Whatever I’d expected Maxim to say, it wasn’tthat. He’d told me Nadia was dead, but—murdered? Without thinking, I reached over and gripped his hand in mine. “I’m so sorry.”
Maxim’s dark eyes shimmered in the late-afternoon light. “Thank you.”
“I know you loved her—I could tell in the photos in your living room.”
He nodded.
“What was she like?”
“Smart, fun. Full of laughter. Her smile was beautiful. She was tall for a woman.” Maxim’s eyes narrowed as he shifted the car into gear and pulled away. “The man took advantage of us being alone, of Nadia’s loneliness and youth.”
We traveled in silence as I assimilated what he’d told me.
“She was much like you.” He shot me a quick glance before returning his gaze to the road. “A bright spot in the world. Witty. Charming. Lovely.”
My breath stuttered at the compliments, my body warming and relaxing. I loved Maxim’s gruff voice, his clipped words. His forearm flexed as he shifted gears as we entered the highway.
“She was seven years older than me. Our parents weren’t any good. My mom was dead, and my dad mostly dead to drink by the time I was old enough to remember. Nadia was scared, desperate. And this man came along. He treated her so good, she said. He took her to dinners, bought her clothing, brought her to his place and didn’t want her to leave.”
“Classic manipulation,” I whispered. I looked out the window with a deep sigh. Hadn’t I fallen for thesamebehaviors with Dillon? If Millie hadn’t clung so tightly to me, insisting I live with her, would I still be my ex’s kept plaything? Sadly, I thought I would because I wouldn’t have seen the cage locking around me.
“Not unlike what you’ve done with me,” I continued.
“What?”
I plucked at the seat belt. “You want me to stay with you. You didn’t want me to stay with Keelie.”
“Is that why you did? To prove I’m not manipulating you?” Maxim made a noise deep in his throat and his expression turned murderous. I’d offended him because now he thought I’d put him in the same boat as Dillon.
Which I kind of had. I mean, I had a bad track record with men.
As Millie would say, a sample size of one didn’t count as anything. I needed more data—more boyfriends—to establish a pattern.
“You’re angry,” I said.
“Damn straight. And you seem to be waiting for me to blow up—to respond like a dick-bag psycho murderer,” he gritted through clenched teeth.
I considered that. “Possibly. I mean, it’s what’s happened in the past and we tend to base future outcomes on past experiences.”
Maxim didn’t bother to answer me, but I noted his jaw ticking. I sucked my lower lip into my mouth, considering my training and what I could do to break my cycle of thoughts and behavior. Not every man was like Dillon. My father and brothers weren’t. Maxim didn’t seem to be.
I’d ignored my instincts with Dillon, thrilled he’d wanted me. I was trying not to ignore them with Maxim, but they weren’t telling me anything useful.
“I didn’t notice the isolation, the undercutting of my confidence and value,” I said. I clenched my hands into fists, wincing when the bruises pulled tight.
“Yes, that’s what happened with Nadia. But she was responsible for me. She saw me while he was at work, but he didn’t like that. So eventually, she visited in secret—when she was supposed to be buying groceries. I begged her to leave him. She’d been so happy in the beginning, but by the end, all her light was gone.”
I got the sense Maxim hadn’t spoken about this before—maybe not to anyone. I was honored and humbled he trusted me, but I also understood the story demanded release. Maxim needed to be free of its burden. I bit my lip, wincing as the bruised tissue shifted. Silence hung around us.
Grief bled into his expression, turning it bleak. I didn’t like him like this, and all I could think about was comforting him, so I laid my palm over his wrist. The sinew shifted and I noted his strength. He was big, thick—immovable. Yet, he was so human with his pain and his uncertainties.
I never would have guessed Maxim Dolov felt so deeply. But I knew how deceiving looks could be.
“If I hadn’t begged her to leave, she’d still be alive,” he said into the burgeoning silence.
“You don’t know that,” I said. How could he? But Maxim was a protector—he played one on the ice, sure, but it was carved deep inside him, no doubt because of his home life. His innate need to protect me and his teammates probably stemmed from Nadia’s death.
And while Maxim hadn’t said so, we both understood that Dillon had already turned violent. I had to expect he’d hurt me again. And that was one of Maxim’s biggest concerns—that I wouldn’t escape, just as Nadia hadn’t.
