CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
D mitri
I push open the locker room door and nineteen pairs of eyes snap to me.
“What?”
“Did you read the paper?” Troy asks.
“Does anyone read the paper these days?”
“Did you read the news section of your phone?”
I blink.
“I think the answer is no,” Luke says.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Troy says too quickly.
“No big deal,” Noah adds.
“It will all be fine,” Luke chimes in.
“Totally, completely fine,” Finn echoes.
My eyes narrow. “You’re acting weird.”
“You made the news,” Axel blurts.
The others turn to him, annoyed.
“But that doesn’t mean you have to read the news,” Luke says.
I take out my phone and pull up the news. I see my name immediately. Dmitri Volkov Weds Coach’s Son in Sham Green Card Marriage.
Everything heats. My organs burn, as if seeking to incinerate themselves on the spot.
“Oh.”
“Maybe you should sit down,” Noah suggests.
I square my shoulders. “I’m fine. No big deal.”
Noah and Finn exchange glances and conduct one of those private couple eye conversations. But they’re an actual couple. Their marriage is real.
And even when people thought their marriage was fake, the worst thing that could happen was that Noah would be sent back to the AHL in Rhode Island.
I mean, that’s terrible.
But give me Rhode Island a thousand times over Russia.
Because even though part of me loves Russia and is proud of it and proud of being from it...I can’t go back. I can’t go to the other side of the world and pretend my life here never happened.
But that’s not my main concern.
Oskar sacrificed everything for me. His career. His dating life. His reputation.
My legs quiver, and my heart is unsure whether to speed up or slow. There’s no right answer, because nothing will change this situation.
Everyone knows the marriage is for pretend. Will I ever be able to enter the US again, even as a tourist, after this? Will I ever get a tourist visa if the government thinks I tried to do immigration fraud?
The worst part? They’re right.
God. I’ve never been smart. Never been intelligent.
How did I think I could outsmart the United States government? The most powerful, most amazing country in the world?
Axel normally tells jokes or complains about his childhood rival who plays for Los Angeles. He’s not supposed to look at me, eyes round with concern. Neither is Troy.
They’re standing too close to me, and I hate it.
Because if their eyes are round with worry, if I’ve managed to concern professional athletes who are never concerned with anything, who push their bodies to the limit everyday, then this is seriously bad.
“Is fine,” I say, but their eyes are still rounded.
Some of them nod. They’re lying for me.
“Is fine because we are real couple,” I say.
“It’s one newspaper article,” Finn says.
“Well...” Axel starts to speak, then evidently thinks better of it.
I furrow my brow. “What?”
“I doubt it will be just one newspaper article by the end of the day. I, um, was already contacted for a comment.”
“What!” Troy grabs his phone, then reads a message, evidently from a reporter. “Oh.”
Finn and Noah check their phones too. I don’t believe their innocent, no big deal expressions for one moment.
“I told them that Dmitri and Oskar are very devoted and always together,” Axel says. “Wasn’t a lie!”
“Thank you,” I say.
I mean it, but I hate that I’m getting the most important people in my life to lie for me.
“I am devoted to Oskar,” I say. “In fact...”
I rake my hand through my hair. I hate that my hand is fluttering, like some Victorian woman who inhaled too many smelling salts. How can I hit the puck into the net if my hand isn’t even steady? And if my heart feels like it’s trying to claw its way out of my chest?
“I need to go,” I say.
Then I brush between Noah and Finn and head for Oskar’s office.
He must hate me. What if this doesn’t work? What if he’s angry? What if everything amazing from last night and this morning means nothing now? What if all he feels is regret?
My teammates are saying something to me, but I don’t care.
I need to get ready to go on the ice. I need to be focused on our game tonight.
But the only person who matters is in a small office in this arena, and I stride toward him. My feet feel weighted as I trudge through the corridor. Finally, I stumble through his door.
“Dmitri?” Oskar jumps up, worry filling those blue eyes.
Somehow his concern doesn’t make me feel weak. With him, I don’t have to be tough.
“There was an article...”
Oskar nods. “I know. I saw.”
“You did?”
“Sorry. I wanted to tell you, but I know you have practice. Didn’t want to distract you.”
“Oh.”
“So you’re...” I hesitate, unsure what I’m asking.
Oskar seems to understand anyway, and he pulls me into a hug, wrapping his slender arms around me. “I’m fine. We knew this might happen, right?”
“I didn’t want it to happen though.”
“I know,” he murmurs into my shoulder. “But we’ll get through this.”
“And if we don’t?” My voice cracks.
“Then we’ll know we tried.” He looks up at me. “And we’ll still talk. You can reach me on Zoom. I won’t disappear.”
I nod, pretending that’s enough. Having Oskar here, solid and real, beats any pixelated version on a screen. But maybe it’s more than I deserve.
He tilts his head up, and I smooth his hair, staring into his bright blue trusting eyes.
“I like you in person.”
“I do too. And what’s a few negative articles and social media messages?”
“Multiple articles? Already?” My voice shakes.
Oskar glances behind him. “You know, Daniela is supposed to be back any minute. Let’s go somewhere quieter.”
He grabs a key and pulls me after him. I hold his hand tight, telling myself memories will be enough.
At least I was part of the NHL. At least I met great people.
That’s more than I ever could have hoped for, and more than my family ever thought I deserved.
But the thoughts aren’t soothing, and my brain screams at me that I’ve already hurt Oskar so much anyway, and that maybe I should confess and say I coerced him or something so he can rectify his career.
Oskar stops at a door, checks both ways, then unlocks it.
“You took me to the massage room?”
His cheeks pinken. “It’s quiet and smells good.”
“You always smell good.”
His face turns serious. “I don’t want you to go.”