Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Holly
The loss is devastating.
We’re all holding our collective breaths and then Viktor goes down, the puck goes in, and that stupid red light goes off.
And my heart breaks.
Not because of the game—I truly only care about hockey because of Viktor—but because I know without a doubt my stoic-on-the-outside-but-deeply-empathetic husband will blame himself.
He’ll shoulder this responsibility like his men were killed in battle or something. Even if he’ll never admit it out loud.
Our group makes our way to the family lounge, where we wait for the team after every game, and the mood is somber. Mr. Maslak is talking quietly with his wife, Aunt Irina is on her phone, and the women with children are trying to keep them somewhat quiet and entertained.
“This is so hard,” Serena says to me. “We haven’t been together that long so sometimes I’m not quite sure what to say when they lose. Do I comfort him? Do I leave him alone? I honestly don’t know which way to go.”
“What do you end up doing?” I ask quietly.
“So far, West has been the one who kind of guides the conversation after a loss.” She pauses, a faint smile playing on her lips.
“Honestly, what he usually wants is sex. A way to blow off steam.” Her voice is low and filled with amusement.
“And that’s honestly not a hardship, if that’s how he needs to get out his frustrations.
Obviously, I’m on board or he wouldn’t push the issue, but I mean, why wouldn’t I be?
I love him. Our sex life is fantastic. Other than being genuinely sick or there being an emergency, I can’t think of a reason I’d ever turn him down. ”
I love him.
I can’t think of a reason I’d ever turn him down.
Those two sentences resonate.
Regardless of how I’m feeling at the moment, I couldn’t think of a reason to turn him down last night either, and I won’t if he wants me tonight.
Because I do love him.
I knew I was falling, starting to care more than I should, but the brutal reality of the depth of my feelings makes me a little lightheaded.
“You are so not okay,” she says, watching my face.
“I just want to be there for him.”
“What’s stopping you?”
“Nothing, I guess. As you know, we are very, very complicated.”
“Look, you’re a grown woman who can make her own decisions, and I know I already told you this, but there is no reason not to fight to make this business arrangement turn into the real thing.
” Her voice is low. No one can hear us, but I look around worriedly anyway.
“There is no doubt in my mind you’ve caught feelings and I think maybe he has too. ”
“He told me once he doesn’t know if he’s capable of romantic love.”
“Do you believe that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe you need to think about that.”
“Believe me, it’s the only thing I’ve been thinking about. Well, that and him going back to Russia and how I’m going to keep my father from trying to steal my house.” I told her about the realtor who showed up yesterday.
“Why aren’t you talking about those things with him?”
“I’m talking to him about most of them.”
“But not all. Why?”
“Because I’m scared. What if he says he’s still going back to Russia when he retires and I can take it or leave it.”
“Is that a dealbreaker for you?”
“I honestly don’t know, but I think it will be super complicated for me. For any kids we have between now and then. Whatever career I have going forward.”
“I can’t stress this enough—talk to him. Seriously. Put yourself out there. What do you have to lose?”
I can’t answer that but I don’t have time to think of a response because I somehow sense that he’s just come in and I turn to greet him.
His face is shuttered, almost blank.
And I can’t help myself.
I walk right up to him and wrap my arms around his neck. “I’m so sorry, honey.”
He stiffens initially, like he can’t bear to have anyone touch him, but then closes his arms around me—and buries his face in my hair. He shudders, just a tiny bit, but I feel it and hold him closer, sliding the fingers of one hand up into his hair.
I love his hair.
It’s not long but it’s not short, dangling in waves that fall just over his ears and onto his forehead. Usually, he slicks it back but after a game he doesn’t tend to bother so some of it falls forward and I love that look. Especially when we’re in bed.
“You played so hard,” I whisper. “Sometimes the puck just bounces the wrong way. It wasn’t your fault.” I don’t know if that’s accurate in this case, but I heard one of the other wives say it and it sounds like something that might soothe him.
“Viktor.” Mr. Maslak approaches us and I gently pull away, allowing him to talk to his parents, but he slides his arm around my waist, tugging me into his side.
They’re speaking Russian but the tone of their voices and Viktor’s short responses tell me they’re talking about the game.
The loss. How they’ll get the next one. Something along those lines.
“We should go,” Viktor says after a little while. “I am tired.”
We drive home in silence but my thoughts are jumbled, indecision and concern making me question myself.
This is not the time to bring up the job interview in New York.
He’s exhausted and frustrated, hands tight on the steering wheel, his jaw set and a faraway look in his eyes.
I recognize how difficult this is for a man like him. He’s waited a long time to prove himself as the starting goalie and I’m sure he’s taking tonight’s loss personally. Sure, they lost lots of games over the course of the season, even during the playoffs. But this one was different.
The first-ever home championship game.
There was a sold-out crowd. His family is here from Russia. He’s playing his old team, against his mentor. That’s a lot.
I refuse to add to his burden. Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow, but if not, I’m hoping for a win the following night and that might be an easier time to mention it.
As for everything else, I refuse to have any kind of relationship talk while he’s dealing with the most important series of his career.
That would be selfish.
I don’t think I could ever forgive myself if we have an argument and then he loses another game.
“I am sorry to be in a bad mood,” he says when we get home.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to entertain me.”
“Thank you.” He leans over and kisses my cheek before going to the bathroom to get undressed.
I change out of my clothes as well. I don’t usually go to bed naked, even though I’ve been waking up that way lately.
“Is there anything I can do?” I ask, joining him in the bathroom.
He shakes his head. “I am okay. Just have to shake off the loss. Think about game two.”
“All right.” I brush my teeth and catch him watching me.
He continues to watch as I moisturize my face and put lotion on my arms and legs.
“You’re making me self-conscious,” I murmur with a smile.
He doesn’t smile back, the expression on his face hard to read. “You are beautiful. I like to look.”
And I love the way he looks at me.
God, this is so hard.
But the one realization I had today is that my time with him might be more limited than I originally thought.
And if that’s the case, why not enjoy every second I can with him?
I’m already head over heels for him so continuing to have sex until we figure out what’s next isn’t going to make leaving him hurt any less. What’s the point of depriving myself?
“You sure there isn’t anything I can do to make you feel better?” I murmur, slowly pulling off my pajama top.
His green eyes become an emerald fire.
“Maybe there is something,” he murmurs. “But you must remove the bottom first.”
I shimmy out of my pajama shorts.
Now I’m standing there in nothing but my bikini panties, and I see the erection starting to tent his boxers.
Slowly, I run my hands over my breasts, squeezing lightly and bringing them together.
“Like anything you see?” I tease.
“I like everything.”
He reaches for me, but I dance out of the room and make my way to the bed with him on my heels.
He catches me right as I’m about to lay down and pulls me against his chest. Before I can say anything, his mouth covers mine and he plunges his tongue deep.
There’s nothing tentative about our kisses anymore.
We’ve done it enough so that our bodies know exactly what to do. What turns us both on.
Our limbs tangle as we roll over, kissing and groping and stroking.
I love the feel of his hands on me. When he cups my ass and holds me tight against his body.
The warmth that soothes me when we’re skin-on-skin.
How I’m able to lose myself in him with no fear, no reservations.
I’m fairly certain I would let him do anything he wants to me.
“I need you,” he whispers in a gruff voice.
God, that does something to me.
“Take what you need,” I whisper back.
He doesn’t even bother to take off my panties—he just moves them to the side and thrusts in deep. We’re laying on our sides, facing each other, and he’s pulled my left leg up and over his right hip. His lips fuse with mine as he thrusts in and out, hard, fast, almost desperate.
We kiss and grind and grope, bodies beautifully in sync, despite how frantic it feels. Like he can’t get deep enough and I can’t get close enough. It’s almost as if we’re each hiding something emotional that we’re trying to work through physically.
My orgasm hits me out of nowhere, and I shriek his name, bucking against him as he pumps into me a few more times before finding his own release.
Then we just lay there, hearts pounding, bodies close together, neither of us moving for a while.
Finally, he pulls out and slowly gets to his feet, padding into the bathroom without a word.
Something squeezes painfully in my chest, but I don’t know what it is.
Worse than that, I don’t know if there’s any way to salvage the relationship we’ve started to build. Or if he even wants to.
Secrets are never a good idea but what choice do I have? He hasn’t made me any promises and our future is so uncertain. Women tend to want to talk everything out, including me. With Nathan, it would turn into gaslighting and arguing and frustration.
I want to protect Viktor. Just until the series is over and we have time to focus on each other.
Except that interview in New York falls right smack in the middle of the next three games in Alaska.
That’s not the normal playoff schedule, but because of the time difference and the distance from Atlanta to Anchorage, going with the traditional 2-2-1-1-1 schedule is too taxing on the players, so they changed it to 2-3-2.
Because the Thunder has a slightly better record, the series begins and ends in Atlanta, but those three games in Alaska will play out over six days.
And I don’t know if he’ll forgive me for not being there.
I don’t even know if I’ll forgive myself.