Page 124 of Breaking Away

“I’m too old.”

Irritation sizzles through me. “Then how do we make sure this doesn’t happen again? That you don’t get picked up for drunk and disorderly conduct? What do I have to do? You don’t visit me. You don’t let me visit you. All we have are phone calls.”

“Exactly!” Ivans Lokhov thrusts his chest out. “I never want to distract you or make you lose focus.”

This isn’t the first time he’s said this. As a kid, it always sounded like,I don’t want youinstead ofI never want to be a distraction to you.

I open the fridge, deciding there’s enough salvageable ingredients to make soup.

After dinner, my dad pats me on the shoulder. “I’m sorry the county jail called you. You don’t need to handle my mess in the middle of your season. It won’t happen again. You can go home now.”

“I could stay another day?—”

“No. You won’t miss anything because of me. Not when you are carrying on this family’s legacy. Nothing is more important than that.”

Fuck.His words make the walls squeeze in on me. I go back to cleaning despite my dad’s protests. “When’s the last time you went on the ice,” I ask him, running the dishwasher again. “You could learn to love it differently. It could make you happy getting out there again.”

My dad sinks into a recliner, settling in for a night of watching hockey replays. “Not a chance.”

Not for the first time, I’m brainstorming how to fix this. My dad needs something to interest him again, instead of hyper-focusing on hockey and me all the time.

When I sit across from him, my dad tells me to leave again.

“I’ll stay another day,” I insist.

’’Didn’t you hear me, Dmitri? No.”

I answer the only way that reels him in.

“You can tell me what I need to do to improve my game.”

He grumbles. “Fine. Only because you need me.”

The next day, my dad is completely sober. This could have been a temporary relapse, but I don’t let myself hope. I’d rather keep cleaning to keep my mind off of Kavi.

The apartment will be lifeless without her. I’d rather be worn to the bone than remember she’s gone. I don’t want to go back to an empty penthouse.

Beside me, my dad snores on the couch. I turn off the television program he left on. More hockey highlights.

Tomorrow morning, I’ll have to leave. Our next game is coming up, but nothing stirs inside me. My love of hockey has started to dull—to not feel like enough?—

My phone buzzes.

It’s an audio message from Kavi.

I smile.

Fuck, I miss her. She’s not even been gone for long and I can’t stand it. It’s killing me.

Using my headphones, I listen to her voice. Before I can finish the audio, my name is shouted.

“Dmitri.”

It’s my dad. He’s awake, and his tone is a sharp-tongued rebuke. “Who messaged you?”

“No one.”

“Don’t bullshit your father. You don’t smile like that. Who is it?”

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