The Penalty Box (Vancouver Wolves Hockey #3)(51)

“Do you still want breakfast?”

“Let me help.” Together we cooked breakfast.

“I was talking to my friend, Jasper.”

Mica stirred the potatoes in the pan. “You’ve mentioned him a few times.”

“We’ve been friends since I was in grade seven. He lives in San Francisco. He’s a dancer.”

Mica glanced at me but didn’t speak.

“Would it be okay if I invited him for a visit?”

“Sure.”

His mom came back inside and stood beside me. “You’re whipping the eggs wrong.” I stepped back as she took the whisk out of my hand. “Flip them up like this, to get air into them.”

I ground my teeth. “Thank you.”

She looked around the kitchen. “I think I should give you some cooking lessons.”

I willed Mica to look at me, but he kept his back to the conversation. “That would be lovely.”

“My son needs some decent Russian food. That is your job now.”

I flipped those eggs so hard they foamed, but I didn’t speak.

While we ate, Yelena only spoke Russian to Mica. Mica responded in English, so I got half the conversation. It seemed like they were mostly talking about things that happened back home.

She switched to English, probably to make sure I understood the conversation.

“When are my grandbabies coming?”

Mica’s expression darkened. He spoke with complete conviction. “We’re not having a family.”

Her eyes widened. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

He stood up and picked up his plate and my own. “End of discussion.”

She stood up and followed him into the kitchen. “You have to have children. You have a responsibility to this family.”

I lifted my head in interest. He scraped the plates, ignoring her.

“Mica.” She spoke sharply. “You can’t decide not to have children.”

“This isn’t news to you.”

“You were young. Now you are a man. You need to be thinking of your future.”

He wiped his hands on the towel and looked at her. “I am.”

“Everyone wants children.”

“Some people shouldn’t have children. I’m one of those people.”

She raised her hand and pointed at me. “What about your wife? She wants babies.”

Mica froze and turned to look at me. My eyes went wide.

“Drop the baby talk,” he warned.

To my horror, she began to cry. “This is all my fault.”

I had absolutely no idea what they were talking about, but I was all ears.

“It’s not your fault. It’s just the way it is.”

“You need to let her go.”

Let who go?

“Enough!” He threw the towel into the sink and then stalked across the living room and moved outside. I turned in my seat to watch him. He savagely picked up the scarecrow and threw it off the deck.

“I’ve upset my son.”

I didn’t respond. Mica jumped off the balcony and started to tear apart the scarecrow.

“Now he’s wrecking your Halloween decoration,” she said sadly.

Wild laughter bubbled out of me. I worked to stop it. “That’s okay.”

“I’m going to my room now. You should go calm him down.”

There was no calming Mica down. I stood on the deck and watched as he systematically dismantled the scarecrow, tearing it from limb to limb before kicking apart the wooden frame with his foot.

He jumped on the deck with ease and stared at me as he came towards me. He was like a black sun, throwing off emotions like it was his full-time job. I stepped back and watched as he walked through the living room. He picked up his wallet and keys, and with one dark look back at me, he disappeared out the front door.





*



Mica didn’t come back for dinner, and even Yelena seemed to sense that she had taken it a step too far. I didn’t understand why both of them had gotten so upset, but she wasn’t talking about it. Instead, she picked up Sasha, cradled him to her chest like a baby and watched me cook dinner.

“You love my son.”

It wasn’t a question, so I didn’t know how to respond. “Mica is Mica.”

She nodded in approval, as if that was an answer to her non-question. “Even as a boy, he knew who he was. Headstrong, feisty, and so emotional. He was like a little tornado that whirled from place to place, destroying things like only a little boy can destroy.”

I tried to imagine my huge husband as a boy and failed. “He doesn’t talk about his childhood.”

“When he does finally talk, you’ll understand why.”

I didn’t answer, because I felt like I was treading on quicksand.

She didn’t seem to mind when I didn’t speak. She kept talking, filling in my gaps. “It takes a strong woman to be married to my son.”

“I don’t know how strong I am.”

She narrowed her eyes. “My son needs someone that doesn’t break. That you are here and married to him tells me you have strength.”

I stirred the sauce. “He’s the strong one.”

“Tell me about your parents.”