Chapter 13
Six, seven…eight. Fuck. Dropping the heavy weight to the floor of the gym, I ignore the black spots clouding my vision.
I didn’t plan to wake up at three in the morning and immediately lift heavier than I ever have for eight fucking reps, but here I am.
Since I woke up alone in Mila’s bed after the most intense experience of my life, it’s been clear that she thinks it was a mistake.
If she was avoiding me before, she’s a ghost now.
I know she’s still on the compound somewhere, but other than hearing the faint rustle through our shared wall as she comes to bed late, then gets up early, she might as well be a figment of my imagination. Except my imagination has never been robust enough to call into existence a siren like Mila…
The door opens, and light floods the space, pulling me out of my melancholy thoughts and scaring the shit out of me.
“Ahh!” I wish my screech of alarm wasn’t so high-pitched, but it’s only Misha. If my presence surprises him, he doesn’t show it.
“Good morning, Sunshine. I think you’re the first one to ever beat me to the gym. Couldn’t sleep?”
“Uh, no.” Misha lifts the weight I was struggling with like it’s nothing and re-racks it for me before striding to the stair climber and starting his warm-up. Which is jogging up the stairs while continuing to chat with me like it’s nothing.
“So you decided to take your frustrations out on the weights? Did it help?”
“Also no.” I accept that he’ll be on the stairs for a while, so I start at a leisurely pace on the machine beside him. Fuck, I forgot how much I hate this machine. My quads and glutes are in amazing shape, thanks to so much time on the ice, but something about the never-ending climbing…I hate it.
“Do you want to start by telling me that something happened between you and Mila and now she’s closed off and ignoring you, or do you want to beat around the bush some more?”
“Uhh. How do you—wait! Did she say something about me?”
“Not necessarily, but then again, she didn’t have to. We communicate almost exclusively via telepathy.”
“Okay, well then, what did she think about me?”
That makes Misha laugh, and he finally stops his jog to move on to his actual workout.
Thank God. “She’s a complex woman. More than anyone will ever understand.
And she has an absolute fuck ton of shit on her plate right now.
Steaming shit that’s taking up almost all of her mental and emotional energy. ”
“I don’t want to add to her stress. But I feel…
I like her a lot. I feel safe with her around, and I’d like to help with her stress!
I don’t think she sees me that way, though.
I think I’m just another item on her long list of annoyances.
Which is true for basically everyone in my life, so I really shouldn’t be surprised.
” I can’t keep the bitterness out of my tone as I grumble the last part, but Misha still hears me.
A bear paw on my shoulder turns me to face him. Jesus, he’s tall.
“You aren’t annoying. I’m not sure exactly why you think that about yourself. But I guarantee Mila probably feels a lot of things about you that confuse her, and annoying likely isn’t one of them. Well, maybe a little bit. Annoyed by how you make her feel.”
We lift in silence for a few minutes, the quiet of the morning only interrupted by our grunts and the weights thudding to the floor. Finally, I can’t take it anymore.
“I know what you told me about my usual tricks not working on her, but I feel like I’m past that. I feel like she saw what I had to offer and isn’t interested. Even though you say she’s just complex, what do I do with that? If it were you, what would you do now?”
With a loaded look, he hands me a kettlebell as if it weighs five pounds, only for me to realize, as I fall to the ground with it, that it’s seventy-five. He barely smirks before giving me what I can tell is his most serious advice on the matter.
“I think you’re going to have to talk to her.
She appreciates honesty, and having the balls to lay your cards on the table would be a positive thing.
I can’t promise how she’ll react, though.
It might seem like I have her figured out, but she still surprises me sometimes.
The worst thing that could happen is she rejects you, which sucks, but it’s still better than never knowing what could have been. Shoot your shot.”
With that, he’s out of the gym, and I’m left alone, drenched in sweat but with an inkling of a plan.
Rummaging behind the garish bar, I finally find something worth drinking.
Although it seems the previous tenants left behind seemingly endless top-shelf vodka, I’ve always preferred whiskey.
Well, if I had a choice of any drink in the world, I’d pick a frozen margarita.
Or frozen anything. But since everyone in this house seems determined to prove their manliness with straight liquor, I vastly prefer whiskey.
Just as I’m pouring myself three fingers of Kentucky’s finest, the reason for my drinking finds me.
“How’d you get in here?”
She’s not just being nosy. This bar is a small room, hidden in a false panel in the hallway just outside of our bedrooms. Based on some of the furniture and hardware protruding from the walls, I’m guessing that it was used for some kinky shit and not just as a lounge.
When Misha told me I might find some whiskey in here, I asked him if there was also a dungeon hidden behind a panel somewhere, but he wouldn’t tell me anything.
“Heard from a friend that what I needed might be in here. Sorry, I didn’t think about the fact that you might not want me looting your property.” And I am sorry. I would never want her to feel like I’m skulking about in her home…
“It’s fine,” she says, taking a seat on a barstool across from me. “As long as there’s enough left in there to pour me a glass. I can’t believe you even found that bottle. I looked but must have missed it.”
Finding one more rocks glass behind the bar, I oblige her. “I didn’t know you were a whiskey drinker. Don’t you prefer vodka like a true Russian?”
She snorts, toasting me with her glass before taking a long swig. “I’m not as picky as everyone thinks I am.” She considers the brown liquor for a moment before continuing. “Misha prefers a Miami vice.”
Both of us laugh before succumbing to the silence once again.
I can’t help but break it. “I started drinking much too young. I don’t even know if I was out of middle school.
Not that I’ve ever gotten out of hand. It’s just funny to think about the first time I got drunk on Johnny Walker. I was probably twelve years old.”
“Where were your parents?”
Ugh. I led her into that line of questioning, but it still stings. “Uh, probably France. Or the Caribbean. There’s no telling. They left me to my own devices, and I never really faced many consequences.”
“You don’t say!” Her smile softens her words as we laugh again.
“Yes, laugh at my expense. Poor little rich boy who craves attention and love because he never got either as a child.”
“Well, at least you’re self-aware. They must have at least cared about you enough to think of putting you in therapy.”
“I asked for it for Christmas one year,” I say quietly with a small smile, and we’re quiet for a while after that until Mila is brave enough to break the silence.
“You seem sad.”
“I suppose I am a bit sad. I had a very sexy, very fulfilling night with a terrifying, beautiful woman, and she hasn’t given me the time of day since.
And, other than training, I’m dealing with the melancholy that always sets in during the postseason.
At least playing hockey, I’m useful and have a purpose.
There are only so many hours during the day I can spend in the gym.
Otherwise…” I give her what I hope is a handsome, mischievous smirk.
“Otherwise, I’m liable to get in all sorts of trouble. ”
Mila looks at me for so long that I break away from her gaze, picking at the wood grain of the bar. Finally, she stands, stretching, and cracks her neck with a satisfying pop.
“I’m very busy, you know. Tons to do around here. Dealing with fucking misogynist assholes who are pissed they’re old with wrinkly dicks, and take it out on me.”
I know you’re busy. It’s okay. I’ll find something to do. I always have.
She stretches, her shirt riding up to show a sliver of the skin that I know is softer than you’d ever expect from such a lethal woman.
“That’s okay. I’ll—”
“I could really use some help. But it won’t be an easy job, Thatcher. I expect you to work just as hard as I do.”
Her smirk raises my spirits more than anything ever could, and I pop off the bar top to follow her around like a puppy again, this time with her blessing.
“Anything you say, Boss.”