Page 25

Chapter Twenty-Four

Viktor

Several Weeks Later…

Violet Sawyer watches me run through the last exercise in the set she’s assigned me. I rise from my final lunge feeling sweatier than I usually would this late in the season but still solid.

“Excellent,” she says, before turning to Coach Grady. “I’m clearing him for play.”

Coach, whose own career ended after a particularly bad injury—courtesy of my father, long story—gives me a grim-faced thumbs up. “Enjoy it while you can, Abbott. You kids heal up fast. It won’t always go this smoothly.”

I use the towel I threw over my shoulder earlier to wipe my sweat away. “Thanks for the words of affirmation, old man. You want me on the ice for tomorrow’s game?”

Coach rubs his hair while he thinks this over. “No, actually, I think we’ll hold off until the away game. Rest up, and let the Riot get comfortable with the idea that you’re still in recovery.”

“Aww, Coach.” I flutter my eyelashes at him. “Am I your secret weapon?”

“Don’t get cute. I’ll see you on the plane to Rochester.” He stalks out of the therapy room with a barely noticeable limp. I did get lucky, and I know it. This injury could have taken me out for the rest of the season, if not for good.

I flex my fingers at my side, just to feel the simple magic of motion. There’s a version of this story where I’m still in that medical room, where Knova’s crying, and I’m learning how to walk again. That didn’t happen. I’m still here. Still standing. Still hers, if she’ll keep me.

“I hope you’re serious about resting.” Violet puffs out her cheeks. “I’ve cleared you, but I hope you don’t jeopardize this by doing something stupid.”

“I’m not going to risk losing any more game time,” I assure her.

Violet, who is only a few years younger than Vivian and grew up with the rest of the Venom kids, hits me with an expression of disbelief so devastating I nearly drop dead on the spot. “Right. Because you’re the king of responsibility and good ideas.”

“Name one recent disaster that was my fault.”

Violet raises an eyebrow. “Do you want alphabetical or chronological?”

“One of these days, the rest of you are going to stop blaming me for shit I did when I was a kid,” I grumble.

Violet sniffs. “Are you, or are you not, the same Viktor Abbott who orchestrated the Fart Machine Incident last year?”

I pout. “Aw, come on, that was hilarious.”

“Tell that to the left-winger who bruised his tailbone.”

I bite back a smile. Okay, maybe not my proudest moment… but the audio timing on that fart was chef’s kiss.

“Statistically speaking, very few tailbone bruises are fart-machine related.” Best to change the topic, methinks. “Anyway, yes, I promise that I’m going to get some rest before the next away game. In fact…” It occurs to me that if I don’t have to go to PT, and I have tomorrow night off, I should finally enact the plan I’ve been sitting on ever since we told Dante that we don’t need the annulment papers anymore. “In fact,” I repeat, “I think I could go for a massage.”

Knova iced my ankle. Fed me. Took care of me like it was second nature. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is—and I’ve been a slow learner when it comes to recognizing the real thing. So, yeah. It’s time. Time to make it official in a way that doesn’t involve a hangover and a dude in fake rhinestones.

* * *

Knova is skeptical when I suggest a date day, but she’s already off, and I don’t have to twist her arm all that much to get her to agree. When we approach our first destination, she laughs and shakes her head.

“A couple’s massage,” she says. “At the same place I brought Baylor. I can’t tell if this is petty or adorable.”

I wrap my arm around her as we walk through the door and place a loud kiss on her cheek. “A little bit of both, honestly. I wanted a do-over.”

She teases me about being petty, but she’s here. Laughing. Trusting me with a whole day of surprises. Not long ago, we could barely be in the same room without throwing jabs that actually hurt. Now? We’re jabbing for fun. And I’m not sure I’ve ever been happier.

“How much of our early relationship are we going to have to relive?” she asks.

I approach the check-in desk. “Just the parts we screwed up or actively sabotaged. It’ll be like we’re setting the record straight.”

She groans and leans against me so that her head rests on my shoulder. She’s gotten so much more comfortable with casual touch, and I love it. “Does this mean that we have to redo the double date with the portraits? Because, I’ll be honest, neither of us is any good at painting.”

I kiss her temple. “We can skip that one.”

The guy working the check-in counter grins up at us. “I assume you’re the eleven a.m. couple’s massage?”

I point at him. “Bingo.”

He gets us signed in, then takes us back to a room with two massage tables. Soothing music plays over the speakers. The whole place smells a little… savory. I stop by a weird, irregularly-shaped pink lamp and sniff it a few times. “Are we about to be cured of our demons by Himalayan salt energy? Because honestly, I’m game.”

“Yeah, it’s a whole thing. My mom got into salt lamps for a while.” Knova is already unbuttoning her jeans.

I whistle and wiggle my eyebrows. “Well, hello there.”

She rolls her eyes at me. “We’re here for a massage, Viktor.”

“A man’s allowed to be excited by his wife’s naked body.” I reach for the hem of my own shirt, then hesitate. “Wait, does this mean you and Baylor undressed together?”

She scoffs. “Sweetheart, I was in the military. If you want to fight everyone who’s ever seen me naked, you’re going to have to work on your stamina.”

“I’d rather save my stamina for other things.”

Knova mumbles something under her breath, but she’s smiling.

The masseuses cheer when they arrive. “Welcome, newlyweds!” one of them says.

The other one peers at Knova’s face. “Don’t I know you? Haven’t you been here before? Like, recently?”

“Long story,” Knova says.

After weeks of getting beaten up by Violet Sawyer, having someone go easy on me is a real pleasure. I relax into the experience, smiling to myself every time Knova lets out a satisfied sigh. Yeah, this was the right way to kick off today’s events.

“What now?” Knova asks when it’s time to pull our clothes back on. “Do you want to go home and maybe…?” She shimmies her hips in a way that is simultaneously hilarious and kinda hot.

“Later. I have plans for you today.”

“Your loss,” she says. “What’s next on the agenda, then?”

“Mani-pedis.”

Knova does a double-take with her bra halfway on. “You’re getting a mani-pedi.”

“We both are. It sounds fun, and we could both do with some self-care. Things have been so hectic lately.” I hold out my arm for her to take. “Come on, our appointment’s in ten minutes, and we don’t want to be late.”

Knova seems surprised when we don’t leave the building, but simply relocate to another part of the spa. “This is so fancy,” she whispers, eyeing up the aromatherapy displays that make the whole room smell faintly of oranges and vanilla. “My usual place is in a building the size of a storage closet.”

I glance around at the marble countertops and orchid arrangements. “This place makes my childhood doctor’s office look like a prison lobby.”

A pair of manicurists gets us settled in chairs that turn out to have a vibrating massage feature.

“We should get one of these for the house,” Knova sighs. She settles back and lets her nail tech get to work.

When the woman in charge of my pedicure touches my feet, I let out an involuntary shriek. She jumps back like I kicked her.

“Sorry!” she says. “I thought—”

“No, it’s my bad.” I clear my throat. “Sorry, the bottoms of my feet are just a little… ticklish.”

“Really?” Knova’s eyes light up. “I’m saving that little tidbit for later.”

“Use it against me and I’ll tell everyone about your Costco-level obsession with cheese cubes.”

“I am not ashamed,” she replies with zero hesitation.

I force myself to relax as the nail tech touches my feet a little more gingerly. It takes an active effort to relax into the process, but by the time I’m done, I feel like a whole new person.

“You should let her paint your nails,” Knova says. “I’m thinking purple and green. The Venom colors.”

I shake my head. “Absolutely not.”

“Please?” She flutters her eyelashes. “For me?”

Under other circumstances, I’d do anything to make her happy, but since I know a few things she doesn’t, I hold my ground. “No. My cuticles may be immaculate, but there’s no way I’m agreeing to that.”

Knova smirks. “How about your toenails? Please?”

Once again, I prove myself a sucker for her and concede.

After our salon reservation ends, I drive her home for a quick shower and change of clothes.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stay in tonight?” Knova runs her freshly manicured hand up my thigh, nudging the towel aside.

I gently remove her hand and pull the towel back down, doing my best not to react to the twitch below my belly button. “Later. Tonight’s reservation is… special. It took me a fair bit of finagling to make it happen. Trust me, okay?”

With a reluctant huff, Knova rises from the couch. Her towel clings to the curve of her hips as she stretches, then—without warning—she turns, drops it, and walks away naked. Naked. Just… out of the room, full power stance, not a care in the world. She glances back over her shoulder, eyes glittering with mischief, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.

I choke on my own tongue.

My towel starts tenting like it’s auditioning for a Cirque du Soleil act, and I nearly lose it trying to will myself down. Jesus Christ. I press a palm over the cotton and mutter a prayer to any god listening. Not now. Not yet.

Once she disappears into the bathroom, I take a minute to pull myself together. Deep breaths. Cold thoughts. Then I get dressed. Good navy pants—not gray, because apparently that’s a crime unless it’s joggers—and my crisp white shirt, open at the collar, sleeves rolled to the forearms. No tie. No blazer. Instead, I go with my fitted navy sports coat. Sleek, tailored, and just formal enough to say this night matters, while still letting her see the version of me that only she gets. The one who would fight tooth and nail for her.

I’m just straightening my cuffs when I hear a suspicious sound from the bathroom—maybe a drawer slamming or a muffled curse—and I remember she’s already here, and if she sees me spiraling over outfit coordination, I’ll never live it down. I shove two other jackets and a handful of ties into the closet just in time.

Okay. We’re ready.

Let’s go blow her mind.

My remaining thoughts are blasted out of my brain by the sight of Knova in a little black dress that’s somehow even sexier than I thought possible. The cut of the sleeves, the dip of her neckline, and the hem of the skirt all fall in a way that perfectly highlights her curves.

I go to her and slip my arms around her waist. “Maybe we should stay in.”

“Hey, now! Do you know how long I spent on this makeup?” She shoves me playfully aside. “Besides, I’m told this is an important reservation we can’t possibly miss.”

She’s teasing, but my throat tightens anyway. This could go south. She could say no. She could laugh. She could cry for all the wrong reasons. But I have to do this. I want to do this. And that’s how I know it’s real.

Right, the reservation. The culmination of the whole day. “Very true. Speaking of which, we should get going.” I trace my thumb across her collarbone. There’s no familiar chain across her neckline.

Knova turns her head to kiss my knuckles. “Don’t forget, you still owe me a necklace.”

“I won’t forget,” I promise.

We head out to the car, but the doors are locked. I slap my forehead. “Shoot, sorry, I forgot my keys. Be right back.”

Knova frowns at me over the roof of the car. “That’s not like you.”

“I’m not usually wearing dress pants.” I pat my hips for emphasis. “No pockets.”

Knova gestures to her own form-fitting outfit. “Cry me a river, babe. A little free advice? Never complain to a woman about a lack of pockets. You have sisters. You should know this.”

“I’ll make a note of it. Be right back!” As I hustle back to the house, I smile to myself. All it takes is a little teasing, and I can get away without too many questions. I didn’t forget the keys. I had to go back for something else. I scoop up the little velvet box from its hiding place before I grab the car keys.

The wine cellar at the Mona Lisa is a popular restaurant. Usually, people have to jockey for a reservation, but it’s quiet tonight. We’re the only guests, and all the other tables have been moved aside. Our two-top is an island in the middle of the room.

“This is kind of spooky,” Knova stage whispers. “Come to think of it, does this room look familiar? I know I’ve had dinner here a couple of times, but without all the tables… Hang on.” She stops in her tracks. “Viktor, is this where we had our secret disaster wedding?”

“That night was chaos. And we’ve had more than our share of that. But tonight, I wanted it to be intentional. Just us. Just love.”

Since she’s figured it out, there’s no point in putting this off. The manager has just stepped out of the kitchen to greet us, but I motion that we need some privacy for another minute. She nods and retreats.

Once we’re alone again, I take Knova’s hand. “Knova, I love you more than anything. I feel like I understand you better than anyone, and vice versa.”

“Yeah, I love you so much it’s actually kind of embarrassing.” Knova cocks her head. “What’s going on here?”

I rub my thumb over the back of her hand. “I’m getting to that part. I know I’m not your first love, or your first choice, but you’re my first love, my first choice. I’m probably not as noble as Mick, and I could never replace him, but I want to take care of you and love you for the rest of our lives.”

“Viktor.” Knova’s expression softens. She reaches up to brush my cheek. “You helped me believe that love could still be safe. That it could feel like coming home. You didn’t try to replace what I lost—you just stayed and made room for all of me. You helped me work through my feelings, and you never gave up on me, even when I wanted nothing to do with you. Mick would want me to be happy. You’ve healed my heart, and it’s all yours.”

“In that case…” I reach for my blazer’s inner pocket, retrieve the jewelry box, and drop to one knee. “You deserve a proper proposal. Knova, will you marry me?”

Her hands fly to her mouth as I open the box, and she lets out a gasp. Inside is a ring with an amethyst setting surrounded by dainty rose-gold filigree and a matching necklace. The designs are fairly simple, but I know they’re Knova’s style, and she’s always liked her birthstone.

“Knova,” I ask, even as my throat closes up, “will you be my wife?”

She holds out her arms to me. “Yes. Of course. I already am.”

We’ve already taken to wearing the rings Dante’s crew provided during our disastrous first wedding ceremony, but I’m thrilled to see her slide off the clunky silver band and replace it with the ring I chose for her. The ring Sofia and I picked because we knew she’d love it.

This time, we chose each other. Clear-eyed. Sober. Head over heels.