My current precarious position seemed ridiculous. One puny pencil pusher was going to decide my fate? Fuck that shit. I’d go talk to him myself. I’d told Coach as much and he shook his head.
“He’s making a power play. Think about it—from his side, he looks like he’s following the rules, sticking it to a rich asshole who didn’t care about them. He’ll probably get a promotion out of the deal or something. If you go down there blustering, he’ll stick more firmly to his belief that he’s in the right and you’re wrong.” Coach shifted his jaw back and forth. “Plus, I already told the little prick that you’re in a relationship with a woman. That it’s serious. He can’t do anything about that, and messing with true love…well, I was there the night you guys watchedPrincess Bride. We don’t like that, as a culture. You get me?”
I nodded. “Yeah. The pencil pusher from immigration would be a love-hating little prick who ripped apart a storybook romance.”
Coach leaned back in his chair. “Exactly.” He pointed at his computer. “There are already images of you with Ida Jane online—walking her into a restaurant and talking with her. You two look cozy. So, it’d be best for you to get her to marry you. Takes all the steam out of the bureaucrat’s ambitions.”
“But…but…I don’t want to get married,” I said.
“Why not?” Coach asked.
“Because…” Ida Jane was adistraction. Sure, I had protective feelings for her, texted her every day to make sure she was safe, just like I’d promised Cruz I would, but I couldn’t get involved with her.
Nope. That could lead to feelings…and I had no intention of ever having those toward a woman. I’d loved Nadia. She died. I’d been gutted.
Not doing that again.
“If you want to stay here, in Houston, you don’t have a choice.”
“But…”
Coach leaned forward. “Do you have a better idea?”
“N-no.”
I left his office in a daze. I was the bruiser of the team, used as a weapon to keep other players on the ice to score goals. At least, that’s how I viewed myself. Coach viewed me as integral, one of the mainstays of our shot at another Stanley Cup.
That revelation had been a surprise—a good one—because the men I played with and worked for were my family and I protected the people I cared about.
I’d promised, with my hand on Nadia’s grave, that I wouldn’t fail anyone else,ever. So far, I’d kept it. I planned to keep doing so—for my teammates, Coach, like he’d asked me.
And Ida Jane, too.
IfI could talk Ida Jane into marrying me.
Which wasn’t such a bad idea the more I thought about it. I desired Ida Jane. She was sexy and feisty. We’d be able to enjoy each other for weeks, possibly months, then part amicably, both of us having gotten something fabulous out of the deal.
I knew some of my teammates believed in love and all that fairy-tale shit. Cormac was one since he’d met Keelie. Adam adored his wife, Naomi.
But you didn’tneedlove for marriage. In fact, an arranged marriage was cleaner. Better. Easier to end.
Love and forever—those were fallacies people told each other, especially in this country. My parents hadn’t had affection or respect for each other. And Nadia…Nadia told me she adored her sophisticated, older boyfriend, and she was dead because of those emotions.
I’d pretty much talked myself into the idea by the time Ida Jane showed up.
I wore my typical attire of black dress pants and a button-down shirt. The guys gave me shit for never deviating from the outfit, but I never wanted to look sloppy. Nadia had drilled that into my head:If you look poor, people treat you poor, Maxim.
She’d stolen clothes from fancy neighborhoods so that she could go into them, look like she belonged, and meet the men there. I rubbed my thumbs across my eyes, disliking the rest of that story. With a thick swallow, I forced those emotions down and away, into the box where I kept them. I had other worries right now.
But Nadia’s lesson about apparel stuck, and I wore what the guys called “business douche.” They could keep their ripped jeans and sweatpants—I was the one voted best dressed each year in the sports magazines.
I saw her walk into Naese’s house and stepped forward, ready to enact my plan.
“Heya, Maxim,” Ida Jane said, her tone a bit shy as she greeted me.
My good sense left my brain at her sunny expression, and I leaned down and kissed her cheek, enjoying the softness of her skin and the scent of her shampoo. Oh, yes, I could get more involved with Ida Jane—for Coach, my team.
“Hello, krasivaya.”
