Firebird (The Firebird Trilogy #1) (17 page)

“You’re poking me,” she said with a giggle.

He laughed again, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her neck. “Here’s to the first of many Christmases together.” He handed her one of the wine glasses and clinked it with his own. They both took robust gulps, then he set the glasses back on the sill. He caressed her arm, her skin silken beneath his touch. “I got my Christmas wish.”

Stephanie swiveled around and, straddling him, blew a handful of bubbles into his face. He wriggled his nose to dislodge them as her musical laughter chimed through the en suite like a shower of golden coins.

“What am I going to do with you?” She circled her arms around his neck. In her eyes, their past and future collided. They loved, and had loved, with something far greater than that.

“Anything you want,” he whispered and lost himself in her.

Chapter Sixteen

Stephanie

Lips feasted upon each another, hungry tongues probing and her body ravenous for him. He cupped her chin and nudged his thumb between her lips so she could suck it. The sinuous, graceful undulations of his abs and hips, the way he engaged each muscle in the act of thrusting, was enough to bring her to the brink.

“I want to make you come like this,” he whispered. “While I’m inside you. So I can feel it.” He slipped his tongue past her lips. She worked her fingers into his hair, riding each thrust with intensity, and sucked at his mouth. With a little
unnnh
sound, Alex slammed into her, roaming his hands across her body as if to be everywhere at once. Rhythmic, hot, aching. Filling her. Incinerating her. Like a call and response, she answered each of his grunts with a moan.

“We’ll keep practicing.”

Alex ran his tongue from the hollow of her collarbone all the way up her throat. She moved her hands to his ass, the muscles flexing, pumping, and his breath short, sharp huffs against her ear. He pushed her legs back and plunged deeper. Harder. “
Bozhe moy
,” he groaned, one arm around her back and gripping the headboard with his other hand. He bellowed something unformed and ecstatic and shot into her.

He was panting, sweating. She slid her hands over his chest, over his unshaven cheeks, sharing a languid kiss as she plotted the contours of his statuesque body.

Alex sighed against her lips and smiled. “I need a cigarette and a nap after that.”

They collapsed onto the mattress. He teased her nipples with his tongue.

“You’re going to be late for the morning skate.”

“Fuck it.” He wriggled a hand between her legs.

“You want to be a healthy scratch again?” Stephanie clawed the sheet, clenched fistfuls of it.

“If he wants to lose again, let him.” Alex kissed the corner of her mouth. “I love this little button of yours.” He swirled his fingertip over her clit. Stephanie’s hips convulsed as band after ecstatic band of pleasure thundered through her like a hurricane, and she cried out loudly enough that the neighbors must have known by now she was sleeping with someone named Alex.

Alex fit his body to hers. “So…thought about moving in with me?”

I do.
Wait. That wasn’t the question.

Her heart skipped. She hadn’t realized it was on her mind. Only because her and Joe’s former wedding date was fast approaching, she reasoned.

The promise ring sparkled even in dim light. What was he promising, exactly?

“That’s a big step. Let’s talk about it after the New Year.”

“I suppose I can wait a few more days.” Alex sat up, twisted a little, and cracked his back. On her knees behind him, Stephanie massaged his broad shoulders. “That feels so good, baby.” His head drooped. “You don’t know how many times over the years I’ve thought about leaving this all behind and finding you again.”

“Alex, I’m not worth that. No one is. Look what you’ve done for yourself. You’ve singlehandedly gotten more people interested in hockey.”

“You mean puck bunnies, and that’s not because of my on-ice talents.” He scooted around to face her. “All these years, I’d wake up either alone or with some woman whose name I couldn’t remember, and I’d wonder where you were. What you were doing. Now I have everything. We finally did what we said we would.”

After all he had become, he’d remained devoted to her, to them, in his own imperfect but astonishing way. She draped her arms around him. “I love you.”

He tightened the hug. “I guess I’ll go do my job now. I’ll see you there?”

“Of course.”

“Don’t forget to wear the jersey.”

“Almost everyone there wears a Volynsky jersey.”

He kissed her, his lips lingering long enough to tempt her into giving him a reason to miss the morning skate. “But only one is the woman I’m in love with.”

“Go,” she whispered, “before I don’t let you.”

***

Alex coasted over the ice as though he’d been born wearing skates, took warmup slap shots at his goalie, and saw most of them hit the back of the net. He dropped to the ice to stretch his legs, then popped up and skated to Stephanie, putting one gloved hand against the glass and smiling that sexy, dimpled smile. It was lighting his eyes too, crinkling them at the corners and deepening the lines around his mouth.

“I love you, baby.” He waved and skated away with the rest of the team, which marched single file into the tunnel. The cat was out of the bag, if it wasn’t already. But they had every right to be happy. There were other jobs, true, as much as she enjoyed hers. But there was one dark to her light, one fire to her water, one sun to her moon. One Alex.

The first period ended with the Earthquakes taking a surprising two-nothing lead, Alex having scored one goal and assisting on the other. As the team vanished into the tunnel for intermission, Stephanie leaned over with the other fans hopeful to get the tap of a glove or a stick against their outstretched hands. Alex caught her eye and, laughing, bumped his stick against her palm.

Seven minutes and three seconds into the second period. She happened to look up then, away from Alex, at the bright red numbers that in a moment had scored bloody furrows into her brain.

Kansas City, another expansion team established the same year as the Earthquakes, sent out their checking line, as usual, against Alex’s line. The Earthquakes’ centerman won the faceoff and passed to Alex, who dashed up the left wing from the defensive zone. A backchecking winger hurtled toward him, checking him with bone-shaking force into the boards. Both large bodies hit the ice, but within seconds, Kansas City’s man jumped up to skate after the play. None of the linesmen had blown a whistle.

Alex had not risen.

Fans leapt to their feet. Some were shouting, pointing, making wild gesticulations to get the refs’ attention.

“Alex?” Stephanie bent toward the glass and peered onto the ice.

And wished she hadn’t.

***

Aleksandr

Like a movie. That was how he thought of it, except for the pain. The pain was all too real, a blade of fire slashing his leg to the bone, a bright red splash across his consciousness.

He hit the ice at an odd angle, jaw-first, and something came loose. He stared at the back of his leg, from which blood spurted with each heartbeat despite the Kevlar socks, into an ever-growing puddle on the ice. Like most players, he didn’t tie the top lace so he could have some give in his skates. That left the space between his tendon guard and his leg exposed. The source of the blood.

Voices, shouting. The pain shrieking too, forcing its way out of his throat. His white laces bathed in the color of an open wound.

His heart beat a strange rhythm, a rhythm unsustainable to living things. A disconcerting consciousness of it as it thrummed in his ears, an erratic lullaby reminding him of the human body’s inherent frailty. A winding down of an internal clock. His chest hurt. He breathed quick, light breaths, afraid to breathe, afraid more blood would spill. A fog had descended upon the arena. His stomach roiled, threatening to unleash its contents.

Why am I lying here?

He stared at the seats, at the faces gazing in horror at him. Hands pressed to mouths. Instinct told him to get up. Pain refused to allow it.

Steve Lindquist’s voice piercing the haze: “Sasha, stay with us, okay? Christ, look at his pupils. Kid’s in shock. Get him out of here, now!
Now!
”

“Stefania,” he murmured. He could think of no word more important.

Then he was airborne, the lights above him bouncing and skimming past, before he passed into a tunnel.

Am I dying?

“What, Sasha? Stay with me.”

“Stefania.”

“Who? Talk to me, buddy.”

He swallowed, though no saliva moistened his mouth. “Stephanie. Hartwell. I need…”

But darkness consumed him before he could finish.

***

Stephanie

Alex lay crumpled against the boards, screaming a bloodcurdling howl of immeasurable, incomprehensible pain and grasping at his lower right leg. Stephanie covered her mouth. Blood was pooling beneath one of his skates. The world had unfocused, had slowed as if submerged. Faces and colors blurred into a formless mass. The whistle blew. The head athletic trainer jogged across the ice along with two paramedics bearing a stretcher. Even players with broken legs weren’t carried off on stretchers.

Stephanie quaked with the adrenaline, the terror, surging through her. Her teeth clacked. Her limbs had become water balloons. The paramedics rushed Alex off the ice, through the tunnel as fans mulled about in confusion and players on both benches cast vacant stares at the ice in unspoken horror. Jacob White was shouting something across the bench at Connor Talbot, the opposing winger who had leveled the hit. Talbot, pale and shaking, buried his face in his hands. Coach pressed both hands on Jacob’s chest to push him back and ordered him to the locker room.

She was vaguely aware of the public address announcer stating that due to a medical emergency and the emotional state of both teams, the game would be rescheduled. She shoved past anyone in her way and confronted arena security at the tunnel’s entrance. “Let me through!”

“Sorry, miss. Unless you—”

“I’m his girlfriend!”

Now you own up to it. Easy when you might never see him again, you coward.

A mind-shattering scream reverberated inside her head.

Lindquist was approaching. She silently pleaded with him, hoping as tears streamed down her face that he recognized her from the holiday party.

“Stephanie.”

“Yes. Please—”

“He was asking for you. Come on. Let’s talk.” Lindquist put an arm around her shoulders and led her into the tunnel.

“I have to go with him.” She broke away from him and ran for the back entrance, Alex’s horrified face frozen in her mind, his mouth an endless scream. Her knees buckled.

“He’s already on his way to the hospital. He’s in shock. If he doesn’t get into emergency surgery, he could die.”

“What the hell happened?” Words themselves risked becoming incoherent cries.

“I don’t have the full story yet. We do know the opposing player’s skate appears to have severed a significant portion of his Achilles’ and an artery.”

She shook her head. She should have kept him with her that morning. Let him be a healthy scratch. At least then he would be coming home to her tonight.

She began to hyperventilate. When her gaze landed on the blood-soaked skate lying on the floor, she darted for the nearest wastebasket and threw up, her stomach gurgling when nothing but bile remained.

Lindquist rubbed her back. “You have a car here, sweetheart?”

Stephanie dragged her forearm over her mouth. She gripped the sides of the wastebasket, her internal organs ready to expel themselves next. “He bought it for me,” she whispered. Somehow that seemed important.

“Honey, let’s get you to the hospital. I don’t think you’re okay to drive—”

“No. I’ll be fine. I have to be alone. But thank you.”

“He’s at Lakeshore. I’ll be there soon. Hang in there, okay?”

She nodded and sprinted for the back entrance.

***

Stephanie charged through the emergency room. “Aleksandr Volynsky. He was just brought in. I need to know…” Her voice collapsed in on itself, leaving her to communicate with tears.

The nurse regarded her with sympathetic brown eyes. “He’s in surgery now. Follow the hall on the other side.” She pointed away from the ER doors. “You can wait for the doctor there.”

“Thank you.” Stephanie raced down the hallway, her shoes squealing on the tiles, until she reached the surgical unit’s waiting room. A flat-screen TV droned the news from a corner between the ceiling and the wall. A handful of people sat there, some dabbing their eyes with tissues but most sitting in stone-faced silence.

“Turning to sports now, tragedy struck the Seattle Earthquakes tonight when hockey superstar Aleksandr Volynsky was injured in a collision with the Kansas City Tornadoes’ Connor Talbot. The following footage is graphic, so viewer discretion is advised.”

The video jumped to the hit, the camera trained on Alex lying in his own blood, writhing in agony before shock incapacitated him. She squeezed her eyes shut.

“Talbot’s skate cut the back of Volynsky’s leg, resulting in severe damage to his Achilles’ tendon and at least one artery. Volynsky was rushed into emergency surgery. We’ll keep you updated as this story develops.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks in a steady torrent. She braced herself against the unit clerk’s desk, her legs inadequate for supporting her any longer. “I’m Aleksandr Volynsky’s girlfriend. Can you tell me anything?”