Page 111 of Gloves Off

I pluck them out of his hand, my fingertips accidentally brushing his warm skin.

“I overreacted this morning.” I chew my lip. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you didn’t.” He holds my gaze as he rubs the back of his neck. “I shouldn’t have gotten rid of your car without asking you. That was a fucked-up thing to do.”

That’s... not what I expected him to say.

What do I do with this version of Alexei? I didn’t know he was capable of this. Men like him never apologize, never take accountability, and nothing is ever their fault.

But maybe I was wrong about him the way he was wrong about me.

“I’ll put it back to the way it was.”

I let out a short laugh. “There’s no engine.”

“I’ll get a new one installed.”

“The window’s smashed.”

“I’ll replace it.”

“Tires.”

He nods. “I’ll get those, too.”

I twist my mouth to the side, fiddling with the beads on the friendship bracelet.

“Why’d you do it?” Something about our relationship looking more realistic for the citizenship process, I’m sure.

His jaw tightens, and something flickers in his eyes. “I was worried about your car breaking down and your phone being dead and you being stranded.”

Deep down, beneath all the anger and frustration and stubbornness, something melts. Liam unenrolled me for his own gain.

Alexei bought the car because he was worried about me. He didn’t mean to hurt me.

“You hate me,” I say quietly, even though I know it isn’t true.

I don’t know what else to say, though.

“I know,” his mouth flattens, “but I was still worried about you.”

He’s not supposed to be like this. He’s supposed to be brutal and condescending and controlling.

“I don’t like how things have been between us the past two years. I don’t like how I acted. It doesn’t sit right with me.”

Something unfurls in my chest, and I grapple to close it back up. Where’s the asshole who called me incompetent? Where’s the guy who sneered at me about hunting for a rich husband so I could be a lady of leisure?

“So you want to buy me a new car and pretend the past never happened.”

“No. I want to buy you a new car and start over.”

A strange emotion catches in my throat. If we had met differently—if I weren’t his doctor and he weren’t my patient, would everything have been different between us? Of course it would have.

I don’t want to think about that, though.

He holds my eyes, expression unreadable. “Or we can go in a new direction.”

A new direction. I think about us hate-fucking at the benefit. About sleeping in his bed, curled around him.