Page 10 of Wicked Serve

“No,” I say, tugging her down. “It’s fine.”

“This is the definition of not fine.”

“I thought you didn’t understand why I love hockey so much anyway.”

She’s never played a sport seriously, outside of tennis, and that was just to pad her college applications. She thinks it’s strange that it’s practically the air I breathe. An unsavory reminder of my father, not an expression of something I want on my own merits.

Who knows, maybe all of them are right. I wouldn’t have this love without him giving it to me.

I wonder what he’d say if he knew I’m going to walk away. He’ll learn about it eventually; he keeps tabs on me. I promise myself over and over that I’ll stop taking his calls, but then he finds a way to draw me back in. I hate how good it feels to speak Russian with him, never mind the panic attack I have to fend off after I hang up.

“I don’t. But I know it’s important to you, which is good enough for me. Honestly, Grandfather can be such a prick sometimes.”

“The company should be yours, you know.”

“It was never going to be mine.” Her tone is neutral enough, but I catch the flare of frustration in her eyes. Grandfather has never taken her as seriously as she deserves, which is ridiculous considering how brilliant she is. Right now, she’s working for a venture capital firm, wiping the trading floor with the other associates, but I know she’d prefer a spot on the Abney Industries board. “It was always going to be yours. He didn’t have a son, but at least he has a grandson, and because you’re a man and I’m not, you will always be the better choice.”

“Nikolai?”

I tear my gaze away from Cricket’s at the sound of Mom’s voice.

My mother has always been an elegant woman. In Russia, that meant expensive furs and perfectly coiffed hair, but without the influence of my father, she’s embraced her natural tendency for the bohemian, just as high end as possible. Today she’s in heels and a sundress that Isabelle would call periwinkle, her blond hair curled gently around her shoulders.

She takes off a pair of red sunglasses and carefully tucks them into her purse. “Did you have a chance to speak with your grandfather?”

“I’m leaving for McKee in the morning.”

“Oh, good.” She kisses me on the cheek. The non-scarred one. In the wrong mood, she flinches when she looks at me, trapped in a memory, I’m sure. I look so much like my father, she doesn’t even watch me play hockey anymore. During my first game in America after we left Dad, she took one look at me, froze, and fled; she sent a car to take me home when it ended.

“McKee?” she adds. “You’ll have to tell Izzy I said hello. It was so nice to have an assistant who really understood things.”

I had no doubt that Isabelle was excellent at her job, but I smile at the confirmation. Mom has no idea we were involved with each other, but in other circumstances, I like to think she’d have approved.

“I’m sure she’ll be thrilled.”

“I don’t understand why they had to expel you. Like we haven’t given that school enough money.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does, honey. I know you chose to go there for a reason.”

“Grandfather is making him work for the company when he graduates,” Cricket says.

Mom blinks. I can’t quite tell, but I think that surprised her. “I’m sure he has his reasons.”

“Nik has hockey.”

“And look how well that worked out for his father,” she snaps. She flushes. “I mean—Nikolai, sweetie—”

“It’s fine.” I step around her. “I have to pack.”

“Let’s get lunch before you leave. Or dinner. Any restaurant you want.”

I swallow around the debris in my throat. I’ve never blamed my mother for staying with my father as long as she did—he’s a magnetic force, charming and downright seductive when he wants to be—but still, I hate to think of the years she spent covering her bruises with makeup and making excuses for him. Our relationship is fragile, a dance where neither of us knows the steps. Distance aside, I’m glad she’s here and happier than she was before. She has her wedding planning business now, and all the friends she knew before she ran away with Dad brought her back into the fold. Grandfather welcomed her back, despite their fractured relationship, and part of me can’t help but be grateful about that, too.

“Sure,” I say after a too-long pause. “That sounds nice.”

Cricket pounces the moment Mom leaves the room. “You’re going to Isabelle’s school? That Isabelle? Did I hear that right?”

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