Chapter 28 #3
“Um,” I say as I glance down at the contact info on my phone.
“You don’t want me to wait for you?”
“No, but thank you. You get back to LA and go on with your night.”
“But . . .” He glances at me in the rearview mirror again, the lines at the corner of his eyes wrinkling as he tries to make sense of my request. “I was told to bring you back to LA.”
“Change of plans.” I shrug as I call Jameson Flynn, who, according to the contact info Tom sent me, is apparently Aleksandr’s agent.
The phone rings four times, then goes to voice mail.
I don’t leave a message. He’s probably screening his calls and doesn’t recognize my number. Instead, I send him a text message.
Petra
Hi Jameson, my name is Petra Volkova. Tom Sheppard, Alex Ivanov’s lawyer, gave me your number.
I pause for a moment to think of what I can say to get Jameson to help me get into that game.
Is he even there? It’s the Stanley Cup finals—of course he’s there.
I glance at the clock. It’s after 8:00 p.m. so I’m sure I’ve just missed the first intermission.
I have to make it there in time for the second intermission, or this is all for naught.
“Can you go just a bit faster?” I ask the driver. “I really need to make it to this game before the end of the second period.”
“There’s no traffic. We’ll be there in about fifteen minutes,” he says as we cruise along the highway. Around us, the hills boast the green grass that’s only present in the winter and spring.
Petra
I know the way he’s playing tonight is . . . less than desirable. I need to talk to him before the next period begins. Can you please get me in to see him? It’s an emergency.
The bubbles pop up on the screen and at least I know he’s seen my text. I hold my breath while I wait for his response.
Jameson
I’m sorry, I don’t know you or how you know Alex . . . and you believe I would “get you in to see him” because . . .?
Suddenly, our relationship is not only a risk I want to take, it’s something I’m committing myself to fixing. But I don’t know how he’d feel about me telling his agent. I just have to hope that he’ll be understanding once I explain why I shared this information.
Petra
I’m his wife.
Jameson
Bullshit.
Petra
I’m not sure what I can tell you that will make you believe me. But I’m the only person who might be able to turn his game around. I assume you want him to sign a new contract when this one is up?
I glance out the window as we head into Anaheim, and there’s nothing but sprawl.
The sameness is killing me slowly. The same weather every day, the same low buildings everywhere I look, the same golden hillsides, the same clogged freeways, the same people drinking their green juice on their way home from yoga.
We’re an hour out of LA and the sprawl just keeps going on and on, different cities and it all feels the same.
An hour outside of New York, I could be lounging on the beaches of Long Island, or visiting farms in quaint small towns upstate.
I could be watching horse racing, or exploring outdoor gardens and art installations in the Hudson Valley.
I miss the variety of landscape and people, as well as the fast-paced life of New York City—almost as much as I miss Sasha and Stella.
My phone buzzes in my hand, the repeated vibrations signaling an incoming phone call. It’s Jameson.
“Who’s the most important person in his life?”
Without even a moment of hesitation, I respond. “Stella.”
“Okay. I’ll meet you at the main entrance. How soon will you be here?”
I glance at my watch. Based on what the driver said about timing, I tell him, “Less than ten minutes.”
“How will I know who you are?”
“I’ll send you a picture,” I say, and he gives me a gruff Okay before he disconnects the call.
I open up the photos on my phone and pull up a photo I took of me and Aleksandr before the event last weekend.
My smile is huge, my eyes are crinkling at the corners and you can barely see my baby blues through my lashes because I’m glancing sideways at the love of my life.
I send the picture to Jameson but even after it’s been sent on its way, I can’t stop staring at the two of us.
We were so happy. I almost told him I loved him that night, was just on my way to saying it when he dropped the bombshell about our parents and then all the other lies came tumbling out in its wake.
My heart aches, physically, when I consider how I’d walked out on him later that night. I needed time and space to think about why he’d lied to me and if I could forgive him for it. And once I realized I could forgive him, I needed time and space to plan how I’d make my way back to him.
Maybe I should have reached out sooner, let him know where my heart and mind were, but I wanted to be certain. I wanted to have my plan in place with no option to back down. I wanted to be one hundred percent committed so he’d know how serious I am, before saying anything.
After watching him self-destruct on the ice tonight, I pray I didn’t wait too long.