Firebird (The Firebird Trilogy #1) (27 page)

Stephanie fumbled for her keys, her hands shaking like those of a junkie in need of a fix. She started the car as Alex’s rented Audi cruised by. That fix honked, waved, and turned in the opposite direction of her apartment, toward his hotel.

As she lay in bed that night, possible motives circled her mind with a vulture’s tenacity. Maybe, by clearing the air, this was his way of laying their incredible, bewildering, heartbreaking love to rest once and for all. She’d wanted that, after all. For him to let her go.

Better if he hadn’t come. She could not survive another good-bye.

***

Aleksandr

Alex rested a shoulder against the wall and stared out the windows in the direction of Stephanie’s apartment, the little blue box with the white ribbon in his hands. He had been fortunate to get a second chance, let alone a third. But luck ran out if one did not capitalize on opportunities. This was assuredly his final one.

He slipped beneath the sheets, the air conditioner blasting cold into the room, and switched off the light. The strength required not to kiss her or to hold her hand was one he’d not possessed before. But he did not warrant so easy a reentry into her life. He hadn’t earned her forgiveness, not yet. Not until he had explained every vile detail of what he’d done, though the thought nauseated him. He was more broken than she’d thought. Easier to hide behind the asshole image than to admit he’d been mentally ill the whole time. One could be changed, the other, unpredictable, merely accepted. One more obstacle for them to surmount, as though the universe that had brought them together now conspired to keep them apart.

He had worked so hard to put his pieces back together and, having bled often in the process, hoped he had done it in the right order. Scored so deeply by sadness, he was ready for the one thing that might heal his scars. For what he had once misjudged as vulnerability, to love was in fact the bravest thing a person could do.

Chapter Twenty-Six

“So,” he said over a double order of hot wings and a pitcher of Genesee Cream Ale, “tell me everything. How did California Girl adjust to the polar north?” He’d made an alcohol exception because one could not legitimately eat Buffalo wings without cream ale and hoped the meds would cut him a break.

“Laugh it up, Russia. You’re used to it.” Stephanie lapped the sauce from her fingers. He wanted to lick away the orange smear at the corner of her mouth.

Alex smiled and tried to stare at her a little less. The way she glowed, it was like staring into the sun. “How’s the job going? You’re enjoying it,
da
?”

“Yeah, it’s been great. Crazy busy, but I couldn’t ask for more. I was so surprised when they asked me to substitute, being new here.”

“You do know your hockey. I saw you online. Not that I was stalking you or anything.”

She wiped her mouth, smiled, and looked at him through her lashes. “I joined a summer league team. And SWN is working on a new morning show; I was approached about co-hosting.”

“That’s fantastic, Steph. I’m so proud of you. I wish I had more exciting news to share but, uh, physical therapy. Bed rest. Super fun.”

“Playing music again. I’ll have to find a piano and make you sing for me while you’re here.”

“I had a feeling.” He winked.

“And new tattoos, huh?” Stephanie traced her fingers over his forearm. The touch raised goose bumps all over his body. “What’s this?”

“Veles. In ancient Slavic folklore, he was the god of music, among other things.”
Please don’t notice the scar.

“Let me see the others.”

He rolled his T-shirt sleeve and shifted so she could get a full view of his right arm.

“A firebird. It’s beautiful.”

“You know the story?”

“It gives hope to those who need it. It can heal the sick with its chants. Some Russian guy with amazing biceps may have mentioned it once.”

Alex laughed and pushed his sleeve down. “Amazing biceps,
da
? Do go on.”

Her cheeks flared red. “I, um…” She stared at her plate. Flustered but giggling.

He lifted his other sleeve to reveal the dove, then raised his shirt so she could see his ribs. Her eyebrows inched up. His mouth fell open when, after glancing around, she curled up the hem of her shirt on the opposite side. Wanting to touch her creamy skin with his tongue, where the letters adhered to the curve of her body. Wondering at the chances they would both, she especially, decide to get script tattoos on their ribs.

“
ʻBecause we choose to live the dream instead of choosing to live the life’
”, he read and smiled. “I hope you are. Living your life.”

She flushed again. “Doing my best. I guess the third surgery went well, then.”

“
Da
. They did a tendon graft to strengthen them a little more.”

“Well, you look good. A little thinner, though.”

“It was rough for a while. Wasn’t eating much, in a lot of pain. I was working out the entire time, but I’ve lost fifteen pounds. Didn’t have fifteen pounds to lose. And I can’t squat until I heal, so I had to get used to bench-pressing. I sound like the most obnoxious, boring meathead right now,
da
?”

Stephanie snickered. “No. I miss this. Talking.”

“Me too,” he said softly. “Oh, I applied for my green card.”

Her eyes sparkled. “You’re becoming a citizen?”

“Yeah. If I end up retiring, obviously I can’t renew my O-1. And I want to stay.” He thought about touching her hand but kept his in front of him. Her reaction yesterday was all the indication he needed she hadn’t forsaken him. Still, they must rebuild the proper way, not by jumping into bed despite what his body hungered for.

He didn’t know how, or if, they could do that in a few days. But he’d give it everything he had.

They gazed at each other. So much to say but for now, their eyes did the talking.

Stephanie smiled. She reached across the table, emphatic in avoiding her glass of beer.

His phone jangled in his pocket. He pulled it out halfway and peeked at the number. “It’s my agent. I’m so sorry; I’ll be right back. Excuse me.” He grabbed his cane and limped outside into the blinding midday sun. “Danny,” he said into the phone, “you have the worst timing in the world.”

“Catch you in the middle of a date or something?”

“Kind of. I’m in Buffalo right now. With my ex.” How awful the word tasted in his mouth. He almost spit it out.

“Didn’t you get off bed rest yesterday?”

“Yeah. It was that important.”

“She dying or something?”

“No,
mudak
. I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

“
You?
Married? Christ, now I’ve heard it all. Listen, ESPN wants a sit-down with you for
E:60
. They’re putting you on the cover of the
Body Issue
, you know. So let’s do this, all right? Talk about your plans for the future.”

Right now, I have only one plan.
“Set it up and let me know. I have to go, Danny. I’ll talk to you soon.” He shoved his phone back into his pocket and returned to the table, where Stephanie was gnawing on a wing. “Sorry. Apparently he thinks I need to go on ESPN and talk about my injury.” He pointed his index finger at his head and mimed pulling a trigger. Not so funny if she knew what he’d done.
“And did I mention Emporio Armani wants me to model underwear?”

“Really.” Stephanie patted a napkin over her mouth. “I’d love to see that shoot.”

Their gazes locked. He darted his away.

“Do you think that’s something you’ll do now? Modeling?”

“I don’t know.” He laughed a little. “Reality has started to sink in, but I still think of myself as a hockey player. I wear Armani underwear anyway.”

“I…know.” Her cheeks reddened again.

He cleared his throat. Heat surged through him. Burning from the inside.

“I need to ask you something.” She eyed the remaining wings, glanced away, then changed her mind and grabbed one. “Why are you really here?”

He set a wing on his plate. “I’m sorry?”

“You’ve changed. A lot.”

Was that good or bad? Either way, it was probably thanks to his meds.
He took a nervous gulp of cream ale and waited for her to go on.

“I was afraid you came to say good-bye. For good.”

If she only knew he’d come to spend his life with her. But she would. Soon. “What?”

“You’re not distant, but you’re not you. There’s something else going on. You can barely look at me.”

“Goddamn journalist.” He laughed.

“What are you hiding, Alex? You said in your email you needed to tell me something.”

He took a considerable swig of beer. “I know I’m asking a lot for you to trust me, but I promise you, I will tell you everything. Soon.”

Stephanie gave him a guarded look. He couldn’t blame her for protecting herself. He understood her caution all too well, even if it tethered her to the past, to the pain he had caused.

“Come on, let’s get out of here.” He threw some bills on the table, stood, and unfolded his cane, then held out his left hand, forgetting for a moment to play it cool. He could not force his way in this time. She must unlock the door for him. He jammed his hand into his pocket. Stephanie’s expression grew warier, but she followed him.

***

They walked along the Canalside boardwalk, his cane thumping against the wooden planks. The
USS Little Rock
floated atop Lake Erie on their left, and he sighed a little when he spotted First Niagara Center across the street. Stephanie tracked his gaze with her own.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Just wonder what things would be like if they hadn’t traded me.”

“We probably wouldn’t have crossed paths again. And we wouldn’t be here right now.”

“That’s true.” He skated his fingertips over the back of her hand, pretending it was a casual accident. “Funny you ended up here.”

“Funny they were the first people to call me.”

“Synchronicity,” he said. “Meaningful coincidence. Jung said life isn’t a series of random events but rather an expression of a deeper order.”

“You really just quoted Jung.”

“I’ve always found him fascinating.”

Stephanie trained her gaze straight ahead. Was it as hard for her to be this close to each other and not touch? “You’re still everywhere here. I think they were hoping the Earthquakes would buy you out someday and they could afford to re-sign you. I just had to get out of Seattle.”

“I don’t blame you.” He flipped his sunglasses onto the top of his head. “I wish I hadn’t been such a big reason for it, though.”

Sunlight glinted in her hair grown into a short bob with wispy bangs, turning it platinum and emphasizing her freckles. She tilted her head. “You really came all the way out here to see me?”

“Why is that so hard to believe?”

“I don’t know. Six months is a long time.”

“So is eight years.”

“Good point,” she murmured. “Uh-oh. Incoming.”

A horde of people, children to adults, had gathered to whisper, point, and squeal with glee when they recognized him. Impossible for a six foot five man with a cane to go incognito.

“Mr. Volynsky?” asked a girl with chestnut ponytails and a Gladiators shirt, the first brave soul to break the debate as to whether they should approach him. “Aleksandr Volynsky?” Her voice had already risen an octave.

“Yes. What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Hailey. Would you sign my shirt?”

He glanced at Stephanie, who winked. “I’d love to, Hailey.”

She jumped up and down and begged her mother for a pen. The woman produced a Sharpie from her purse.

“She’s the only girl on her team,” her mother said. “And she adores you. She was heartbroken when you left. Literally in tears.”

“
Mom.
”

She couldn’t be more than ten. Their child would have been eight already. He would’ve wanted a little girl like this.

He finished signing and handed back the pen. “What position do you play?”

“Left wing, like you.”

“Atta girl.” He tousled her hair. “It was very nice to meet you, Hailey.”

“Oh! Can we get a picture? Please?”

“Hailey, Mr. Volynsky was hurt, remember? He can’t kneel for everyone who—”

“No, no. It’s fine.” A full two feet taller than the kid, he crouched and put an arm around her. His tendons griped, but he smiled when Hailey hugged him as if he were a giant teddy bear.

“Thank you, Mr. Volynsky!”

“You’re very welcome.” He pushed his weight into the cane as he rose. “And you can call me Sasha.”

Her eyes became saucers. “Thank you, Sasha.” She dashed back to a group of children, pointing at her shirt and screaming, “Look! Look!”

A substantial crowd had gathered, people pointing cameras and phones at him and jostling each other for position in the spontaneous autograph line. Home at last.

“Go on,” Stephanie said. “I can wait.”

Nearly an hour later, he excused himself and rejoined Stephanie, who was staring out over Lake Erie. The lake breeze rustled her hair, and he marveled at the way something as simple as a T-shirt, cutoffs, and beat-up Chuck Taylors could be so stunning on her. Time and self-awareness had washed him clean of the obsessive need to place her on a pedestal for which she hadn’t asked, but it had rendered her no less beautiful.

When she peered over her shoulder and smiled, his remaining broken edges began to soften into the shape of her. “There you are. How was the impromptu autograph session?”

“It’s been a while.” He shook out his hand. “For that many people at once, anyway.”

“That was a sweet thing to do, Alex. It’s only been a year since they lost their captain. You can’t be replaced so easily.”

“I hope not.” He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. Her cheeks flamed crimson. He let his hand fall away, fighting the compulsion to trace his thumb over her beautiful lips.

“Seeing you with those kids made me realize…” She looked away, toward the water.

“What?”

“You would’ve been a great father. If things had turned out differently.”

The way she bit her lip aroused an excruciating desire to kiss her. Alex shoved his hands into his pockets and curled his fingers around the box. “Steph, you don’t have to say that just because—”

“No, I do, because I know what you thought. I didn’t think you were adult enough to handle that kind of responsibility. But you wouldn’t have been seventeen forever. Look at you now.”