“I mean it in the best possible way. I don’t want interesting or dramatic or moody. I want something steady and lasting.” Getting hitched in Vegas after a few drinks was nothing of the sort.
But I could still be his friend because I was imbued with goodwill toward my fellow man. “What do you know about Alexei’s dad?”
“His dad? Not much other than the fact he’s living with Alexei. I told Naz to bring him over for dinner one night.”
Sounded like he didn’t know the full story about Nazarov Sr.’s dementia. It wasn’t my place to say.
“But what about his background? Didn’t he used to be a journalist in Russia?”
“Yeah, he was an anti-corruption advocate, doing investigative reports that challenged those in power. He was even imprisoned a couple of times.”
“Really?” I had no idea.
“Yeah, when Alexei was a teen, and then again not long after he started his pro career with Miami, so his second year there? That’s why he went to play in Russia. He wanted to be closer to him for visits.”
I had known nothing of this. Of course, I was aware that not long into his professional career here, he joined the Kontinental Hockey League. There had been questions about it at the time: why would he do that when his career was ramping up in the States?
“You think the Russian government had something to do with him going back?”
Jason shrugged. “I asked, but he was tight-lipped. You know how he is. But he played there for a couple of years, and then he came back, signed with Seattle, and his father moved to the US.”
“Why didn’t I know about this?”
“It’s not common knowledge, Lo. And you and Naz haven’t exactly kept in touch.”
“No, we haven’t.” And why would he ever confide in me? I was just some girl he banged in college. Close-lipped was an apt description, but even Jason knew more than I did.
Jason passed me a margarita glass and poured one out. “How did Thad take your big news?”
“With the maturity I’ve come to expect from Husband Number Two.” It had been over a week since I broke the news of my marriage, and I had barely seen my boyfriend. I had told him that until I had a firm handle on the divorce, it would be better if we didn’t stay over at each other’s places.
He didn’t object, but he had remained distant. I could have pushed for a date night, dinner, movies, cozying up on the sofa, but in truth, I preferred the space while I sorted through what was happening between us. All of us.
Before Jason could comment, I changed the subject. “Question. Has Thad ever asked you to invest in anything? A fund or something like that?”
“Not recently.”
I reared back. “So he did once?”
“Yeah, maybe before the playoffs? He recommended some crypto fund, geared toward athletes. Sounded weird, so I passed.”
“Why didn’t you mention it to me?”
“Did you not hear what I said? Playoffs, Lo.”
Once the series started, players’ brains were driven by three things: hockey, hockey, and more hockey (and in Jason’s case, a side of Franky St. James). I wondered if anyone else I represented—or knew in the Rebels world—had been approached by my boyfriend to invest their money. I wanted to press more but Rosie came in to swap Cammi for the pitchers, and the conversation came to an end.
Doing our due diligence, we discussed the latest New York Times bestseller about some poor unfortunate maid/nanny who gets caught up in the weirdness of her married employers. Just be a throuple, already. Then, we moved on to our other not-so-guilty pleasure.
Chicago Rebels fan fiction.
For the last year, we had been enjoying the semi-regular web entries that fictionalized the lives of hockey players who were familiar, but just different enough to not be libelous. This team, the Chicago Renegades, with player avatars like Thatch Cockslaw and Mason Listener—shout out to my real clients, Hatch and Jason—had also won the Cup in its fictional universe and was now enjoying the summer break.
I hadn’t read this week’s entry, and maybe I was glad of it because it featured a new player on the team: Rex Maximov. No prizes for guessing who inspired this work of “fiction.”
“This author really knows how to ramp up the tension and the taboo,” Summer said. “A player and his agent. Very naughty.”
I perked up. “His agent?”
