Page 141 of Breaking Away

I’m dressed in threadbare sweatpants and settled in bed, but I don’t let go of her hand.

She stands above me and strokes my head.

I’m a broken mess, needing her help like this. She deserves more. Better.

But I can’t let go of her hand.

Even worse, I tell her to stay.

Kavi climbs onto the mattress and carefully arranges herself to lie beside me. Her body posture is wary. She doesn’t want to jostle my bad leg, but her chin comes to rest against my back. Against my skin, she stutters an inhale.

“Don’t. You can’t cry.”

“I’m not,” she insists, far too quickly. “I’m just thinking. How often are you in pain? And please, don’t lie to me.”

I shut my eyes, grateful she can’t see my face. “It’s getting worse,” I finally admit.

“Don’t hurt yourself.” Her voice pitches. “How do we make sure it doesn’t get worse? Play-offs are coming soon.”

“I don’t know.”

Gingerly, her arms come around my torso. She’s hugging me from behind. “Worst case, there’s a life outside of hockey, I promise. I’m finding a life outside of being my parent’s daughter, and an assistant, and someone who broke off her engagement and thought her life was over.”

There’s that sniffle again.

“If you got really hurt, it would kill me,” she whispers. “Got it? If you care about me at all, you have to take care of yourself.”

IfI care? Is she serious? I’ve been falling for Kavi Basra for longer than I care to admit to myself. It’s getting way past the point where I can turn back. I don’t think I can escape it anymore.

“I want to be strong for you, Princess.”

She groans. “Is this a man-protector pride thing?”

“Man-protector?”

“You know. I’m a man.” Her voice is exaggeratedly deep. It makes me swallow an out-of-nowhere laugh.

“It’s not a man-thing,” I say.

“What is it then?”

We’re speaking into the dark. Light-canceling drapes cover the room with velvet softness, but it’s not pitch black. The glimmer of the hallway light comes in under the door. It reminds me of candlelight. Moonlight. Pretty magic.

It’s that, somehow, but also just us. The smell of ointment, ice, and the tipsiness that comes when Kavi touches me. It spins my senses.

“What is it?” I say, repeating her question. “It’s a you thing, Kavi.”

Only you.I don’t care about other women and being anything for them. It’s about being enough for her.

“So it’s my fault?” she teases, stroking a line down my biceps.

“Not in that way.” I have to explain, unable to stand her taking on any blame, even as a joke. “When you’ve spent your whole life taking care of someone, you don’t want to do that to anyone else, because you know what it feels like.”

“You can’t always be strong, Dmitri,” she murmurs. “And that’sokay.”

It terrifies me that I want to believe her. That I don’t have to guard this secret weakness of mine.

She knows about my knee, but she’s still here, helping, giving me her support.

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