Chapter 33

Ivan

The flightfrom Buffalo to New York City was quick and easy. I hadn't bothered to bring a suitcase, just a carryon bag with what I'd need for one night. The plan was to be back in Buffalo before dinner, but nothing ever went according to plan when it came to Stevie, so I'd packed a change of clothes and my toiletries just in case.

Luckily, the flight landed a few minutes early, and since I didn't have to go to baggage claim, I was in the car I'd hired by a quarter after eight.

I'd worried about leaving my mother, but she was already feeling better, complaining about hospital food and wanting to take a shower. So she was definitely on the mend, and I could focus on helping Chey for a few hours.

The last two days had been a whirlwind, and in a way, I was looking forward to meeting up with the team in Montreal. Hockey was a lot less stressful than my regular life had been the last forty-eight hours. Not that I would trade Chey for anything, but getting to where we were now had been a bumpy road.

This thing with Stevie worried me more than anything with Chey.

I'd be glad when I put them on the plane for L.A. I wanted them to go to my condo, instead of Chey's, just in case Damien had somehow gotten her address by looking through Stevie's things. Chey could arrange security for them once they were settled in, and I'd be back in less than a week.

Talking to my mother had almost sent me into a panic, but it had been too late to get a flight last night. I'd obviously been distracted when I first suggested Chey go to New York to lend Stevie whatever support she needed to leave Damien. In retrospect, I'd been trying to make up for how upset I'd gotten when I'd overheard her on the phone. I should have confronted her right then and there instead of hiding and then breaking up with her. Everything had worked out, but this was a stark reminder that communication was important in any relationship.

If I hadn't been so wrapped up in a potential break-up and then make-up sex, I would have given more thought to the idea of sending Chey by herself to check on Stevie. That had been a mistake on my part. I wasn't sure why I felt so strongly about this, but I did. It probably had something to do with the memories my mother had dredged up about how my father had treated her.

Regardless, I wouldn't breathe easy until I knew Chey and Stevie were safe and out of New York.

I pulled out my phone to text Chey and let her know I was on my way.

Shit.

I'd left my phone in airplane mode.

I quickly turned it off and waited for it to connect to the internet.

Almost immediately, a text message from Chey popped up.

CHEY: I'm heading to Stevie's early. Damien told her he was only going in to work for an hour, so our window got really small. I'm sending you her address just in case you need to meet me, but if everything goes smoothly, you won't even have to leave the airport. We'll just meet you there. Text me when you land, and I'll let you know where we are. Her address is…

Her text had been nearly an hour ago and I hadn't seen it.

And she hadn't texted again.

Son of a bitch.

I quickly texted her back, letting her know I was already on the way into the city, but there was no response and no indication she'd even seen the message.

A weird feeling settled in my gut, and I tapped my foot impatiently as I waited for a reply.

Minutes ticked by and there was still no word from her.

The message had been delivered but she hadn't seen it, much less answered me.

She had to know a text like that would send me into a panic, so either she was being incredibly inconsiderate or…no, I couldn't go there. I couldn't even let myself think about Damien coming home and catching them trying to leave. Chey had a driver with her, but if he was waiting in the car, would he even know that something was going on?

A million scenarios—all of them horrible—flashed through my mind and when I couldn't stand it anymore, I called out to my driver. "Excuse me—we need to change direction. I need you to go to this address." I read it off to him.

"Of course, Mr. Rochenko. I don't know how long it'll take us to get there this time of day, but?—"

"There's an extra five hundred bucks, cash, if you can make it in less than thirty minutes."

He met my gaze in the rearview mirror and then nodded. "I'll do my damnedest."

"There could be lives on the line."

"I'm on it. You might want to buckle up."

Then he hit the gas and lurched forward.

* * *

We gotto Stevie's Brownstone in record time, and I had five crisp hundred-dollar bills in my hand before he even stopped the vehicle.

"I need you to wait," I told him. "I don't know what I'm going to find. There's a domestic violence situation with my girlfriend's friend. If I go inside and don't come out to give you the all-clear in two minutes, you call the cops."

"You sure you don't need me to come in with you?"

"No need to put anyone else at risk, but I appreciate it. Just remember, two minutes."

"You got it." The way he scowled in the direction of the Brownstone told me he had my back.

I got out and looked around. There were no parked vehicles that looked like they could be Chey's car and driver, and the street itself seemed quiet. Either she and Stevie were on their way to the airport, or something bad had happened. Why else would Chey's driver not be here waiting?

I walked toward Stevie's house and slowly climbed the steps to the front door. Nothing looked amiss, so maybe I was being paranoid, but I couldn't ignore the feeling in my gut.

Hesitantly, I knocked on the door.

"Stevie?" I called her name loudly, listening for any sort of response.

Then I heard it.

Something small, almost like a yelp.

Was it the bark of a small dog or a woman's cry for help?

There had definitely been some kind of noise.

"Stevie!" I yelled, banging on the door. "Chey! Are you in there?"

This time I knew I heard something.

Chey's voice.

Calling my name.

I roughly turned the doorknob, expecting it to be locked, but instead it opened right up. I pushed inside and the scene in front of me seemed to be frozen in time.

Damien, Stevie, and Chey at the top of the stairs.

Damien holding Stevie by the ponytail, pulling it hard enough for her to be crying and holding her head.

Chey tugging Damien's arm, desperately trying to keep him from throwing Stevie over the rail.

"No!" I burst into action as he threw Chey off of him and lifted Stevie off the ground. I hurled myself up the stairs in time to catch Chey before she tumbled down them, but I wasn't quick enough to save Stevie.

"Stevie!" Chey screamed her friend's name as we both looked down in horror at where Stevie had landed on the wood floors below.

I quickly but gently set Chey on her feet and motioned down the stairs. "Run. My driver is outside. Get help!"

She'd barely had time to get out of the way before Damien threw himself at me. The two of us tumbled ass over teakettle down the stairs, landing at the bottom with a thump. I was probably going to feel that tomorrow, but right now I was running on adrenalin, and there was no chance in hell I was going to let him get away. I held out hope that help was on the way as Damien took a swing at me.

"You should have minded your own business!" he hissed.

He was stronger than he looked, but I was pissed off and determined.

"Fuck you."

I pulled back my fist and brought it up hard on the underside of his jaw. My father had taught me that move to win hockey fights, but I'd never used it, thinking it could hurt someone. It was enough to snap Damien's teeth together and stun him. He fell backward and didn't move at first, but I didn't trust him. I pushed him onto his stomach and put my knee in the middle of his back. I didn't have anything to tie him up with, but he wasn't going anywhere. Not if I had anything to say about it.

Damien tried to wiggle out from under me, but I had him pinned and he was still reeling from how hard I'd hit him. I was bigger and stronger, and there was too much at stake for me to let him move.

I glanced over to where Stevie was, and she moaned.

Please let her be okay, I thought to myself.

I wanted to see if I could help her, but I didn't trust Damien not to have a gun or something, and I wouldn't be any help to anyone if he shot me. He was starting to fidget now, cursing a blue streak, but I just pressed my knee harder into his back. I was strong in general, and my legs were extra strong from so many years of skating.

Before I could figure out what to do next, police burst through the front door.

And all hell broke loose.