Chapter Sixteen
SCOTTIE
I wake with the feeling of a ballerina wrapped around me like a very determined octopus.
Katerina’s got one leg slung over my hip, the other one against my chest like she’s afraid I’m going to vanish in the middle of the night.
Her face is tucked under my chin, breathing slow and even, dark hair spilling over my chest. Her naked body, besides the thin fabric of her thong, being the only thing between our bare skin.
Every night for the last two weeks, we swear we won’t fall asleep in the other person's bed, but every morning for the last two weeks, since we celebrated her getting a spot on the PNB, we keep waking up naked together in her bed or mine, after a night of exploring each other. Doing everything to satisfy the other person except the one thing I won’t do–take her virginity.
Not until she agrees to be mine, though I haven’t exactly uttered those words.
I’m not complaining. It’s the best way to wake up.
Between her rehearsals for the new show the company is about to put on and hockey practices and games, we barely cross paths in the daylight.
But somehow, without fail, we keep ending up here once the sun goes down.
Her knocking on my door with sleepy eyes and sore muscles, asking for a foot rub that ends with my head between her thighs.
Or me ending up in her room when I get back in the middle of the night from an away game just to tell her I’m home, but then I end up naked in her bed.
Whatever excuse we use, it always ends the same—tangled together like this, somewhere around one in the morning, getting each other off and then passing out in a heap of bare skin.
I should get up.
I have morning skate, then game reels, then a team meeting, then I should hit the weights with a few of the guys.
But I don’t want to move, and I don’t want to wake her. I know she has to be at the dance studio to rehearse in less than an hour.
All of that can wait. Instead, I watch her.
Her eyelashes rest against her cheeks, dark wisps against pale skin. There’s a faint crease between her brows, like even in sleep she’s bracing for something to go wrong. I want to take my thumb and smooth it away. To tell her that as long as we’re together, nothing is going to go wrong.
I settle for brushing a piece of hair off her face instead.
She sighs a little, but doesn’t wake.
Something soft and stupid swells in my chest.
Yeah, I’m already as good as hers.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand.
I stretch an arm out, trying not to jostle her, and squint at the screen.
Mom.
I ease out from under Katerina as carefully as if she’s made of glass, tuck the blanket back around her, and step into the hallway before I answer.
“Hey, Ma,” I say quietly, heading for the kitchen. “Everything okay?”
There’s a beat of silence, and then her voice comes through, already thick with emotion.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
I wince. The "sweetheart" usually comes out when she’s worried or sentimental. It could go either way.
“What’s going on?” I ask, flipping on the coffee maker and starting to heat some water for Katerina’s tea.
She blows out a breath. “Your father’s physical therapist sent in the paperwork.”
My hand stills on the mug. “For the trial?”
“Mmm.” She hums. “The regenerative nerve one. The fancy one overseas. We did the application, the medical records, everything. It’s in.”
A jolt of hope hits, sharp and wild. “That’s good, right? That’s… great.”
“It is,” she says. “But now we wait. It could be years before they even look at it. And it’s expensive, Scottie. Even if somehow he gets accepted, we have no business messing with that kind of money.”
“Let me worry about the money,” I say.
“I feel so guilty for putting this on you. You send us enough. You have a life of your own. Your own wife and the family you’re going to build with her. That should be your most important responsibility now.”
I wipe my hand over my face. “Ma—I can do both. I make plenty of money. And Katerina… the family thing…” I can’t explain to my mother that a family with my wife isn’t exactly a sure thing.
Not until I know if Kat wants it with me.
“It’s still a way off for us. She just got into the PNB, and I know she has career goals she wants to accomplish.
” Not that we’ve ever discussed having kids.
In fact, I don’t even know if she wants any.
This is still a temporary arrangement for now.
Even if nothing about us feels temporary to me.
“I just wanted you to know,” she cuts in, softer. “In case… I don’t know. In case he pretends it doesn’t matter. You know how proud he is. He’ll act like he doesn’t care if it never happens, but I see him when he thinks no one’s looking.”
Something in my chest twists.
Images flash—my dad in his chair, watching the games on TV.
His hands grip the armrests when a player takes a hit.
The way his eyes follow me when I’m home, like he’s memorizing how I move.
He was an all-star athlete in high school and had a full ride to college, so to see him not even get to stand out of his wheelchair to chase my mom around the kitchen the way he did when we were kids, before the accident… It’s still a hard pill to swallow.
“He deserves a shot,” I say quietly. “If there’s even a chance, we take it.”
She goes quiet for a moment.
“You sound like your father,” she says finally. “Stubborn.”
“Pretty sure I sound like you,” I say, pouring coffee into a mug. “Persistent.”
That earns me a laugh. “Maybe that too.”
“When you hear anything, you call me,” I tell her. “The money is the easy part… we just need them to pick him.”
She exhales, shaky. “You always were determined.”
“Comes with the job description,” I say lightly. “I’m not letting this go. Not for him.”
There’s another pause, and when she speaks next, her voice drops into that tone that makes me want to hang up on instinct.
“How’s Katerina?” she asks.
I lean back against the counter, staring toward the hallway where my wife is asleep in my bed.
“She’s… good,” I say. “Busy. Rehearsals non-stop. She’s got a new production coming up.”
“And you?”
I hesitate. “Also busy.”
“Mmhmm.” She doesn’t buy it. Of course she doesn’t. “You sounded happy yesterday. Different.”
“Different how?” I ask, knowing that’s a mistake.
“Like you did in high school when you made the team,” she says. “Or the day you told us you’d been drafted. Or when you first moved into your place in Seattle. Like you’ve got something that’s yours.”
My throat goes tight.
“Maybe I do,” I say before I can stop myself.
She hums again. “Bring her home again soon, okay? Your father likes her. Won’t shut up about how she laughs at his stupid jokes.”
“They’re not stupid,” I protest.
“They’re terrible,” she says fondly. “But she laughs anyway. She fits, Scottie, and she’s good for you.”
I close my eyes.
Yeah… I know she is.
“I’ll bring her back,” I say. “I promise.” Though I’m not one hundred percent sure, I can make good on that promise. If I have anything to say about it, I’ll be bringing her back home for years to come.
We say goodbye, and I hang up, staring at the dark screen for a long moment.
Dad’s trial. Mom’s voice. Katerina in my bed.
There’s just too much I can’t control, but the only other choice is to give up, and I won’t do that. I don’t think I even know how.
I polish off the coffee, grab my gear, set Katerina’s cup of tea by the bed and kiss her head just as she wakes, and head for the rink.
Weights slam against the rubber mats as music thumps loud enough to bleed through the soundproof walls. The Hawkeyes' gym is full of players who need to get in some extra workouts. Hunter, JP, and Luka are already here.
I’m halfway through a set of dumbbell presses when Luka walks by, towel slung over his shoulder, water bottle tucked under his arm. I drop the weights and wipe my hands on my shorts.
“Hey,” I call, trying to sound casual, which I immediately realize is suspicious because Luka stops like I’ve said something alarming.
“What?” he asks, narrowing his eyes like he already assumes I’m about to inconvenience him.
“I need to ask you something. Do you remember,” I start slowly, “what Russian candy your mom used to buy for Katerina at that old theater? The one she used to take Kat to watch old Audrey Hepburn movies?”
He blinks at me. Once, then twice.
“What?” he repeats, flat.
“I’m trying to find it. She mentioned it once, and I didn’t write it down, so I have no idea where to get it.”
Luka stares at me as if I’ve spoken in tongues.
“You’re trying to buy my sister… with Russian movie theater candy?”
“Yeah.”
“For what purpose exactly?”
“Because we’re gonna miss her opening night,” I say, grabbing the barbell and re-racking it. “We have that Salt Lake game. I want to make it up to her.”
Luka grimaces. “Shit. I forgot about that.”
“Yeah. So the candy is for—”
“To soften the blow?” Luka interrupts. “Ease the disappointment? You think a candy bar fixes missing a milestone in her career?”
“No,” I say, frowning. “The candy’s not the point.”
Luka folds his arms. “Uh-huh. So what is the point?”
I blow out a breath.
“I’m renting a theater,” I admit. “For a private showing.”
Luka’s eyebrows shoot up to the ceiling.
“You’re renting out an entire theater for my sister? What movie is worth all that for?”
“Roman Holiday,” I say. “Right? That was your mom’s favorite movie.”
Luka goes perfectly still. He looks at me as if he’s seeing me for the very first time.
“Wait.” He holds up a hand. “Let me get this straight. You are renting an entire theater… for just you and my sister… to play an old black-and-white movie she watched with our mother… and you’re trying to source her favorite childhood candy?”
“Yes,” I say, confused why he needs this repeated when he just summarized it perfectly.
“Holy shit,” he says finally. “You’re falling in love with my sister.”
I choke on absolutely nothing. How he saw through that so quickly, I have no idea. “I’m trying to make it up to her. I thought it would be a nice gesture.”
He cuts me off. “No, you’re not sticking to our agreement. You’re trying to date my sister.”
Before I can answer, Hunter pipes up from two treadmills over.
“Of course he is, genius. He’s married to her.”
I point at Hunter. “See? He has a point.”
Luka turns on him. “Stay out of this, New Jersey.”
Hunter shrugs like the chaos feeds him. Which, for the record, it does.
Luka goes back to glaring at me.
“When we started this,” he says quietly, “it was simple. You cut off my dad’s ability to force an arranged marriage for Katerina. Get my grandmother’s blessing and the visa renewal, or a green card. Then the two of you part ways. Clean break. No one gets hurt.”
“I know the plan,” I say a little defensively.
“Do you?” he presses. “Because what you’re doing… renting out entire old theaters to replicate what my sister lost so she’ll fall in love with you… It’s not temporary behavior.”
“What if it’s not temporary?” I ask.
“I trusted you with her,” he says, taking a threatening step forward, but I won’t back down from him… not when it comes to her. “You’re a goddamn hockey player, Easton. You think I wanted that for my baby sister?”
Hunter whistles low. “That sounded kind of offensive, man. We’re all hockey players.”
I throw him a glare. That's not helping. “Seriously?”
Hunter tosses up his arms like he was just trying to help, and then goes back to not minding his own business, but is pretending to. Luka takes another step into my space. Close enough for me to know he’s taking this conversation seriously. I guess it’s about time that we did.
“You can still trust me,” I say quietly. “You can.”
“Do you actually think you can make her happy?” he demands.
“I’m fucking trying here,” I snap before I can stop myself.
Something in Luka’s expression falters. Concern? Fear? Brotherly protectiveness? A blend of all three.
He sighs, scrubs his hands over his face.
“We’re supposed to work as a team out there, Scottie.
If you screw this up… you’re not just putting our friendship on the line, you’re putting our season on the line.
Is she really worth that?” Of course she is, and we both know it.
That’s not exactly what he meant, but I understand what he’s asking.
“Yeah, she is.”
His jaw clenches, and I can see the moment he wants to tell me to go fuck myself and stay away from his sister… but he technically can’t. He still needs me to finish what we started.
“The candy is called Krasnaya Shapochka,” he mutters in annoyance that he’s giving in. “Little Red Riding Hood chocolates. The Russian market on 5th carries them.”
I let out a relieved sigh. “Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me,” he mutters, turning away. “Just… don’t fuck this up.”
Hunter jogs past, slapping my shoulder. “Congratulations, East. You're officially in love.”
I flip him off and then get back to my workout. I have to get the last of everything ready for the movie tomorrow night before we leave town for our away game, and I need this all to go right.
Luckily, the sixty-year-old woman at the shop on 5th knew exactly what candy Luka mentioned, and I bought everything they had in stock.
I check the email confirmation for the date and time of the showing I reserved for the eighth time. This has to be perfect.
My phone buzzes.
Kat: Made it through rehearsal without collapsing. Barely.
Kat: I might be dead. Check the living room when you get home.
I smile, thumbs flying.
Me: You’re not allowed to die. I have plans for you.
I slip my phone back into my pocket, feeling lighter than I have in days.
Dad has a shot at a trial, even if it's a small shot. I have a theater booked and scheduled; she has candy coming that tastes like home, and though Luka is pissed, he didn’t kill me.
It’s something. And right now? That’s the best I can hope for.