29. DMITRI

29

DMITRI

A tick starts in my jaw, and my focus dims. Fuck. She's been crying. Eyes are swollen and tired.

She blinks, keeps blinking, and blinks some more at me. Finally, she speaks. "How are you here?"

"I was in the neighborhood."

She rubs the edge of her eyebrow, clearly not convinced. Because it's not true. After our phone call, I booked a flight.

My arms cross. "Can I come in?"

"You want to come in?"

"Let me in."

My knee isn't hurting, but it's tired from the flight and aching from what I put it through after I landed. But it's not swollen anymore. After Kavi left, I rehabbed it full-force between games. Physiotherapy, massage therapy, rest, relaxation, isolation. My life was back to normal…

Until she called.

Until she said the word homelessness.

When I wasn't sure whether she was crying on the call and not knowing the answer to that question tore at me, until I couldn't stand it anymore.

I need to know what is going on. She has to tell me what's wrong. It's not a mystery I can live with. Why? I tell myself I'm a deeply curious man who hates things he doesn't fucking know. It's why I'm here. Sure.

Her body blocks the door. "How do you know where I live?"

Since landing in Seattle, I've driven to four Jessima Diners until I found the one built under residential apartments. This one has her last name on the buzzer outside. It was too easy to find her suite number and slip in after a delivery man.

"I know everything," I say.

Her mouth presses into a line. "You shouldn't be here."

I can't argue with that.

Eventually, Kavi steps to the side, letting me in. She starts tidying. I would tell her I don't care, but she's talking, and I have to listen. To figure out what is wrong so I can fix it and leave.

This will be our last meeting.

"I know the routine of a hockey player during the season." She loads her arms with a few plates and glasses, rushing to the sink to put them away. "You play, practice, sleep, and eat. You don't fly where you shouldn't be going."

Again, she's right. I should not be here. I'll be paying for it later.

"I tried calling you," I offer as some sort of answer.

"Oh. My phone's on silent." She straightens chairs, stacks up papers, and fumbles with a blanket—before I go over and take it out of her hands, folding it myself.

"Why was your phone on silent?" I ask.

"I thought it would help." She drops to the couch and brings her knees up. "With my situation. That I would figure out a solution without the pressure of waiting for calls or messages."

I put the blanket down. My hands slip into my pockets so she doesn't see them unsettle. "What's the problem, Princess?" My voice is casual, if not flat.

She presses herself deeper into the couch cushions.

Out of nowhere, there's an urge to hold her. I knock it away and sprawl to sit beside her. My knees widen. I'm man-spreading. "You seem pent up. Maybe it's all in your head."

It's a rude thing to say, but it gets her snarling at me. Good. Anything is better than that lost expression on her face. Don't ever cry again, Basra. For selfish reasons. I need to yank this blade out of my side. The one that sunk in when I heard her sniff on the other side of that phone call.

"It's not in my head!" she exclaims. "I'm being evicted from this apartment!"

"Is that all?" I drawl, digging for more information even as a primal protectiveness roars through me. The back of my scalp itches. So do my legs and hands, as if I need to do something, immediately.

Her hands come up, curled balls resting on her thighs. "Yeah, that's all. What fun! I've always wanted to try squatting. Or maybe I'll take this eviction to court just so I can lose because I didn't sign a lease, because this place is owned by a person Tyler knows, and maybe he's arranged this whole thing as punishment for me trying to leave him." She laughs, a desperate sound. "Out loud, it sounds crazy. I sound crazy. Of course, he's not that petty. To kick me out for not picking up his calls?"

He fucking is. Our last season in high school, he riled up a few players to slash the tires of the principal's car after she threatened Smith with academic probation. Then he forced another player to take the blame.

There's no point in convincing her of that. Not when there's a bigger problem. "You have nowhere to go?"

"… my parent's place. I could go there."

"You don't want that?"

Kavi hugs a pillow. Her expression strains.

"Why don't you want that?"

"I'm cold." She gets up, opens the blanket I'd put away and shrouds herself with it. A tent of a human being comes back beside me. Underneath the mass, she's fidgeting. "I shouldn't have called you this morning. Is that why you're here?"

Something caves in my chest.

No, Princess, you shouldn't have called. We shouldn't be in each other's lives. Not when one word has me running out of practice and booking a fucking flight. A distraction? Fuck me, this is blowing up to be way bigger than that.

"That's not why I'm here," I lie.

At this point, I can only see her face. It carefully scrunches. "It's not?"

"Why would I fly to another city and come find you because you sniffed over a phone call?" My face rearranges into indifference. "I was in Seattle for other business. The only reason I'm here is because you owe me."

She straightens enough for the blanket to fall. "Owe you?"

On the flight over, I kept wondering what I was doing. Why the fuck was I coming here? My brain supplied a lot of excuses. This one came up more than once. "Smith doesn't know you came to my game, does he?"

"N-not yet," she stammers.

"Basra." My palm curls on her knee so she stops bouncing it. "Did you think I wouldn't notice? I invited you to watch my game to get into Smith's head. So, tell me. Where is my revenge?"

She groans, swearing. "Of course, you're here for that. To collect."

"Glad that's settled. Now finish your story. Why don't you want to live with your parents?"

She jerks, rolling away from my hold until she ends up perched on the opposite arm of her couch. "Fine. Not that you care, but I don't know. Maybe because I'm not sure my parents understand me right now. I don't want to make the wrong decision or be influenced by them, but also I'm left wondering."

"What?"

"What's my big picture? I can't see it."

She stretches her leg out until it reaches my thigh. Then she retracts and does it again. She's kicking me, I think. Little kitten kicks. Fucking cute. "I'm overwhelmed. I want to figure my life out, but I'm afraid I can't do that living with my parents."

Another soft kick, I'm pretty sure she doesn't realize she's nervously doing. "All I want is a week or two to think. To have quiet. But time is running out." She sighs a broken exhale.

I catch her foot and hold it. "Move in with me."

We both freeze—until she laughs. "What? In Vancouver? Living with you?"

What am I saying?

I get a better grip. My fingers encircle her ankle, but it's not enough. She's so warm and firm. Solid unlike the woman who looks and sounds exactly like her that's been visiting my bed, turning dreams into nightmares because every time I lurch forward to take her, she disappears.

My palm slides slightly up. "Did you need me to explain what moving in means, Basra?"

This is a mistake.

Her eyes slit at my deadpan tone. She leans forward, leading with her nose. "Does it mean I'll see you every day?"

"Yes, because I'm not a hockey player who travels for work."

"What if my tolerance for you is zero, Lokhov?"

I tug her forward. She comes along willingly, claws out. "That can be arranged." I glance around. "My place is way bigger than this one."

Kavi's fingers poke into my chest. She's on her knees, vibrating with tension. She glows with outrage. "Seriously? There's no apartment big enough to save me from running into you in the mornings, coming and leaving through the same door, eating in the same kitchen where I steal all your food and use all your dishes, and take up all your space …"

My throat tightens. The picture she painted, I'm fucked by how little that sounds like a nightmare. It should. It really needs to.

I twist, hand going up, bracing against my head. The picture of a man who couldn't care less. I don't. "Pillage me, Basra. Eat all my food. Turn on all the lights. Throw away anything you don't like. Because I'm not a regular roommate, Princess. Trash my penthouse, and I'll buy another one for us to live in."

She gasps—and then glowers. "We're not playing house."

"No shit," I sneer.

She swallows. "No se—" She stammers the word. "No sex. Ever."

"Again. No shit, Basra."

"We almost went there once. In the club."

"It won't happen again."

"Good," she mumbles.

"Great. We understand each other."

I don't want a relationship. Not when this year is the most important one in my career, especially with this knee. My future is at risk. I'm also the one holding my dad's sobriety up.

There are so many reasons I need to get up and walk away.

But I can't move.

I'm thinking, a few weeks can't kill me. I can survive it.

At the very least, I won't have to drop everything to fly to another city when I think she's in trouble. If she figures out her life in front of me, I can send her away, easing this latent, miserable conscience that's only now kicked itself awake. The conscience that can't tolerate "homeless" and "Kavi Basra" in the same sentence.

"We'll be strangers," I reiterate, my voice hardening. "Barely roommates."

"Good. I've had enough of hockey players and their stupid lies. It's time to focus on me and what I need."

My arm bands around her legs. Ignoring her shriek, I lift and deposit her further away from me. She needs to be out of reach at all times.

"Why do you really want me to live with you?" she asks, shuffling even further until her back hits the cushion. "How much do you really hate Tyler?"

"I hate everything about him, Basra."

"Isn't this taking it too far?" she asks weakly.

"Do you care? If he's kicking you out of here—" That fuckhead. "He's trying to give you no options." I catch her foot as she tries soft-kicking me again. "Prove to him you have options. Wasn't that the whole point?"

Kavi scrambles off the sofa, gesturing around. "What about my stuff?"

"Put it in storage. I'll pay for it."

She hisses. "I would pay for it. Along with what else I owe you. In installments, but enough to cover my way for staying at yours."

"Sure. I'll add it to the tab."

The one I'm not keeping.

She glances furtively around, eyes landing on the camera sitting separately on a side table. It's the only place in her apartment with no clutter around it. "I… I can't believe I'm entertaining this, but maybe? Though I wouldn't be able to leave right away. I have photography gigs booked for tomorrow and the next day. I have to finish those up."

What about photography do you love? I almost ask, but don't.

That's relationship territory. Whatever is happening between us is a favor. A way to make sure she doesn't go back to that cheating prick because she's backed into a corner.

My good fucking deed for the year.

Call it charity.

"That's fine." I stand up. "I've got a flight to catch. I need to leave."

She walks me to the door. Before I leave, she grabs my arm. "Are you… sure? Like really sure? Because what if I actually do say yes?"

"I'm a selfish bastard. I don't offer anything that could inconvenience me. Having you move in for a few weeks won't change my life at all."

She nods, as if relieved. "Okay… then… Okay. Yes." She looks away. "I don't have much of a choice. Hopefully things change for the better going forward. I want them to change."

She seems sad. Dejected.

It slices me.

I want to wrap my arms around her and tell her everything will be fine. That I'm here now. How she never has to worry about anything, and she can be whatever she wants. That I'm going to take care of her. How there's no way, in any reality, I'll ever let her be homeless.

My fingernails bite into my palms. "Have fun packing."

We don't say goodbye. My last sight of Kavi is her softly frowning as she watches me go. Her body melts against the doorframe. The sweater she's wearing is such a damn blob, but the way my gut kicks tells me.

She's not just pretty, she's fucking lovely. Her mouth is a peach rosebud, even when it's turned down. Large brown eyes are fringed with thick lashes, skeptically staring at me. Dark cherry tendrils frame her face. Her chest isn't moving as if she's holding her breath in tight.

I've sentenced myself to punishment by having her live with me, but I can't take it back. Some mountainous invisible chain won't let me.

How bad could a few weeks together be?

I tell myself I'll barely be home. I won't even know she's there.