. I’d imagine you haven’t given it much thought, then?”
I haven’t, not really. The entire idea of it had seemed preposterous when AJ floated it to me. It was only a few weeks ago—but it feels like forever.
Shay waits.
I watch Sloan—standing far away but so much closer than she’s been since I got hurt. Palm flat against her chest, nodding along with something Tia says before her lips part in laughter, the whole thing reverberating the column of her throat and causing her shoulders to shake.
Mine again for two whole days.
The thought of saying yes—taking what arguably would be a good opportunity, and a chance to do something unique and different and maybe help someone the way I wish someone had helped me—makes me wish I was walking into the Colosseum to face all the bears and lions and predators of the Roman Empire.
It’s what I’d deserve if I said yes.
My inability to talk and be vulnerable cost me more than any hit to the ice ever did.
I swallow. “Can you find me something back home?”
“In Brno?” Shay starts, incredulous. “I mean, there’s probably some European league teams we could see about—”
“No. In Canada. Preferably Toronto.”
She’s silent again. The options aren’t endless.
“I honestly don’t really care what it is, Shay.” I don’t.
She waits again, seemingly weighing her next words, like she’s trying to squash any bit of hope she might have for me in case it’s not really real. “Does this mean—are you two back together?”
“No.”
And we probably never will be. Sloan deserves more.
But I’m selfish and stupid and I feel like sacrificing something the way she always sacrificed for me so that she knows, without a doubt, when she steps off the ship, that she was always enough.
It was me who wasn’t.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Shay says softly before she hangs up.
I watch Sloan for a minute longer, and the sunlight crests over the rough, crumbling rooftop of the Colosseum entrance, shining down on her.
A bright spotlight, painting pictures across her beautiful, perfect skin. But I can see it—marks I left and the way I littered her whole being with the ruins of our relationship. All over her, just like she said.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to erase them, but I’ll see what I can do over the next few days, too.