CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
D mitri
“Take your time,” I tell Oskar. “Is fine.”
“Dmitri?” Coach’s voice comes from the other side of the door. “Are you in here?”
“Yes.”
Banging sounds.
Shit.
Coach seemed okay with me last night, but that was before the negative articles about me and his son came out.
I cringe, then sturdy my shoulders.
I knew we weren’t really a happy family. I knew it.
“One moment, Pappa!” Oskar shouts.
“Oskar?” I hear confusion in Coach’s voice. He doesn’t bang on the door anymore though.
Oskar smooths his hair and fixes his bowtie.
His shirt is wrinkled, and his hair is, well, not smooth. I pat it down for him.
“How do I look?”
“Amazing,” I murmur, then step back as his eyes go wide.
God, could we have been doing this all along? Did he always like me this way? Why didn’t he tell me?
And now, I’ll probably be going soon.
I swallow away the jolt of pain as if someone has mistaken me for a vampire and has just thrust a wooden stake into my chest, then I walk to the door.
I exchange a glance with Oskar because no way am I letting Coach in before he is absolutely ready.
He nods to me, and I open the door.
“Dmitri Volkov,” he says, and I hate that he used my last name, as if to stress that I’m not really part of Oskar’s family.
Maybe I’m technically Coach’s son-in-law, but not in the way it counts. Not really.
I raise my chin. “Coach.”
“You shouldn’t lock yourself in the massage room. You missed stickhandling practice.”
I resist the impulse to tell coach that I was engaged in some private stickhandling with his son.
“Hi, Pappa,” Oskar says.
Coach turns toward Oskar. His mouth drops. His eyes round. “You were alone in a room with Dmitri. In a locked room.”
“We’re married, Pappa. Pretty sure you want the door to our apartment to be locked.”
“Um.” Coach wrinkles his brow. He glances around the room, and his nostrils flare slightly.
Shit.
Fathers-in-law aren’t supposed to smell those sorts of scents. He looks bewildered. The massage table looks more rumpled than normal, our body weight still indented in the high-quality padding.
I clear my throat before he can decide that he definitely smells what he suspects.
“Just having a discussion,” Oskar says quickly.
“Don’t forget we have a game tonight,” Coach reminds me, his voice gruff.
“You’ve got it, Daddy,” I say.
He winces. “Don’t call me that.”
“Thought you might like an American name since your kids call you Pappa.”
“Not something for you to be concerned about.” He rakes a hand through his hair, and I decide I better leave before he starts shouting or something.
How a man as grouchy as Coach could have created a man as sweet as Oskar is one of the mysteries of the universe. A mystery I probably shouldn’t contemplate from the way Coach’s expression is contorting into one of his scowls.
I turn to Oskar. “I should leave. My boss is angry.”
“Furious,” Coach corrects, though amusement ripples through his voice.
“Bye, baby.” I pull Oskar close for a quick kiss, then scamper away before Coach changes his mind about murder.
OSKAR
The door clicks shut behind Dmitri, leaving me alone with Pappa’s scrutiny.
“I suppose you should go after him,” I say. “Important work. Los Angeles.”
Pappa narrows his gaze. “What were you doing in here?”
“He wanted to talk.”
“I don’t like this.”
“He’s not a bad guy, Pappa.”
Pappa sighs. “No, he’s not. Your mother likes him.”
“So do I.”
“Believe it or not, so do I,” Pappa says. “I hired him, after all.”
I nod.
“He’s not a serious man,” Pappa says. “He parties. He’s the reason we enforce curfews.”
“Give him a chance.”
“I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“I know. He’s worth it.”
Pappa presses his lips together. He definitely wants to say more, but I’m grateful when instead he leaves the room. I swallow hard, my heart thudding.