Page 138 of Wicked Serve

His tone is warm, as if he’s a normal father who is happy to meet his son’s girlfriend. Nik did say he has no trouble being charming when he wants. I swallow, fisting my hands in the sleeves of my borrowed jersey.

Nik shoves his dad, hard, breaking them apart.

“Don’t look at her,” he says, his voice low.

I take a couple more steps in their direction. They were talking in Russian before, and I didn’t understand a word, but I caught when Andrei said Nik’s full name. “I know all about what you did to him. I can’t believe you’d show your face here.”

He ignores Nik, lip curling as he straightens his jacket. “I can imagine why he doesn’t want to come home, if you’re here. But giving up hockey—”

“This has nothing to do with her,” Nik interrupts. His eyes blaze as he steps in front of his father, cutting off his view of me. “I’m not playing for you, and I’m not playing in the NHL, either. Your shitty legacy in the sport will have to die with you.”

My heart drops to my stomach. Somehow, when he got the call from the Sharks, I still had hope that he’d change his mind. I tried to talk to him about it last night, but I didn’t get anywhere. By the hard tone of his voice, though, he made his decision.

“You can’t be serious,” Andrei says.

I’m loath to agree with him about anything, but I feel the same way.

“I don’t want to be anything like you,” Nik says, glancing at me before turning his focus back to his father. “Even if it means giving up hockey. You’re right; I can’t change blood. But I can change what I do with my life.”

This is wrong, all wrong, but I don’t interject. Not here, when Andrei could easily twist my words. His eyes flash, but he doesn’t make a move for Nik. Maybe my presence is keeping him at bay.

“When you regret that decision, I’ll be waiting,” he says finally. “You can’t escape your destiny forever.”

“Have fun waiting the rest of your miserable life, then. Because I’m done.”

“Come on, Nik,” I say, reaching for the sleeve of his jersey and tugging. “Let’s go.”

He doesn’t move. I tug the sweater again, harder this time.

He spits on the floor in front of his dad’s feet. “Get out, or I call security.”

I stifle a gasp.

Andrei blinks. Glances at the floor, then Nik’s face, and says something in Russian. He looks defeated, as if Nik finally landed a killing blow.

“No,” Nik says in English. His voice trembles, but there’s strength in it. “But don’t come here again. Don’t call me, either.”

I press my face against Nik’s shoulder, listening as Andrei’s footsteps echo into the distance. The moment we’re alone, I twist around. Nik’s eyes are wet. He wipes roughly at his face.

“What did he say?” I whisper.

He gasps softly, screwing his eyes shut. “He asked if I hate him.”

I wrap him in the tightest hug I can manage, given the bulk of his gear. He sobs into my shoulder—once—before shaking his head, pulling himself together. He’s still flushed with exertion from the game.

He ought to be celebrating right now. Making plans to go to Lark’s with the rest of the guys. I doubt he’ll be in the mood for that now, but there’s no way I’m leaving him alone. If he wants to sit in silence all night, we will. If he wants to cry, he can. He might not hate his father, even after everything, but I recognize that moment for what it was.

A goodbye.

“Go to the locker room.” I step back, sniffling, too. “At least get out of your gear. I’ll go to your room, okay? I’ll be there waiting.”

He looks as if he wants to protest, but after a moment, he nods.

“I love you.” I stroke his hair lightly, hating how he flinches. “And I’m proud of you.”

I watch as he walks to the locker room. People keep congratulating him, and while he stops each time, I breathe out with relief when he finally disappears behind the door.

He’s nothing like his father. Nothing. He inherited Andrei’s talent, sure, and learned to love the sport because of him, but that’s ancient history. One conversation with Andrei was more than enough to know that for certain.

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