So Over You (Chicago Rebels #2)(52)

Since New York and his excellent turn on the ice, the crew had enveloped him in the fold. Coming into a new team injured was never a good way to start. There was no time to establish a rapport; you were always treated as “other” until you could contribute fully. Now he was one of them.

Yes, he was feeling invincible, his body close to its peak, his woman back in his bed. His. That was how he had felt about her then, and though he could deny it to her—or at least not scare her off so soon—he saw little point in lying to himself. Isobel had been his from the moment he had seen her on the ice eight years ago, her wild hair streaming from her helmet as she dispossessed a male player twice her size.

“Who is that?” he said in awe to the man beside him.

“My daughter,” the man replied. “She’s going to change the world.”

Little did Vadim know that the world she would change was his.

An unexpected noise drew his attention, the sound a loud echo in the practice arena. Was that a bark? In the stands, Isobel had reappeared, now with a girl carrying a dog that looked just like his sister’s yapping beast, the little dog with big shits. He skated closer, unsure that he should believe his eyes and ears.

“Mia, why are you here?”

Passing the dog off to Isobel in a leather bag, his sister stood when he reached rinkside and threw her arms around him. “I had a weekend off, so I thought I’d visit. See you play tomorrow.” She clutched him tightly as if it had been months rather than mere days since he’d seen her.

He set her back and searched her face. Pale as ice, her lips dry and chapped. Outside in the March cold for too long, perhaps, but he remembered this cast to her pretty features when he had first met her at the hospital.

Isobel stood behind her with the stupid dog. “Vad, I don’t think she’s well. She lost her wallet and needed someone to pay the taxi. I think she might have the flu.”

Mia waved that off with typical Petrovian drama. “It’s just a little cold . . .”

At which point his sister—dramatically—fainted.





SEVENTEEN




“I’m fine,” Mia said around a phlegmy cough. “It’s just a cold.”

Vadim stood at the end of the bed in the ER, glaring alternately at his sister and the doctor, who looked no older than twelve. Isobel felt a little intrusive staying in the room, but Dante had insisted she mark their left-winger the moment he heard Vadim’s sister was sick.

If he catches anything and can’t play, I’m holding you personally responsible, Chase.

As separating Vadim from his sister was impossible, her only choice was to hover close and ensure that he didn’t get within contamination distance.

“She should see an oncologist,” Vadim said to the ER doc. “She had a bone marrow transplant fifteen months ago. Perhaps she is having a relapse.”

“The blood work came back fine, Mr. Petrov, and I’ve spoken to her doctor at NYU.” Doogie Howser pushed his glasses back up his nose. “This is a virulent case of the flu. We’re seeing a lot of it.”

“See, bro?” Mia sat up, though she swayed like a windblown reed. “I just need to lie down for a bit.” She shivered, looking around with something like dread in her eyes. “But not here, Vad. I can’t stay here.”

Never taking his eyes off her, Vadim spoke words clearly intended for the doctor. “She can leave?”

“Sure. Bed rest for a few days. Plenty of fluids. Tender loving care.” He looked at his buzzing phone. “Our usual prescription for the flu.” He left to attend to the truly sick.

“Vad, I’ll see you outside in a minute.” Mia steadied herself with a splayed palm on the bed. “I just need to get my stuff together.”

Vadim didn’t move an eyelash.

“Bro! Leave!”

“I will turn my back while you dress. Isobel will tell me if you have fainted again.”

“Vadim Petrov, stop being a dill-hole! I should have drained all your freakin’ marrow when I had the chance.” Mia looked to Isobel for help.

Isobel pushed at Vadim, which was roughly equivalent to negotiating with a giant statue. “I’ll stay to make sure she doesn’t fall over. Go take care of her paperwork.”

With one last mutinous look at his sister, Vadim stalked out. Isobel picked up Mia’s clothes and handed them to her.

“Where’s Gordie Howe?” the girl asked.

“Igor—I mean, Alexei has him.”

She looked relieved. “Good. Alexei loves Gordie Howe. That man is such a softie. Could you—?” She turned her back and gestured at the bow of her johnny. Isobel stepped in and undid it, then helped her with her underwear and clothes.

Something Mia had said thrummed through her. “Vadim was your bone marrow donor?”

“Uh, yeah.” A furtive glance to the door, and she went on. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone. We’re trying to keep our connection on the down low so I won’t feel the pressure of being Vadim’s sister. People will have a lot of questions, especially . . .” Her voice petered out.

“Especially as that’s how you and Vadim first connected? Because you needed the transplant?”

She nodded, tears welling. “Mom was worried my father would try to get custody of me, so she kept me a secret from him. About a month after he died, we found out about the leukemia, so she had to fess up. I mean, she would have gotten in touch with Vadim anyway, but it moved up the timetable.” A tear finally fell, and she wiped it away with a watery smile. “Vadim was amazing. He didn’t even hesitate, but he won’t talk to her. He can’t forgive her.”