So Over You (Chicago Rebels #2)(87)

“Not that it would have made a damn bit of difference, because she’s always been stuck in the same cycle as me, wanting Dad’s approval.”

“Exactly—wait, what?” Isobel stared at Harper. “That’s not what this is about. I’m playing hockey for me. Sure, Dad would have wanted me to take any chance I could, but that’s not the issue here.”

“What is the issue, Iz?” Violet asked with enough sarcasm to fell an elephant.

“The issue is Vadim thinking he can call the shots about my life and career. I know neither of you think that’s kosher!”

Harper crossed her arms. “I think there are extenuating circumstances, Isobel. This man saw you crash on that ice. He saw that blade hit your skull, the blood pooling around your head.” Harper seemed to shiver, her cheeks draining of all color, and her next words were barely above a whisper. “He saw you almost die.”

Isobel shifted in her seat. Examined her nails. Sniffed. “On TV.”

Harper shook her head. “Not on TV. He was in the arena with everyone else. That’s not easy to forget, especially for a man in love.”

No, no, that wasn’t true. It didn’t happen like that. When she asked him if he’d seen the game, his answer was one of distance. He’d never said he was there in the flesh.

Something lurched in her chest. Unlocked in her brain. Still, her mind refused to go the distance. “He—he wasn’t there. He would have told me. Later.”

Harper continued as if Isobel hadn’t spoken. “I’d never seen Dad so upset. The man wanted to murder everyone—the doctors, the nurses, the coaches. And Vadim. He was there in the emergency room right after the accident, and then the next day he came to see you. Dad ran into him in your room.” She looked off in the distance, her mind returning to that horrific time. “I arrived to find Dad telling him to beat it. It was pretty clear there was bad blood between them.”

Isobel had thought she’d imagined that. Imagined him.

Bella, I am here. Wake up.

Only one person called her Bella. Only one person. Vadim had come to see her in the hospital.

“Did you talk to him back then? To Vadim?”

Harper inhaled deeply, thinking back to this other lifetime. “Not the second time I saw him, but the first night—right after we found out you were going to be okay, but you were still in a medically induced coma—he approached me in the waiting room. It was pretty crazy with all the press and your teammates, but Vadim was there, the Russian stare of doom cutting through it all. He came up to me and asked, ‘She will live?’ I mean, super dramatic. I nodded, and it was like this tiny sliver of misery dropped off him. But he still looked . . .” She hesitated.

Isobel’s heart was beating triple time. “He still looked what?”

“Like he was suffering. Like he was deeply wounded, but I put it down to his being, y’know, Russian. Then I saw him one more time the next day in your room when Dad was threatening to sic security on him.”

“He was at the game,” Isobel said, not wanting to dare credit his presence to anything more than a passing interest, but knowing it was more. This was Vadim. The man was too passionate for passing interests. “Oh, God.”

She stood and headed for the window that looked out over the rink, empty now during the last break. Her stomach was spinning, her head in a fog of confusion. Inevitably, her fingers reached for her scar like a talisman.

It had ruined her life. Built her up. Brought her here.

To him.

“He came to see me play and then—then—I heard him while I was under. He spoke to me.” Lately she’d been dreaming about it, dismissing it as inconsequential when she would wake. She turned back to her sisters. “I thought it was my imagination, but, Harper, he was there.”

Harper nodded, her eyes glossy. “I thought you knew. When we traded him in, I assumed you two had history, but you were being a total pro. Ignoring it in typical Chase fashion.”

Violet stepped in and gripped Isobel’s arms. “I know you’re scared of what you’re feeling for him. That he’ll turn out like Clifford or every other hockey douche bag, but you can’t assume they’re all the same.”

No. Vadim Petrov was a man without equal. But that didn’t excuse his most recent behavior, did it? And how would she get over her resentment at this and her jealousy over everything else?

“He screwed up my chance to win gold.”

Harper squeezed her hand. “He did it because he loves you. And if I’d known about it, I would have done the exact same thing. Because I love you, too.” Wet eyed, she divided an intent look between Isobel and Violet, stopping on the most recent addition to this crazy fucking family. “After your cancer diagnosis, you decided that you’d take control from here on out. Live life on your own terms. The year of the V, right?” On getting Violet’s nod, she went on. “And it took me a while to figure out that letting Dad run my ambitions down along with one bad experience with an ex should not be enough to keep me in a rut. I had to break this cycle and become the captain of my own fate. We all do.

“You’re probably not going to play competitively again, Isobel. Neither are you going to be a coach for the Rebels. In fact, after tonight, the Rebels as we know it might be no more. Times are turbulent, and it’s tough to figure out where you fit in. But I’ll tell you where you belong. Here, with us.” She shot a glance at Violet, who was suddenly finding a thread on the carpet fascinating. “And that goes for you, too, Vasquez. Even if we lose the game tonight and the Rebels’ strings are no longer ours to pull, this shouldn’t be what drives us apart. Not when it’s brought us together.”