So Over You (Chicago Rebels #2)(88)

Violet sniffed. “You fucking bitch, Harper. I’m only sticking around this hellhole if you get me a photo of Remy’s dick for my files. And not a sleepy peen shot, either.”

They all laughed, grateful for anything to cut through the tension.

Reminded of her cavalier disregard for her sister’s feelings, Isobel threw her arms around Violet. “I’m sorry I scared you. I wasn’t thinking of how this would affect anyone else. I didn’t realize that we’d reached this point.” Where her sisters and one steel-eyed Russian meant more to her than going for gold.

Her younger sister hugged her back. “You pull a stunt again like that, and I will cut you.”

Isobel could only nod at one of the nicest things anyone had ever said to her.

“So let me get this straight.” Violet held up her hand and started a count. “In prehistoric times, Petrov took your virginity and ‘forgot’ to give you an orgasm.”

Harper’s mouth dropped open. “Uh, what?”

“Try to keep up, Harper.” Violet continued, “He got chased off the property by Cliffie-boy wielding a hockey stick. Then a few years later, he shows up at your big game and sneaks into your hospital room to coma-stalk you even though he knows the maniac with the stick is probably looking to finish the ass-whuppin’. Two months ago, he’s traded in, finally makes up for the lost orgasms big time, but then shoots himself in the dick by going behind your back and ruining your chance at golden glory.” She punctuated the recap with a smartass grin. “Have I missed anything?”

Isobel gave a teary-eyed nod of acknowledgment of how crazy it all was.

“He’s kind of dramatic.”

“You couldn’t make this shit up. Hell, Dante’s not wrong. This family is a soap opera looking for a daytime network slot.”

Harper gave Isobel a wobbly smile. “I think you have somewhere to be, sis.”

Oh boy. There came a time in every girl’s life when she needed to take a leap of faith. Isobel had always thought there would be ice under her feet when she landed. Not this time. This time, she was jumping into the air, but her fall would be broken—she hoped—by the arms of a man.

Vadim Petrov, czar of her heart.

Hell, the third period would be starting any minute. “I wish we had a closet of knee pads up here,” she said as she headed toward the door.

“Why?” Violet asked.

“Because when a girl has to grovel, she likes to do it with protection.”





THIRTY




Live from rock bottom . . .

In the final break of the game—and at the rate he was playing, likely the final break of the season—Vadim sat apart from the rest of the players, elbows on knees, head bent as if he might throw up at any moment. He couldn’t focus. The puck was as small as a pea, and his stick was like a fork trying to chase it around on his dinner plate.

“Petrov.”

He peered up, his vision sharpening to take in an angel in black. Bella.

“Outside. Now.”

Obeying her command, he stood, tethered to her. No one offered commentary or even judgmental glances, not with a two-goal deficit and their dreams on life support.

Outside the locker room, she asked, “How’s the knee?”

Disappointment washed over him. She was here in her capacity as coach.

He answered with a sullen, “Fine.”

“You look tired. Did you take a nap today?”

He had tried, but he found it difficult to sleep when she wasn’t there. He’d become used to her, he supposed.

“If you have no guidance other than to criticize my preparation, then this conversation is over.”

“How’s it going up here, Vadim?” She touched his forehead. “And here?” Her thumb drew a line along his lips. “And here?” Her palm on his chest yielded a jerk from his heart, the foolish lump sensing its owner. What was once intolerable had found a ready, willing acceptance.

“Isobel, what do you want?” The words came out rough.

Her hand remained, splayed flat against his thumping heart. “You came to see me in Buffalo. Not just to the game, but at the hospital.”

“Of course I did.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Was she serious? “Why would I not want to see history being made by the girl who set the ice on fire and my heart with it all those years ago? And it would have taken a team made up of every defenseman in the NHL to keep me away from your bedside.”

“I didn’t know you were there.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I thought you saw it on TV with everyone else. Later. I—I didn’t know.”

He cupped her cheek and leaned in close. “When you were cut down, my heart was cut down with you. At the hospital, I could barely speak English. Or Russian. The staff thought I was crazy, but they also knew who I was.”

“Buffalo,” she said on a sniff. “Big hockey town.”

“Yes it is. They let me sit with you when I said I was your boyfriend. But your father returned and wouldn’t hear of it. I knew that a public fight would get in the news, impede your recovery, so I stayed away, and then—” He shook his head. “It seemed better to watch over you from afar. You would have more chances to play, and I didn’t want to distract you from your journey. This craving you have to excel. Deep down, I knew I had never meant as much to you as you meant to me.”