Page 8
Chapter Seven
Knova
I wake up sweating in a bed that isn’t mine. My heart is pounding so hard that I can barely breathe. Something happened. Something bad. We’re in danger.
Who’s in danger? My hand closes around the dog tags at my throat.
Ah. Right. The fire. The smoke. The scorched walls of everything I had left. And Viktor—steady, smirking Viktor—who didn’t hesitate to make space for me. I flop back against his pillows and drag in a breath that still tastes like ash. That’s right: I’m in Viktor’s bed. Nobody’s hurt. I’m okay.
In the quiet bedroom, I take stock of my circumstances. The sheets smell like detergent and Viktor. Like old aftershave and new memories. I don’t know what bothers me more—that I slept so well, or that I liked it.
His room hasn’t changed much from the guy I remember. Same messy drawer of wristbands. Same stack of ancient game cartridges on the shelf. One cracked photo frame of him and Knight from their draft year.
I used to think I knew this boy inside and out. Now I’m not so sure.
I’m not sure about anything.
I could grab my stuff, head back to Knight’s, and take the day to figure out what I’m doing next. Since I have a bit of leverage, I could con Dante into giving me a suite at the Mona Lisa. Given how jumpy I am, I should take the day off either way. I’d be a liability in the air.
Despite all that, I keep thinking about how Viktor behaved last night. He was civil. In fact, he was generous. I expected him to fight harder for the right to sleep in his own bed, but he just let me go snuggle right into his soft mattress.
I’m forced to admit that he might have come to the rescue last night because he genuinely wanted to help me. And I no longer think he orchestrated the mix-up at the stadium. The more I poke and pry at my assumptions about Viktor, the more my anger unravels. What else have I gotten wrong?
He broke your heart, I remind myself. It’s an old refrain, one I replay every time I find myself catching feelings for him.
This time, there’s a new thought to match: he was a kid the last time we tried to make this work. A child. I don’t know what his life was like in the years we went our separate ways, but I’ve certainly changed. Is it fair to hold a childhood mistake against him?
Damn. Have I really spent the last decade and change holding a grudge against a kid who no longer exists? What the hell is wrong with me?
The weight of the dog tags against my chest reminds me that there’s an extensive list of things that are wrong with me, some of which have been diagnosed by professionals. I’ve never done well with the soft and squishy emotions, but after Mick, I’ve walled off that part of myself altogether.
I lie there and try to imagine what my life would be like if Viktor wasn’t around. He irritates the hell out of me, but he’s also one of my best friends. Or at least, best frenemy. Do frenemies rush to each other’s aid in an emergency?
Here is a new thought experiment: How would I feel if Viktor started dating someone?
The sudden ache in my gut surprises me. It shouldn’t matter to me. If anything, I should be relieved by the idea of him redirecting his attention. Instead, I feel jealous of someone who doesn’t even exist.
Son of a bitch . Is that what this is? A crush? On Viktor fucking Abbott—my disaster husband, my emotional landmine, my walking bad idea with dimples?
I remember one summer when we were twelve, and I got stung by a scorpion hiding in my flip-flop by the pool. Everyone else freaked out—Knight yelled for Dad, Mom nearly fainted—but Viktor just scooped me up like it was the most normal thing in the world. Sat with me on the patio while Dad panicked about antihistamines and elevation. I told him I was fine, but the truth was, I was shaking. He didn’t say much. Just held my hand until I stopped crying and made dumb jokes about mutant superpowers. He never told anyone I cried, either. Just squeezed my fingers and grinned like we were in on some secret.
Rolling out of bed, I dig through my bag in search of some clothes to wear today. My options aren’t great, since all the clothes I actually like were in the pool house, but at least I have some fun vintage screen-printed tees from high school that still fit. Good thing I liked my clothes a little baggy back then. All of my good pants have been wrecked, leaving me with two options: leggings and sweats. I’m a little worried that the leggings will be too tight for my adult ass. Sweats it is, then. I grab a hoodie and wrap it around my waist in case I get cold.
On my way to the kitchen, I hear running water. Viktor must be in the shower, which means I have a few minutes of peace and quiet left.
Viktor has another game tonight—I know, if only because I’m so familiar with my brother’s schedule—and since he’s not in the kitchen yet, I set about making breakfast. After all his generosity, it’s the least I can do. I make us some oatmeal, topped with almonds, honey, and fresh fruit, and two soft-boiled eggs each. According to Knight, this is the ultimate pre-exertion snack.
I’ve just moved the eggs to a bowl of ice water so that I can peel them when Viktor emerges from the hall. He’s wearing sweats, too. Gray sweats. My eyes want to make a greedy beeline for his dick, but I force them to stop mid-torso. Alas, since he’s shirtless, that doesn’t help. I’m stuck staring at his glistening, still-damp abs. Why does he have to be so damn hot? And hasn’t he ever heard of toweling off?
Viktor wanders over to the stove. “I see that you’re cooking.”
“Brilliant work, Sherlock.”
Viktor rubs his chin and squints at my dishes. “I can’t decide whether to be touched you’re giving me the wife experience or terrified you might make both of us homeless.”
I grab the hand towel from the oven door and swat him with it. “That’s it, I’m eating all of this myself.”
Viktor lunges for one of the bowls of oatmeal and cradles it to his naked, delicious, damp chest. No, wait, not delicious. It’s a normal chest. Get it together, hormones!
“Mitts off my grits!” he cries.
“They’re not…” I shake my head at him. “Whatever. Here, have the eggs, too.”
Viktor leans against the counter and digs into his oatmeal. He’s unreasonably pleased by my minimal-effort breakfast.
“Do you want to sit at the table, or…?” I ask.
“Nah. Gotta eat fast. We have plans.” He grins at me before taking a spoonful of oatmeal in his mouth.
He eats like he always does—standing at the counter, spoon clinking against the bowl, completely unbothered by the silence. And for some reason, that makes me feel… steady. Like, no matter what else burns down, this part of my life is still here. Still him. And damn it, I think I need that.
“ You have plans,” I correct. “I’ve got nothing on the docket.”
“Yes, you do. We’re going shopping. You need clothes. And toiletries.” He frowns at the ceiling for a moment, lost in thought. “And probably an emotional support Starbys.”
I freeze with my own spoon raised halfway to my lips. “What?”
“Unless you want to live in casual wear.” Viktor gives me an appreciative once-over. “Not that I’d complain.”
My face is hot for reasons I can’t explain. Viktor did help me pack the duffle last night, since my hands were covered in ointment. He knows exactly how few things I have left.
“You don’t have to come with me,” I mumble.
“No? Then how would I pay?” Viktor sets his bowl aside and reaches for an egg.
I lower my spoon. “Are you messing with me right now? I don’t think I can handle that.”
Viktor cracks the egg against the counter and rolls it to loosen the shell. “I’m serious. You’re my wife. You get wife privileges. I’m buying.”
I turn my head away from him. For some reason, watching him handle that shell is making me all… aflutter . Why is peeling an egg somehow the most erotic thing I’ve seen in weeks? I need to get laid. Or lobotomized. Either would work. “Why won’t you just let me hate you?”
He chuckles. “You can still hate me if you want. I like you extra spicy.”
“Seriously. You’re being weird. What’s all this wife privileges nonsense? We’re not really married. Dante’s working on the annulment. Heck, he might already have the paperwork in hand to put things back the way they should be.”
“What way is that?” Viktor prompts.
I wave a hand between us. “You and me. Separate. Not together.”
But even as I say it, I remember how easily we fell back into our old banter after years apart. How he’s one of the first people I call when I’m bored. Baylor’s supposed to be my best friend, but I haven’t even texted him to tell him about the fire yet.
Viktor’s grin only widens. “For someone who’s eager to get away from me, you were pretty quick to move in. As for the annulment, you’re right. It could go through at any moment. Guess you should take advantage of me while you can, don’t you think?”
The slight curve of his lips and the way he tilts his head to watch my reaction tell me that his double entendre is very much intended. My protest dies on my tongue. I shiver at the blurred memory of his hands on my waist, his mouth on my skin, his tongue on my…
Anyway. If it felt that good when we were drunk, how good could it feel sober?
Which implies that I would ever consider sleeping with Viktor without liquid encouragement. Yesterday, I would have said it wouldn’t happen, but today, I’m not so sure where my boundaries lie.
“Okay,” I blurt.
Viktor does a double-take. “Really? You’re not going to fight me on that?”
“If you want to waste your money buying me replacement shit, I’m not going to complain.” I brush my hair over one shoulder and return to my meal.
“I wouldn’t call it a waste,” Viktor says. Before I can respond, he polishes off his second egg and takes his empty bowl to the sink for a rinse. I guess he was serious about eating quickly, because he polished that off in about three bites. “I’m going to the bedroom to finish getting ready. Take your time.”
I watch him go and wonder what the hell I’m doing. The safest thing would be to leave. The smart thing would be to leave. But when I picture walking out of this house, I feel… something I don’t want to name. Something that makes me stay.
Well, this has been quite a strange morning. I wait until he leaves before pulling my phone out of my pocket and opening a thread with Baylor.
SuperKnova: Remember when you said Viktor had a look he saved just for me? What did you mean?
BowBeforeBaylor: You know that lil heart eyes emoji? That’s the one
BowBeforeBaylor: Don’t shoot me I’m just the messenger
BowBeforeBaylor: Why do you ask???
SuperKnova: It’s complicated
SuperKnova: tl;dr I accidentally burned my house down with potatoes and now I’m staying at V’s place
BowBeforeBaylor: EXQUEEZE
BowBeforeBaylor: omg omg omg Vikva is finally happening
SuperKnova: tf is Vikva????
SuperKnova: TF is “finally????”
BowBeforeBaylor: Vikva is your couple name
BowBeforeBaylor: Viktor + Knova
SuperKnova: NO WAY
SuperKnova: 1. We do NOT need a couple name
BowBeforeBaylor: You just told me you’re living in his house.
SuperKnova: 2. If we did have one it would 100% be Knovik
BowBeforeBaylor: WHY DIDN’T I THINK OF THAT
SuperKnova: You are strangely in favor of this
BowBeforeBaylor: Define strange? You’re my best friend. I wank you to be happy
BowBeforeBaylor: want*
BowBeforeBaylor: lil Freudian slip there tee hee
SuperKnova: What does Viktor have to do with my happiness?
BowBeforeBaylor: Because you obviously love him, duh
BowBeforeBaylor: You spend so much time together
I type out the words, Yeah, because he’s like my brother. But that’s clearly not true. Knight and I have a solid relationship, but there are things Knight knows that I’ve never told Viktor, and things I’ve told Viktor that I’d never discuss with my twin. Viktor gets the juicy secrets, but Knight gets the emotional ones.
I’ve never talked to Viktor about Mick. Why not?
I need those two areas of my life to be separate. They can’t touch, and I don’t know what would happen if they did.
Viktor emerges from the hallway, dressed at last. Took him long enough. “Ready?” he asks, like I’m the one holding up the show.
“One sec.” I delete my last text and compose a new one.
SuperKnova: Sorry g2g, Viktor’s going to take me on a shopping spree. Wife experience and all that…
He’s not wrong, though. Viktor’s been in every chapter of my life—even the ones I didn’t want to reread. My phone buzzes as Baylor’s responses, no doubt rife with exclamation points, roll in. I stuff my phone into the pocket of my hoodie and shuttle my dishes to the sink. “All right,” I tell Viktor. “Let’s do this.”
* * *
I used to love going shopping for clothes, but I guess my attitude changed after I enlisted. There are times when I go out into the world and don’t know where I fit into it anymore. My style is different from my bohemian, totally girlie mother’s, so we don’t usually enjoy shopping at the same places, and spending hours looking at clothes on my own can be… lonely, I guess. It’s not my idea of a good time.
With Viktor, it’s the opposite. He teases me about trying on frilly shit that doesn’t suit me at all, but he’s also got a shockingly good eye for the kinds of things I do like. By the second store we visit, we’ve made a game of it. I start picking out clothes for him to try on, including a sequin vest, a pair of footie pajamas, and a blue shirt in a vintage print that looks so good on him that he ends up buying it.
“I wouldn’t have tried that on my own,” he tells me as the cashier folds the shirt and adds it to our haul.
I do my best Humphrey Bogart impression. “Stick with me, kid, and we’ll have you looking sharper than a diamond cutter in no time.”
The cashier giggles. “I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you’re such a cute couple.”
“Aren’t we?” Viktor grins at her and wraps one arm around my waist. My body stiffens before it melts. Traitor. “She even cooked me breakfast. I think she likes me.”
God help me, I think I do.
We load Viktor’s car with bags and caffeinate ourselves with lattes that I’m pretty sure are ninety-six percent hazelnut flavoring and four percent cold foam. On the way back to his place, Viktor swings by the ‘rent’s house so that I can retrieve my car.
“See you at home, sweetie,” he tells me when I get out.
My fingers hesitate on the door handle. He said ‘home.’ Not your home. Not his. Ours.
And things keep getting weirder from there. When I return to Viktor’s place, he’s already unloaded the car and started rearranging my new possessions around the house.
“I’m putting your toiletries in the master bathroom,” he informs me. “I figured you’d want to get started on putting your stuff in the dresser. The top three drawers are yours.”
The drawers in question already stand open and empty. They weren’t like this last night. I’ve lived out of duffel bags for years. One apartment I rented after I left the service didn’t even have drawers.
I don’t know how to put things away. It feels too permanent. Too vulnerable.
Viktor doesn’t hesitate. He just makes space.
“Is this what took you so long this morning?” I call, the back of my neck prickling.
Viktor pokes his head through the doorway. “Yes. Why? Oh, you thought I was that vain. Got it. Nope.” He disappears back into the bathroom. “Oh, and I already started a load in the washing machine.”
This whole scenario is so surreal that I can’t stand it. “Thanks,” I croak, and turn back to the dresser. Either Viktor has been replaced by a pod person from Planet X, or…
Or…
He’s doing this on purpose. Making space for me. Maybe not just in the drawers. But in his life. His bed. His future? Ugh, no. Don’t go there.
I’m not entirely sure what the alternative is.
I’m still rearranging things when Viktor emerges from the bathroom. “I need to get ready and head over to the stadium. You should join us for the catered dinner. It starts around five.”
I check my phone. That gives me the better part of an hour to get ready. “Sure. Why not?”
Viktor gives me a thumbs-up on his way out.
I sit there, on the floor in the middle of Viktor’s bedroom, surrounded by all the stuff he just got me. I think back to one summer, stationed in Colorado, where all I had was a plastic drawer set and a shared closet the size of a coffin. Besides my family, I’ve never had someone just… give me space. Not like this. Not without asking for something in return.
I’m conflicted. On one hand, I know that he was being nice. On the other, I don’t like the sensation of having been bought.
But Viktor wouldn’t do that. He’s not trying to manipulate you. He’s… taking care of you?
Holy shit. I drop the new pair of black skinny jeans I’m holding. Viktor’s not being snarky when he says that he’s giving me the wife experience. He’s serious.
Is this why our paperwork hasn’t gone through yet?
I get to my feet and collect a nice, but not too nice, outfit from my new wardrobe. I take my time doing my hair and makeup so that by the time I’m happy with my appearance, it’s already time to leave.
Stadium parking is out of control during games, but I show up early enough that I have no trouble finding a space in the underground VIP. Instead of heading to the front, I make my way around to the familiar back entrance. The guard on duty gives me a confused look when I try to get in. I think she’s going to deny me until Dante’s face appears on the other side of the glass door. My stomach twists, just for a second—what if I’m not on the list anymore? Then he points to me and says something. The guard nods and opens the door to let me in.
“Thanks!” I say to Dante.
He sniffs and gives me a once-over. “You look… nice. Viktor said you might come by tonight.”
“Did he?” I try to play it cool, but I don’t know how much Dante knows about our current arrangement.
Dante’s expression tells me that my attempt at “casual” is a flop, but he gestures for me to follow him and leads me to the room where the team’s already digging into their fancy catered meal. Sofia’s the first one to spot me, and she waves to get my attention. I saunter over.
Viktor gets up to greet me, and then he pulls out the empty chair next to him, which he’s clearly been saving for me. “Glad you could make it.”
Across the table, Knight glowers. “I can’t believe you left in the middle of the night.”
Oh, he’s mad-mad. My twin rarely glares at me unless he’s worried. And that glare is practically screaming, “I would’ve driven across town with a baseball bat if I didn’t know you were with Viktor.”
I settle into the chair at Viktor’s side. “I left a note on your whiteboard.”
“Yeah, but it’s not like that’s the first place I checked!” Knight fumes. “You disappeared without even a text. What gives?”
I give him my sweetest smile and flutter my eyelashes. “You two were clearly, um… engaged, Daddy.”
Sofia blushes scarlet. At my elbow, Viktor chokes on his salmon.
“Oh.” Even Knight is embarrassed now. “I didn’t, uh. Are the walls really that thin?”
“Here’s an idea: let’s never, ever, ever talk about this ever again. And I get a pass for my rude but necessary immediate departure. Sound good?”
“Sounds good,” Sofia and Knight agree in unison.
Viktor breaks the tension by asking Sofia about her jewelry store—always a sure bet because Sofia adores her job—and the rest of the meal is pleasant enough. I catch some of the people around us giving me side-eye, wondering why I’m here. Nobody asks, though, probably because they all recognize me. At this point, I’m not sure how I’d answer them if they did question my presence.
After dinner, I’m about to go up to my seat when Viktor pulls me aside. In a quiet corner of the hall, he whispers, “What? No kiss?”
I tilt my head from side to side. “No, but also no punch.”
He pouts. “Two words: wife experience.”
I take a deep breath. Please don’t let me regret this. “I’ll make a deal with you. Venom wins, and later, when we’re alone and no one could possibly see us, I’ll give you a kiss. One kiss.”
The words taste strange in my mouth. Dangerous. Like tossing a match into a pile of dry kindling just to see what happens.
Viktor lights up like a slot machine announcing a jackpot. “I can’t wait. Oh, and Knova? There may be a little present for you at your seat.” He winks.
I feel giddy as I hustle off to my seat. I’m also ashamed of feeling giddy. What the hell? It’s not like Viktor’s the first guy to be nice to me.
The “gift” on my seat is tucked inside one of the arena’s gift shop bags. I shake my head when I see the Venom colors of the jersey inside. If Viktor thinks I’m ready to wear his name…
But I squeal when I turn it over. Viktor must have had this custom-printed because, in place of a name, the jersey reads, SAVAGE .
I can’t stop running my fingers over the letters on my back. It’s meant to be a joke, I know that—but something about it feels weirdly perfect. Like I’ve finally stepped into a version of myself I’ve been circling for years.
Sofia catches up to me just as I pull the jersey on. “Wow. Viktor knows you too well.”
“I’m afraid you’re right.” I flip my hair out of the neck of the shirt and look up just in time to catch Viktor’s gaze from the ice below. He’s smiling up at me.
Yesterday, I would have taken it off just to spite him. Now I’m worried about what it means that I want to keep it on. I tug it until the material hangs properly and give him two thumbs up.
My brother looks between Viktor and me, and in the end, his steely glare lands on Viktor.
The lights in the arena dim as the pre-game countdown begins. The music thrums through the floor, the crowd rising like a tidal wave—and even though I’m not sure where I stand with Viktor, I’m standing with his people. My people. That counts for something.
When I take a bathroom break right before the game starts, some guy stops me. “What’s with the shirt? You know there’s no Savage on the team.”
I raise one eyebrow. “Do you dare ask me that with Savage literally written across my body?”
One of the guy’s friends pulls him away. After they pass me, I hear one of them say, “She certainly savaged the National Anthem.”
I let out a snort of laughter, even though the joke’s at my expense. The guy has a point.
Viktor was right. I’m already laughing about my terrible singing, and it hasn’t even been ten years yet.