The words slipped out before I even thought them. It’s what my mother called my sister.Nadia was on my mind tonight. Would she have liked Ida Jane? Yes, she would have. Very much. I relaxed.
Ida Jane’s long lashes, coated in mascara, lifted to reveal those warm brown eyes I’d dreamed about the night before. She took in my crisp blue shirt that was open at the throat and the rolled-up sleeves at my forearms. I used to keep my shirts buttoned, but I was always so hot, I’d made the allowance after seeing it in many American TV shows and movies. She licked her lips.
“What’s that now?”
“Krasivaya means ‘beautiful’ in Russian. I’m from Saint Petersburg.” That was public knowledge; I wasn’t sharing anything she couldn’t find on the internet, so why were my palms sweaty?
Because I needed this woman to like me. Coach and our owner, Gunnar, had recommended a lawyer, and I went straight to his office from the rink. According to my newly appointed legal counsel, my current situation was…precarious, whatever the fuck that meant.
It meantbad. My situation was bad, and I was on edge, worry seeping through my every thought.
“The only foreign language I know is ASL, but that’s what happens when you have a sibling who’s deaf.”
I straightened to my full height as my friends’ laughter filtered through my mind. For a moment, all I’d seen and heard was Ida Jane. I’d never been so focused on a woman before.
I noted that Stol embraced Ida Jane’s friend. The thick glasses and tied-back hair had vanished, and a dazzling brunette stood there. No wonder Stol was intrigued.
I glanced back down at the blond pixie bombshell standing so close to me. The way she’d turned and lifted her face toward me showed she was as interested in me as I was in her.
I hated the idea of using this pretty little woman, and I hadn’t mentioned my situation to the guys yet. That meant I had no one to talk to about how to process this situation.
I worried that bringing up the possibility of deportation would cause the guys to fret, which could impact our play. Right now, we were in an excellent position for a run for the Stanley Cup. I didn’t want anything to get in the way of that.
Except I wanted to be on that run with my teammates. I’d worked hard to be here, and I coveted that win—that stat by my name.
I wanted to spend more time talking to this woman. I wanted to date her. Fuck. Ireallyliked her.
“Oh, okay. Well, kassi…kras…”
“Krasivaya,” I offered.
She wrinkled her nose and spoke slowly, “Well, it sounds nice when you say it.”
My gaze toured her face, stopping at her eyes, lips, skimming her cheeks and throat. “That’s why I called you that. Youarelovely. How’s the hand?”
She looked down and sighed. “Bruised. Sore, though it’s getting better. Kind of ugly.” She shot me a small smile. “I’m pretty proud of it.”
I chuckled. “As you should be, Fists.”
Her gaze caught mine…and held. Yeah, yeah. This half-hatched plan was beginning to take shape. Ida Jane would marry me. We’d live together. I’d worship her while she was mine. Then, when the time was right, I’d divorce her.
I frowned, hatingthatidea.
What was wrong with me?
Naese called out Ida Jane’s name. “Glad you could make it to my bash. Bummer you had to leave your shindig early the other night, but we’ll celebrate right tonight.” He blinked owlishly, letting me know we’d have to start pumping him with sports drinks and water soon.
We had a game Sunday, and I didn’t want the team to suffer from his overindulgence tonight. Just because our trainers and dieticians preferred us not to drink during the season, that didn’t mean everyone always toed the line…and birthdays were a reason to celebrate.
“I’ll get you a drink. White wine?” She nodded and I settled in the line, thankful for a moment’s peace.
“You spoke to her in Russian,” Stol murmured once he’d edged up against my shoulder.
He said it quietly, but there was a question in his eyes. I stiffened. Until this moment, with Ida Jane, I’dneverspoken Russian. With her, it seemed right. Natural. But from the moment I moved to the United States, starting my career in Detroit, I reinvented myself into something other than the throwaway kid from the worst parts of a nation the wonderful citizens of this country wouldn’t be able to comprehend. Not even the poverty I’d witnessed in Detroit came close to the suffering I’d left.
Maybe that’s why I’d been so wild in those early days. I’d been let off a leash not of my choosing or making…and enjoyed the freedoms Detroit offered me. Though, I did come to realize most of those so-called freedoms came with their own strings. Like nicknames I didn’t want…and experiences I shouldn’t have indulged. Shame crept up my throat but I choked it down.
A mistake. One I hadn’t made again.
