Page 79

ALEXEI

Three weeks later, I wait with the rest of the team in the lounge for the private plane. Christmas is the day after tomorrow. Through the windows, snow dumps from the sky. Ward and the pilot talk in low voices while everyone darts glances at them. Two days, we’ve been delayed due to this blizzard.

“What the fuck is taking so long?” I mutter.

Miller leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes on the falling snow. “We’re not getting out of Denver.”

Owens folds his arms over his stomach, an uncharacteristic frown on his face. Streicher sighs, staring at his phone background of Pippa and their dog. Walker dozes with the brim of his hat pulled low over his eyes.

On the ice, the past three weeks have been incredible. The rookie is soaring, racking up the goals and assists, catching the attention of fans, commentators, and the league. Solidifying his spot on the team, I hope.

The next Gretzky, people whisper. The next Tate Ward .

Off the ice, I miss my wife. Being away from her is torture.

I hate sleeping alone. I hate having to see her life through the photos she texts me—her at soccer, her and the bunnies, at my mom’s flower shop, helping her—instead of standing beside her, seeing it for myself.

I like that picture she sent of her wearing my T-shirt, though .

Ward said it’s dangerous to let hockey become everything, because when it’s gone, you have nothing left. Seeing Georgia wear my clothes, though, makes me feel like…

Maybe I won’t be left with nothing. Maybe I’ll have her.

I think about how Georgia reacted when I got hurt at the beginning of the month. She sleepwalks because me getting hurt causes her stress and pain. I can’t retire now, though, not when the rookie and I are making progress like this.

It’s what I love. I can’t give it up.

On my keychain, the little pink crystal catches the light.

My wedding ring glints. The friendship bracelets from the girls at soccer sit on my wrist. One of the Christmas presents I got Georgia is tucked in my jacket pocket, a little black velvet box that I didn’t dare leave at home in case she found it before she was ready to see it.

I love her, I said during the citizenship interview before I left. I think I’ve loved her for a lot longer than I realized .

It didn’t feel like lying. I’m not sure what to do with that. I’m not sure what to do with any of this.

I’m in love with her. Maybe it’s as simple as that. I love being married to her. I love waking up with her in my bed. I love hosting our friends for dinner, and I love sharing a home with her.

I want to share a life with her.

My phone buzzes with a text. My background is the photo of us after we had everyone over, in the kitchen with her laughing, raspberry stuff on our faces. Miller snapped the pic and sent it to me.

I stare at that photo a lot.

The text is from Georgia. It’s a photo of Stefan and Damon, wearing little Christmas hats. My chest aches. I miss them, too.

Another photo pops up—she’s sitting on the chair beside the fireplace, drinking a glass of wine. An intense surge of motivation hits me. She’s sitting at home, what the fuck am I doing here?

I’m on my feet, and the guys look at me .

“I need to get home to my wife.”

Miller stares at me like I’ve lost it. “There’s a blizzard, Volkov. We’re stuck.”

“Roads are open.” We passed a rental car company on the way into the terminal. “I’m renting a truck and driving.”

“Driving where?”

“I don’t know. Salt Lake, maybe.” I rake my hand through my hair. I can probably catch a flight home from there. “I need to get home. Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve, and Georgia’s at home, waiting for me. I need to get home,” I say again, like some lovesick fool.

Maybe I am. Maybe I don’t care.

“Volkov.” Miller stands with a serious expression. “As your captain, I need you to know this is dangerous and stupid.”

“I know.”

He nods once. “Okay. Good.” He reaches down to get his bag. “Let’s go.”

“What?”

His cocky grin appears. “I’m coming, too.”

Owens stands. “Same.”

I frown. “You don’t have to.”

He claps me on the shoulder. “You’re not the only one with a girl at home, Volkov. Besides, we’re not going to let you drive on your own. Where’s the fun in that?” He smiles like he just thought of something. “We can listen to The Northern Sword on audio.”

That’s the fantasy series he and Darcy are always pushing on people. Miller groans.

“We’re not listening to your fairy porn, Owens.”

“There’s a truck with four-wheel drive at the rental place here,” Streicher says, frowning at his phone. “Want me to book it?”

“Book it,” Walker says, bleary-eyed but awake and grinning. Off my curious look, he shrugs. “I never say no to adventure.”

“Bad news, gentlemen.” Ward sighs at our side. “The pilot doesn’t think it’s safe to fly. We’re grounded until at least tomorrow. ”

“We’re renting a car and driving to Salt Lake,” I tell him.

His eyebrows lift. “You’re going to be driving all night.”

“I know.”

For a moment, I worry he might stop us, but the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Tell Dr. Greene Merry Christmas from me.”

“I will. Everyone ready?” I look to the guys, on their feet, holding their bags. “Let’s go home.”