Page 135 of Wild Ride

Petrov nodded. “Is this about your mother?”

Dex’s heart thudded to the dirty tile. “My mother?”

The captain leaned against the restroom door and threaded his tattooed arms over his chest. “You know we have an intelligence-gathering apparatus for the team. Background checks, that kind of thing.”

Sounded very Cold War era. All Dex could do was nod.

“Your mother got out of prison and now works at the Sunny Side Up Diner. I saw you talking to her a couple of weeks ago. Neither of you looked happy.”

Shit. “Does anyone else know?”

“Harper, Isobel, and Fitz. We like to keep a finger on the pulse, in case it affects the players’ psychology. Is this where you get your inferiority complex?”

Petrov was weirdly direct, and Dex appreciated it.

“When she went to prison, my life upended. I grew up in foster care. It wasn’t the best, but it is what it is.”

He held his breath, waiting for a sharp comment.

Petrov responded with, “Mothers are difficult, especially when they are not wanted. I too have a mother who insisted on turning up when I had decided I was better off without her.”

That sounded familiar, something about his mother leaving him in Russia and raising his sister, Mia, in the States. They’d been estranged for years.

“You and your mom are good now?”

“Yes, but it took time. My Bella helped me realize that I was letting it reframe my thinking in a negative way. I could not embrace a good life with my woman, with my sister, even with my game, until I fixed the situation with the woman who gave birth to me.”

The guys were right. Petrov was a total drama queen, but there was sense embedded in the scenery-chewing.

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with my game. Fixing things with my mom isn’t going to suddenly make me a better player. I’m already a great player.”

“Yes, you are. But you are inconsistent. Sometimes your head is elsewhere, such as tonight, yes?”

His head had been with Ashley, thinking about how he’d thrown away this amazing thing because he couldn’t trust it to stay good. Assumed he would mess it up like he messed up everything.

“I wasn’t so focused,” he admitted.

Petrov nodded. “You are not the reason we lost tonight, but you are an important cog in this machine. We need you well-oiled, working perfectly, and when you are distracted or sad or depressed, the machine breaks down. We can get to the playoffs without you. Probably. But our chances of going further improve if you’re with us and on an even keel. Some players feed off the drama in their lives, but you were not a better player when you were getting into trouble. Nightclub blow jobs, drag-racing, fighting—all of these things made you a second- or third-line player. This last month?” He shrugged. “You have become a first-line guy. Because you are happy.”

He was happy. Even with his mother’s return to his life weighing on him, he found solace in his time with Ashley, in the curves of her body and the peace of her mind. Their moments together had kept him sane and given him hope that maybe he wasn’t the fuck-up everyone thought he was. This amazing woman had seen something in him, something worthwhile. He missed her and Willa, and it had only been two days!

He covered his face with his hands. “I screwed up.”

“You are young.” Petrov gripped his shoulder. “You will screw up again. But it is important that you do not screw up in the same way. You must learn from each mistake. Now what do you want?”

He moved his hands away. “Want?”

“If you could have anything, what would it be?”

Hearing the question phrased in such simple terms made it easy to focus, distill his muddled thoughts to the essence of needs.

“Ashley. A multi-year contract with this team.” He swallowed. “A family.”

Petrov paused for an extra-charged beat. “Not the Cup?”

“Don’t want to be greedy.”

That yielded a smile. “Putting these things out into the universe is the way to make them happen. Keeping them inside, buried deep, does not give your hopes the air they need to breathe.”

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