Page 85 of Wicked Serve

“You had a concussion,” he interrupts, his voice quiet, intense. “There’s a scar on your face, and that won’t go away. Ever. And it could’ve been so much worse, Isabelle. I’ve seen what it’s like when it’s worse.”

My retort dies in my throat. “What do you mean?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says, clenching his jaw as he looks away.

I wait for him to add something else, anything else, but he doesn’t. Great.

“Like I told you, it was my choice to act like an idiot,” I say eventually, grabbing a nightgown from my dresser and striding past him to the en suite bathroom. “You didn’t need Cooper to punish you, or whatever the hell you thought you deserved.”

As soon as I shut the door, I yank the dress over my head, balling it up and throwing it into the corner. I’m cotton-mouthed, a headache starting up behind my temples. What’s it like when it’s worse? An accident? An argument? It didn’t sound like he was talking about himself, even though his scar makes mine seem like a scrape.

I get ready for bed slowly, half expecting to be alone when I come out, but Nik’s still there, dressed for bed as well. I breathe easier as I take in the sight of him, shirtless and barefoot in a pair of black sweatpants, head hanging low. At the sound of the bathroom door shutting, he looks at me, a tight, unreadable expression on his face.

I walk to the bed. “If we’re going to date, we need to trust each other.”

“I know.”

I slip into his lap, my arms around his neck. I sigh with relief when his hands settle on my hips. I tilt his face up, searching his eyes for some glimmer of whatever he’s holding back.

“I didn’t protect you,” he says eventually. “I wasn’t there to protect you. And you’re right, I wanted to be punished for that. Even if it meant pushing Cooper to a place we couldn’t come back from.”

“I never asked for your protection,” I say softly.

He cradles my jaw, rubbing his thumb over my skin. “All the same.”

“You promised you’d tell me everything.” I kiss him. “Please, Nik.”

He shakes his head. “Thank your brother for keeping his head.”

“It’s just me. I’m not going to judge you, whatever it is.”

“Not tonight, Isabelle.” He sounds exhausted, as if this conversation is aging him. “I haven’t pushed you about volleyball. Don’t push me on this.”

I shift in his lap. “That’s not the same.”

“Isn’t it?” he says. “Have you faced your father yet? I’ve seen you compare yourself to your brothers over and over—”

“You don’t have siblings,” I interrupt. “You don’t know what it’s like.”

“I watched you spend an entire season chasing after what your father wanted.”

“What I wanted.”

“I know what it looks like when you’re doing something for family.”

“So tell me about it!” I burst out, my nails digging into his back. “Tell me about it, because I don’t know. Who was on the phone when I came out of Alexis’s office? Why don’t you want to go back to Russia? Why do you look at your mother like she’s on the other side of a wall?”

He flinches. I can’t help it, I press further. “Did you even tell her about us? Does she know, or are you planning on bringing it up the next time I’m your buffer?”

“She knows,” he says shortly. “And in case you were wondering, she’s thrilled. She sent you a Christmas present. Cricket, too.”

“Oh,” I say, the emotion leaving me in a rush. “Nik, I didn’t...”

“It’s late,” he says, that bone-deep note of tiredness still in his voice. “And I’d like to go to sleep next to my girlfriend and wake up on Christmas morning with her in my arms. Can we do that, solnishko?”

I don’t trust myself with more words, so I nod. There’s tenderness in the way he lifts the covers for me, and in the kiss that he brushes against my forehead. When he comes back from the bathroom with minty breath a couple minutes later, he eases next to me slowly, as if I might already be asleep. I roll over, and he wraps an arm around me, urging me closer.

I plant my face to his chest and breathe.

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