Page 139 of Breaking Away

She’s tapping her thumb against her mouth. “Lose it all… Lose hockey? Lose happiness? Lose all your money?”

My knee is excruciatingly tender, but somehow, my lips twitch. “I don’t sound like that.”

“Like what?”

“So dramatic.”

“I didn’t say you did.”

“You implied.” I plunge my leg back into the cold. This is where I usually countdown the minutes, grappling with mental techniques to sit longer, even as my whole body screams at me to get out. But for once, I don’t care. “To answer your earlier question, no. My money won’t ever run out. I’ve diversified.”

“So, it’s about not playing hockey again.” She wrestles her fingers harder. “Sorry. I need to take this seriously. Just because I don’t hold the same love for hockey, probably because of the absent dad issues I never talk about, it doesn’t mean you don’t.” She brings her knees up and rests her head on them, observingme sideways. “What I really mean is that I hate that you’re hurting. How do you get better?”

I open my mouth, then close it. She’s sneaking glances toward my bad knee and blinking. Her eyes shine as if wet with unshed tears.

Over me? I reach over, forgetting that I’m dripping water, my arm long enough to caress the side of her cheek with my wet thumb. “Don’t worry about me, Princess.”

Kavi’s mouth thins. “Don’t do that, Dmitri. Don’t tell me I can’t worry about you.” She pulls away from my touch and stands up. “Talk to me. Tell me more.”

She walks over to the foot of the tub and swings her leg as if about to slide in.

“You don’t want to do that,” I warn.

One leg dips in. Kavi blanches and yanks it until only part of her foot is under the water. “Talk to me or I’ll lose circulation and my toes will fall off.”

My mouth twitches again. “You would have to keep it in for longer for that to happen.”

“Do you want me to be uncomfortable?”

Her efforts at emotional blackmail would work better if she didn’t immediately backtrack.

“I ask the man in a tub full of ice,” she says, “whose knee looks angry-pink. I’m the worst. Sorry. It’s not about me.”

“Don’t say sorry.”

She offers me a half-smile, wiggling toes that must be going numb. “I forgot you don’t like them. The sound of my apologies. I’m not giving you them on purpose. I would hate being that woe-is-me type of person. And this—” She gestures at me. “Your pain is not about me. It’s about you. What happens if this gets worse? If you can’t play professionally anymore, what happens? Dmitri, we can talk about it.”

Kavi Basra is in plan-mode. It’s why the firm in Seattle wanted to snatch her up. It’s why Smith and her dad pushed her to help them for so many years. Kavi sees other people’s problems and works to solve them.

Her lips catch my attention. Are they losing color? Unacceptable.

When I get out of the tub, her eyes widen. I’m dripping everywhere as I stand, leaning to my uninjured side. Her neck turns, following my movement until it can’t, for I’ve lumbered behind Kavi.

Big palms close around her waist. “Up you go. You’re shivering.”

I guide her to her feet. The floor will get slippery if I keep leaking onto it. She could fall. Grabbing a towel, I start to dry off.

She snatches it out of my hands. Warm hands gently push me back until I reach the bench in front of the sauna.

“Sit,” pleads Kavi. “You have to keep weight off your knee.”

I’m so unstable her nudge has me dropping down. Instantly, she’s toweling me dry. My shoulders, arms, the breadth of my back, down my spine.

When Kavi goes down on her knee to reach my legs, my hands shoot out. “No.”

She shimmies away. “Yes.”

“You don’t have to?—”

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