Page 18 of Breaking Away

You don’t love yourself enough,Tyler once told me in high school, back when he first started flirting with me.Good thing you have me now,he said afterwards as if his biggest thrill was christening me with confidence.

I’m the Captain of the Seattle Blades, and you are?—

Leaking tears into a tablecloth. Dignity has flown out the window.

Is this a mistake? Did I make the wrong choice? Should I just feel lucky to be his future wife? Is it the best I could hope for even if he’ll push me into being in an open relationship?

Not lifting my head up, I shift over to rub my nose against the folded napkin to my right. At least, there’s no snot.

Still, I’m sitting in a café alone in a city where I have no one because my parents are out to dinner with fancy people, and I’m dodging my newly dumped ex, feeling like a huge failure.

What sucks is how I still can’t finish the sentence without cringing.

Kavi Basra is… what?

Kavi Basra is caught having a mental breakdown by Dmitri Lokhov.

I almost feel him before I see him. Maybe the tall shadow of his body has a corporeal presence or the sounds of heads turning catches my attention. When I finally lift my head, unexplainable sparks jump through my body.

I wish for it to be an alarm. Annoyance. Desolation, even.

Not anythingfrisson-like.

Actually, I would rather he not be here at all. But despite shaking my head like a rattle, he doesn’t blink out of existence. So is the scowling, intimidating defenseman here for a donut?

Coffee?

To gawk at the clownish spectacle that is my life?

Something is put down on a chair. Belatedly, I recognize my backpack.Right. I messaged him to meet me here, but he never replied.

His shadow darkens as he sets both hands on the table. Lesser mortals would cower under his glare, but I’m transfixed because his hand moves again. A calloused thumb goes and touches the top of my cheek.

He brings it back to be inspected.

The residue of my tears is on Dmitri’s skin.

And just like that, he’s murderous again.

9

DMITRI

She’s crying.

The realization tears through me, rocking me back on my feet. Any decisions I’ve made to be alone, separated, or distanced, blink out. I can’t remember any of it.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” I order, my voice rough. Deep. Rude.

When her wounded brown eyes fill again, I don’t know what to do but ask. “Tell me. Who did this to you?”

People glance our way.

The way I look, the amount of tattoos I have, the sneer that lives on my face, I’m used to it, but she deserves privacy. So, I sit.

Sensing her eyes on the backpack I’ve dropped on the seat next to her, I nudge the chair closer with the edge of my boot. As soon as it’s within grasp, she hugs the backpack to her chest.

“You kept it safe for me,” Kavi says with a tone of disbelief, as if she didn’t think I would.

---