56. KAVI

56

KAVI

The next morning, I'm searching for Dmitri and freaking out because I woke up alone. His knee is swollen and hurting. What if it got worse after I fell asleep? What if he's collapsed somewhere?—

He's not fallen to his demise.

Dmitri leans against the wall, watching Mayo eat food from his bowl in the kitchen.

When I step closer, his attention shifts to me. Doubles. The heavy press of it makes my body come alive. Butterflies wake up and dance in my belly. I can't contain them.

"How do you always wake up before me?" I ask genuinely.

"Habit." He shrugs. "Training before the sun comes up."

Ah, yes. The schedule "encouraged" by his dad.

I frown. "Did you train today?" My eyes drop to his wrapped knee. "Tell me you didn't."

"I didn't."

"How is your knee?"

Dmitri shifts weight onto it, testing it in real-time. "Better. Walkable."

My shoulders drop, surprising me. I hadn't realized they were so high and tight. "Okay, good. But you need more rest."

"Today is an-off day." Dmitri pauses. "Last night gave me a lot to think about."

My whole body tenses. "In a bad way or a good way?"

"Good, I think." He rubs the side of his jaw. "My knee isn't bouncing back like it used to. There's not enough time between games and practices. It's getting worse. I can't pretend it's not happening."

I go over and put a hand on his arm. "Are you going to tell your coach?" He said his contract was up for renewal after this season. Being around hockey for all these years, I know the sport is fraught with politics, money, and the need to win over anything else. I understand why he's tried to keep this injury to himself the whole time.

"Not yet," says Dmitri. "But my team needs to know."

My team. The difference in how he views them is astronomical even in the short time I've been around him. He's claiming them as his. My heart twists. Suddenly I'm praying they react as they should. It's not that I have doubts, but that I want this to go well for him. Please.

"I'm so proud of you," I say, wrapping my arms around him.

"Your turn," he says, mouth brushing the top of my head. "We haven't talked about you. How do you feel about becoming our social media manager? I know you had the interview in Seattle?—"

"I didn't go to it."

"You didn't?"

I shake my head against his chest. "No, because I'm going to believe in myself. I never gave my photography dream a chance, but I feel like I owe it to myself to really, properly, try. If it doesn't work out, which is me considering the realistic possibility, I can apply for another admin job. Or change tactics. Whatever the case, I'm going to believe in myself." I pause. "I do believe in myself. This is what makes me happy."

Confessing it all out loud makes my stomach see-saw and fill with something sweet and hot.

Dmitri's large and capable hands hold me tighter. "I'm so proud of you. I can't wait to see more of your work."

"No, I'm the one who is proud of you. Absurdly so."

He's reaching out for help after shouldering the heavy reality of his knee for so long. With the pressures he's put on himself and what his dad has been loading on, admitting any kind of weakness could feel like giving up. But he's not. It's brave.

"When are you going to tell the team?" I ask.

Dmitri sighs. "Today. It has to be today."