9. DMITRI

9

DMITRI

She's crying.

The realization tears through me, rocking me back on my feet. Any decisions I've made to be alone, separated, or distanced, blink out. I can't remember any of it.

"Tell me what's wrong," I order, my voice rough. Deep. Rude.

When her wounded brown eyes fill again, I don't know what to do but ask. "Tell me. Who did this to you?"

People glance our way.

The way I look, the amount of tattoos I have, the sneer that lives on my face, I'm used to it, but she deserves privacy. So, I sit.

Sensing her eyes on the backpack I've dropped on the seat next to her, I nudge the chair closer with the edge of my boot. As soon as it's within grasp, she hugs the backpack to her chest.

"You kept it safe for me," Kavi says with a tone of disbelief, as if she didn't think I would.

When she unzips the main compartment, I crane my neck. Before I can see, she closes the bag. Her shoulders sag, and a sigh falls from her lips.

A few moments later, she catches me staring. Her cheeks blush. "My camera," she explains.

"It's only a hobby," she quickly adds.

I nod, filing the information away for later. That she likes to shoot photography doesn't surprise me. With the amount of time she spent drawing in art class, and how that one teacher in high school kept pushing her to intern at the local gallery, it makes complete sense.

What doesn't make sense is how she's currently wringing her hands.

"Is that why you're crying? Because you were afraid your camera was gone?"

"Sure." She wipes her eyes. "I've spent the whole day having nightmares about how your massive hands crushed it."

I frown, slipping my hands into my pockets so they aren't so visible. I wonder if that's what she sees them as. Only capable of damage. "Why would I do that?"

"Because I ruined your night back in Seattle when I barged into your hotel and embarrassed myself." Her eyes wander. "Not that I'm not grateful… And, okay, I didn't actually think you destroyed my bag. That's me being dramatic and mean. Sorry."

"You didn't embarrass yourself in Seattle."

For whatever reason, that makes her laugh. It's a hollow sound. "Don't lie to me. I've had enough of that, thank you."

A digging starts in my chest, hearing her talk like this. "This about Smith? What else has he done?"

"No, I'm rage-crying at myself ."

"Because of that prick?"

When she doesn't answer, I do something inappropriate because she's ready to get up.

My legs extend under the table until my boots hook on her chair legs.

When she tries to push back, the chair doesn't shift. She tries again and then stops as if too tired to figure out what's happening.

I'm a jackass, that's what's happening. This is why I should have mailed her the backpack. Sitting across from Kavi has me operating on instincts I don't understand and can't control.

"You know, Tyler's worried I'm going to leave him," she finally admits after chewing the edge of her fingernail for a while. "But he's not afraid. Like he's mostly sure I'm going to forgive him and that we'll end up together. My mom thinks the same. You know what she told me today?" Brown eyes flash molten for a second. "Men make stupid mistakes."

Go fucking back to him? "Why do you care what Smith, the weasel, thinks? It's your call."

Kavi stops fidgeting long enough to deliver an eye-roll. "Not that you're biased at all, right?"

I don't care if sarcasm is her retreating into a shell, as long as she's not crying.

"So, are you broken up?" I ask. "Because only a spineless man cheats on his partner."

She hesitates.

"Whatever you say to me, I won't repeat," I say, finding myself reassuring her. "To anyone."

"Because you don't care? Because this is all amusing to you? Does it mean you win? Why?"

I brace myself and lean forward. "You're right. I would win. The satisfaction. That you know you're better off, Basra. That he's not worth a second of your time."

"Weird. Maybe I should listen to you." She draws in a breath. "He, um, basically confessed he wants our relationship to be open on the phone right before you showed up."

"Open relationships can work—" I start.

Kavi watches me with fresh shock.

"But I have yet to see a successful relationship between a human and a jellyfish."

It takes her a second to get it. She covers her mouth, stifling laughter. "He's not that spineless!"

"But also," she mumbles, after pulling herself together. "I tricked him into saying he wants an open relationship, I think."

She stabs the donut in front of her with a butter knife, as if remembering the conversation.

"I doubt that." My tone is whip-sharp.

Dropping the knife, she threads her fingers through her hair. "I don't know. But shouldn't a loyal fiancé not want to stick his dick into other women? It's not some rechargeable toy that needs variety to stay happy, right? Maybe he can tell…"

Her mouth clamps shut.

"Tell what?" I ask, leaning even closer.

For some reason, she blushes. The effect is devasta?—

Troubling.

"He can tell what?" I ask, rudely prying.

Her hand covers her mouth. "No," is the mumbled answer. "That's private. All of this is… I don't know why I keep telling you things."

For a single moment, I picture myself moving her hand and keeping it hostage until she talks to me. Kavi might even accept it because Kavi is Kavi. For years I've seen her hide in plain sight and downplay herself, letting people tell her what to do and how to feel.

Unconsciously, my boots unhook from her chair. That won't be me. I'd rather break my own arm than intimidate any woman, especially her.

My knee bounces, trying to figure out what to say next. When I notice the movement, I wrap my palm around my leg and squeeze. What am I doing? My life can't handle distractions right now. Not with my contract renewing after this season.

There's no reason to be sitting across from the biggest distraction I've ever met. And yet?—

Fuck. I can't seem to get up. There's something about her that won't let me.

"What's the issue?" I ask, rather harshly.

"Issue?" Her voice has gone shrill. "I don't know why I have to explain this to you, Dmitri Lokhov, but usually when an engagement implodes, you don't go on your merry way."

"It's better that you do."

"So what? I never talk to him again?"

"That's the idea."

"No closure. No nothing? Because saying we're over on the phone doesn't feel like enough. Not when he ruined our relationship and what we could have been. Not when everyone assumes I'll get over it. It's like—like—they expect me to be understanding about it or devastated, but I'm?—"

My eyes survey the donut bits. "Mad?"

Her arms fold on the table before her head drops into them. " Seething mad . I can't get it out of me, I'm so pissed," she whispers. "It's the most anger I've ever felt before."

"Be mad."

She doesn't look at me.

"You want revenge," I guess. "You want to not be taken for granted."

"I—"

"Get revenge."

"Easy for you to say. You hate him!"

"And you don't?"

This has the effect of making Kavi jerk up straight. "Don't you get it? I loved him. And he's going to keep calling me and telling me that he doesn't actually want to be open, and I'm going to get convinced of it." Her hands shake, before she grabs the knife again. More donut stabbing starts, but her voice is calm… and defeated.

"The apology gestures will keep coming, my parents are going to push even more, and if I get married to him because it's objectively idiotic to say no to someone like that, Tyler will cheat on me secretly and I'll never figure it out. You might not think it—because, again, you hate him—but I'm stunned by everything that's happened. I thought he was a good person. Maybe not the best, but he… he bought me this camera, five years ago. As a gift. And he calls me his good luck charm. And we like the same food." She sighs. "I swear there are good parts about him. Lovable parts."

Her face scrunches.

"That's why my brain is all over the place." She shudders. "I'm even wondering if being open is the worst thing to be. We can both have some fun. And he'll come home to me…"

There's that hollow laugh again. And?—

Fuck. No.

Another tear rolls down her cheek. This time, I can't help myself. My hand blurs across the table, reaching over to wipe the tear away. "Stop that. Stop crying."

"Ignore me."

My molars ache since I'm grinding so hard. "I'm trying, Basra."

Desperately .

Big eyes watch carefully, somewhat confused. For the tear is gone, but I can't stop touching her skin. So fucking soft.

And for a second, I think she's about to drop her face into my palm, but she doesn't. There's a measured breath in before she drags her face backward.

There's that digging feeling rippling through me again. Something unnamed… and insistent, driving me to get closer, to help, to fix everything.

"The donut," Kavi says suddenly. Her lip quivers. "Look what I've done to it. It's ruined."

It's in pieces. And she's staring at it like it's the saddest, most depressing thing in the world.

Without thinking, I bring the plate close to me and start reassembling it. The weight of her stare is heavy. My voice is low and quiet when I speak.

"I can't imagine Smith letting you fuck other people."

"Yeah." She inhales sharply. "He'd have all the options. He's the superstar captain killing it in the league with his skills, and I'm—I'm—not going to do better than that."

The best thing I can do for my career is to get up and walk away. "You're wrong."

"How?"

"I'm better than him."

What the fuck am I saying?

Kavi doesn't know either. Her mouth opens.

"If he said you can't do better—" I'm explaining this to myself as much as her. "—prove him wrong by doing better."

"What does that mean?"

"Be with me."

Her lips part wider.

" Seen with me," I adjust, panicking. Fuck . My mind races, imagining this through. Smith's team already hates me. Coach benched me because of our vendetta. Having Kavi show up on my arm would be a complete nightmare.

Don't do this.

I'm about to yank the offer back when she touches me. More accurately, she stops my hand from trying to jigsaw her donut back together.

Under her touch, my wrist burns. Not that she cares. Her fingers squeeze.

"You don't know what you're saying," she accuses.

"Because I'm some brainless hockey player clomping around the ice?"

"You don't clomp," is her rapid retort.

My mouth twitches. "Nobody knows how mean you are, do they?"

"I'm not mean. And maybe I'm the one who is brainless right now. What you're saying is you want me to—what?—pretend to be with you?" She squeezes again, leveling her voice. "Is this some new dick swinging contest with Tyler?"

"Sure." My other hand smothers hers, pulling her off me. I don't let go, but raise an eyebrow. "How did you want to measure me for comparison, Basra? Hands or mouth?"

Her tiny gasp is satisfying. So is the color spreading across her cheeks. It takes a moment for her to snap a comeback. "A set-up for disappointment."

"I promise you, it isn't."

"I can't believe we are talking about penises in public." She lets out an are-you-kidding-laugh. The sound is raw. Genuine. It breaks the ice for lack of a better metaphor. It shouldn't make me feel like I've scored a goal, but it does.

" A penis," I correct. "Unfortunately, I've only got one."

"Nobody knows you talk this much, do they?"

"You do."

Instead of complaining that I've got her by the wrist, her fingertips toy with the edge of my watch, almost absently. "Why are you even here? Why are you listening to me talk about this? This is the most we've spoken since?—"

The night at prom.

Guilt passes through her gaze. "I should thank?—"

"Don't even think about it," I warn, letting go. My arms cross. "That's done. Over."

I don't want her appreciation .

Kavi crosses her arms, mirroring me. "You are so rude sometimes."

"What keen observational skills, Basra. Should my feelings be hurt?"

My comment earns me a glare. Good. No more crying.

"You haven't answered me," she says. "Why would you even want to help me with this? We're not friends."

Because this nasty discomfort spikes when I see these tears. Unlike the one in my knee, there's no rehabilitating it on my own. And I'm suddenly afraid that if I do nothing, and even if I never see you again, it'll stick around.

"Why else? Seattle is Vancouver's biggest obstacle to winning this year. I'll do anything to get into Smith's head."

"My dad is their coach," she argues. "I'm not switching teams."

I swipe the biggest piece of the donut off the plate and put it into my mouth. Now she's really glaring, and all I want to do is smirk. "Nobody said anything about you wearing my jersey, Princess. Come to our next game. We're not even playing Seattle, so your dad can't be pissed. But if you're seen with me, Smith will get the message. That you have options. That he should be scared of losing you. That you can do better."

And maybe you'll realize you don't need to go back to that prick. And all it will have cost me is one game spent close to you. Doable. Smart, even. Whatever reaction I have to Kavi will die out once we spend any real time together.

Her phone vibrates. The screen illuminates her face when she checks it, casting light on the refined angles of her face. Not caring about privacy, I lean over and read the message.

It's Smith.

Don't be like this, is his last message.

A sneer curls my lip. I hate Smith so much I want to beat him again.

Kavi catches me looking and snatches her phone away. She pockets it. "It would be fake," she says, sticking her chin out. "If I even agree."

"No, it's real. And I'm in love with you, Princess."

She huffs at my bland tone, and I'm kicked under the table. Before I can catch her foot, Kavi gets up. "At least I can count on you to be… you."

That sentence… tears at me. I should be happy her expectations are low.

Following her outside, I see it's getting dark. My car is parked right there. Opening the door, I tug the backpack off her shoulder and set it inside.

"Hey!" she says, reacting too slowly to stop me.

"I'll drive you where you need to go."

"Give me my stuff back!" She tries moving around me. Too bad I'm much bigger than her.

"No."

It's late. And right on time, thunderclouds crackle overhead. Rain drizzles down.

Not right on time, a fan recognizes me. "Are you… Dmitri Lokhov?"

There's a gasp.

And this is why I wear a baseball cap whenever I come out in public.

Gritting my teeth, I agree to sign whatever he wants. It takes a precious minute for the man to find a pen.

By the time it's done, I see Kavi has already stalked away from me. Glimpses of dark pink hair pop in and out as she weaves around people. Her backpack is slung on her shoulder. She snatched it back from my car and left.

Even though it's late, she's a grown woman on a main street in a relatively safe Canadian city.

That's what I should tell myself.

She's obviously rejected my offer about coming to the next game and it's not my problem to follow-up. Better yet, this is a fucking blessing. Now I can focus on the only things that matter. Renewing my contract, not damaging my knee, and carrying on my dad's hockey legacy for him.

I'm moving.

Going after her.

Because there's a car heading towards Kavi, ignoring all speed laws.

I sprint.