Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Lauren
Later that evening, I was curled up in bed when I opened the Chicago Rebels fan fiction website and searched for the latest chapter.
She was a woman on a mission, and that mission was to get my extension deal with Chicago. I shouldn’t be messing with that, with her, with the system that said a player should treat his agent professionally.
But I couldn’t stop. The line was right there …
Hell, it was in my rear view. Had I crossed it months ago when I snuck a peek at her long legs, wishing they were wrapped around my hips as I pumped her hard? Probably. But those fantasies could have easily stayed there, brought out on occasion as I looked for uses for my left hand.
Nazarov was left-handed, just in case there was any doubt.
She tilted her head up to meet my burning gaze. All my intensity was for her. There was no other woman I wanted right now, which made what I was about to do the biggest mistake of my life.
Kiss my agent. Then bang her through the shower room tile.
Okay, Autumn Deveraux was about to get railed, well and good. Lucky girl.
I tried to think of the last time that had happened to me. My sex life with Thad was decent, which was probably not such an appealing way to describe the sexual chemistry with the man I planned to marry. But like I said, slow and steady was my jam these days.
Something else gnawed at me: how Thad was asking people in my circle to invest their money. I needed to sleep on it and see if it niggled at me in the morning. Or I could text Thad now and ask him about it … a scroll through my contacts led me to another thread.
My fingers were already typing before my brain recognized the danger.
Me
You’ve finally made it.
Stupid Husband
I have?
Me
Chicago Rebels fan fiction. You’re now a main character having unethical sex with your hot agent.
Stupid Husband
I cannot say this is something I would truly like. My agent is scary. Not hot in the slightest.
I smiled. Marty Singleton was an old curmudgeon who had shepherded Alexei’s career for the last fifteen years.
Me
The fan fiction gods have smiled on you. Apparently, your ass is worthy of sculpting in bronze.
Stupid Husband
My fictional ass is much loved. This is good.
Me
The real thing has its fans as well, I’m sure.
Not a good idea, not a good idea …
Stupid Husband
Name these fans.
Did I dare?
Me
Your reluctant wife.
Apparently, I did.
Stupid Husband
Reluctant because of the wife part or reluctant because of the ass-worship part?
Me
ALL OF IT!
I closed my eyes. Was I a touch tipsy from two margaritas? That could be the only reason I was acknowledging Nazarov’s assets.
The phone rang with a call from … the ass of the hour.
I answered curtly, “What?”
“You okay?”
“Course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Why are you talking about my fictional relationship with my fictional agent and my not-so-fictional yet excellent ass?”
“You were a hot topic in our Bonking Book Club. Summer can’t believe how lucky she is.”
“Summer?”
“Yeah, the agent character is based on her. We think. This fan fiction author is kind of diabolical.”
“Ah, my non-fictional wife is jealous.”
That tingle over my skin was far too pleasurable. I shouldn’t be talking to him, late at night, like it was a secret.
“I am not jealous. I’m just amazed that you’ve made such an impression in this fictional hockey world when you haven’t even started playing in the real one.”
He chuckled, low, strained through gravel, and I was instantly taken back to simpler times. Playing each other in practice, hanging out over waffles, how our eyes always found each other in every room we entered. Anxious to not become bogged down in the past, I changed the subject.
“How’s your dad?”
He sighed. “He is calm right now, not worrying about people coming to get him.”
“And where does that come from? That paranoia?”
“He has always had a difficult relationship with the powers that be back in the old country.”
“You mean the people who imprisoned him? Jason filled me in some.”
He paused. “Yes. He suffered in his bid to tell the truth and hold them accountable. But things have changed. He is no longer in danger. Those days are past.”
“But in times of stress, this is what he recalls. That fear.”
“The doctor said that he would lapse into these memories. That it’s a comfort for him, because it’s both familiar and signifies a time when he led a more fulfilling life. I don’t really understand it.”
“The mind is a complicated thing. So, I have something to ask you …” I wasn’t sure how to frame it, so I just blurted it out. “Did you play in Russia to help your dad?”
For a moment, I thought he hadn’t heard me. Or understood the question.
“Yes. It was impressed on me that he would be treated better in prison if I played there. Healthcare. Blankets. Nicer food. And once he was out, I worked to smuggle him out of the country. Paid off officials, which was something my father hated—his anti-corruption crusade was now tainted by bribery and backhanded payoffs to get him to safety. But I couldn’t leave him there. Vadim helped.”
“Vadim Petrov?”
“Yes, he still wielded some influence over there, plus he is richer than God. He understood the risks, what it would take. My father had suffered for his cause, but then so had other people. Like my mother.”
She had died just before he came to play at Michigan. “How did she suffer?”
“Targeting by the government apparatus, becoming a social pariah. She died in a car crash which my father claimed was at the hands of the state, though there is no proof of that.”
A chill shivered through me. “You’re sure of that?”
“Who can ever be sure of anything, Lauren? But my father would prefer to believe the worst. It fuels him in the fight.”
I closed my eyes. Alexei’s life had always seemed so blessed—any girl he wanted, a glittering career, adulation from the hockey universe—yet this was much more complex than I had ever realized. I had thought of him as a moody playboy, yet I knew nothing of what he was going through.
“He must be so proud of you. And appreciative of your sacrifice.”
He scoffed. “I do not know about that. I am lucky that I am paid well for this talent of mine. For a while there, I didn’t think they would ever let me leave.
Or him. But money talks and for the last twelve years, he has been safe in Seattle.
He created a community there with the ex-pats.
Played chess in the park, drank vodka all day long, quoted Dostoevsky. All the Russian stereotypes.”
I laughed. I liked to accuse Alexei of humorlessness, but that wasn’t strictly true. It had a dryness to it that was shockingly attractive.
He went on. “Now he is here, and I’m not sure I made the right decision, taking him away from what is familiar. I am the only person he knows apart from his nurse. It is hard for him.”
It must be. For them both.
“How come you haven’t told Jason about your dad’s illness?”
“I am trying to figure out how to handle it myself. If I tell him, he will start getting people involved, some sort of Rebels help-train.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“Sasha is my responsibility. Once the word is out, everyone will have opinions on how I should handle it.”
He was worried he’d be told to put his father in a home. When the season started, the situation would only get more complicated.
“It’s okay to ask for help, Alexei. After all, you told me. Why is that?”
“Because you are my wife and you deserve honesty.”
A little late in the day, yet I found that strangely touching. There was a not-uncomfortable lull.
Alexei finally broke it. “Where is your boyfriend tonight? Is he beside you while you talk to the man who put a ring on it?”
And we’re back. “He has an early start and needs his sleep.”
“That would not stop me from taking care of you, Lauren.”
I didn’t want to get into criticism of my boyfriend at the hands of my husband, especially as I might be tempted to agree. “Goodnight, Nazarov.”
“Goodnight, Silver Eyes.”