Page 19

Chapter 19

Turbulence

Dmitri

T he team plane hums at thirty thousand feet, and I’m about one Luka post away from throwing my phone into the fucking void.

Five nights. That’s all it took for Erin O’Connor to completely undo me.

Five perfect mornings waking up with her wrapped around me, all sleepy sighs and soft moans, her copper hair tangled in my sheets. Five days of stolen kisses in the kitchen before Ris woke up, of watching her move through my house like she belonged there. Five afternoons of her playing her cello wearing my shirt, lost in her music while the sun bathed her in gold—so fucking beautiful it hurt to look at her.

Five nights of feeling her fall apart beneath me, of hearing her beg in that breathless, needy voice that makes my blood run hot and my control snap like a goddamn twig.

And now?

Now I’m hurtling toward Tampa while some smug, over-groomed European motherfucker wraps himself around my girl in a loft downtown.

My grip tightens around my phone.

Luka Havran’s Instagram story.

The exposed brick. The moody lighting. The sleek grand piano in the background. And right in the center—Erin, perched on a stool, her bow poised above the strings, a soft smile on her lips.

And him.

Standing too close. Leaning in too much. His perfectly styled head bent toward her shoulder as he “adjusts her sheet music.”

I snort, jaw flexing. Right. Because that definitely requires him to practically drape himself over her, his arm brushing hers, his breath practically in her ear.

Fucker.

My entire body is tight with the need to do something. To turn this plane around. To rip that sheet music out of his hands and remind him exactly who she belongs to.

Because she does belong to me.

Erin might not know it yet, but I fucking do.

The last few days flash through my mind—the way she’d slip into my room after Ris was asleep, whispering my name in the dark. The way she’d wake me up, all warm skin and wicked hands, a mischievous little grin on her lips before she made me lose my goddamn mind. The way she fit, curled against me, like she was made to be there.

God, Ris.

She’s already asking when Erin can move in permanently. Smart kid. She wants exactly what I want.

To keep her.

To make her ours.

Instead I’m here, thousands of miles away, while some flashy, pretty motherfucker gets to spend his day cozying up to my woman.

I exhale sharply, forcing my grip to loosen before I actually snap my phone in half.

Erin’s mine.

She just doesn’t know it yet.

Another notification pops up. Another story. This time it’s Luka demonstrating proper bow technique, his chest pressed against Erin’s back.

I drag a hand over my playoff beard—ten days of growth making me look more caveman than professional athlete—and seriously contemplate how many years I’d serve for murdering someone with their own cello.

“Still stalking your girl’s socials?” Finn drops into the seat across the aisle, his dark beard coming in thick and full, because apparently being six-foot-two of pure muscle isn’t intimidating enough. “Those views are insane. Did you see their latest collab hit a million?”

I grunt, clicking my phone off. Two losses at home. Now we’re heading to Tampa for what could be elimination games, and all I can focus on is how Luka keeps finding excuses to touch Erin’s hands in every damn video.

Up front, Jessica flips through game footage with Coach Novak. Finn’s eyes drift that way.

“At least I’m close enough to stalk my girl’s socials,” I mutter, nodding toward Jessica. “Unlike some people who can’t even get within ten feet of their crush because Daddy Dearest is always right there.”

“Fuck off,” Finn growls, slumping lower in his seat. “Did you hear she’s dating some blue blood asshole now? Brooks Brothers suit, summer house in the Hamptons, probably named Chase or Brad or some shit. The kind of guy Novak would approve of.”

“Speaking of stalking.” I smirk.

“Shut up.” He throws a pretzel at my head. “At least I’m not the one whose nanny is going viral with Classical Music’s Most Eligible Bachelor.”

I seriously consider checking him into the emergency exit.

“Easy there, tiger,” Nate drawls from three rows up where he’s got the flight attendant hanging on his every word. “Your murder face is showing again.”

“It’s just Sokolov,” Adam chimes in, smirking. “Something about Russians and how they treat their women. The rest of us have evolved past the caveman stage.”

The whole team dissolves into snickers. Even Finn, the traitor, joins in.

I mutter a curse in Russian, but my eyes are already back on my phone, thumb hovering over another notification.

I get it. I do. Because every time I see another video of Luka’s hands on Erin, something primal in me wants to book the next flight home and mark my territory. These playoff beards aren’t the only thing making us channel a cavemen.

“Real mature.” But my jaw clenches as another notification pops up. Luka commenting on Erin’s latest post: Perfect session today, draga . Can’t wait for tomorrow’s filming.

Tomorrow. When I’ll be in fucking Florida.

A shadow crosses my screen. Liam.

Finn catches on fast, already unbuckling. “Take my seat, Captain.” He heads toward the back before I can object, probably to where Nate’s holding court.

Liam drops into the seat beside me, all casual posture, but his eyes are sharp and hunting.

“So,” he starts, stretching out like he’s got all the time in the world. “You and Erin.”

I don’t look up. Just keep scrolling. Past Luka’s latest “behind-the-scenes” post—which is just him standing too close to my girl. Again. That man is a goddamn player if there ever was one.

“Nothing to talk about,” I mutter.

Liam snorts. “Right. Because the way you were looking at her during that concert? You were this close to jumping the balcony and dragging her off the stage.”

I clench my jaw and lock my phone. Heat creeps up my neck. “Liam?—”

“And then,” he continues, voice low but edged, “you both disappeared real quick after. Sophie said Erin didn’t answer her phone until noon the next day.”

“I don’t think you want the play-by-play, big brother.”

“God, no.” He actually shudders. “Definitely not.” Then he exhales, sharp and measured. Captain mode activated.

“Look,” he says, tone shifting, “I get it. Trust me. I didn’t give a single fuck about anything until I got Sophie?—”

“Oh, I remember it all too well,” I snark.

“My point,” he barrels on, ignoring me, “is that I know what it’s like.”

I drag a hand through my beard, exhaling roughly. “Then you know I can’t help this.” My voice drops, rawer than I mean it to be. “I tried, Liam. I really fucking tried. But she’s…” I shake my head. “She’s like gravity. Everything pulls me toward her.”

A long pause. I keep my eyes on the seat in front of me, like if I ignore him hard enough, this conversation will disappear.

“And you,” he adds, “are playing like absolute shit.”

That yanks my head up. “We lost by one goal?—”

“Because you’re not on your best game.” He levels me with a stare. “The whole team sees it. Coach is coming for your ass. Fair warning.”

“I’m fine.”

He leans in. “And meanwhile, my sister’s floating on a cloud. According to Sophie.”

I clench my fists. Good. She should be after that triple hat trick I pulled on her last night.

Liam watches me closely, then his voice dips into something more serious. “Galina gets here in ten days. What’s the plan then?”

I drag in a breath. “Erin can stay. The house is big enough.”

Liam barks out a laugh. “Does she know that she’s staying? And in what function, exactly? The live-in girlfriend of a guy ten years older with a kid ?”

“Don’t lecture me about the age difference. Erin is older than Sophie, and you’re barely a few years younger than me.”

“Yeah, but you have a daughter, Dima. You’ve got a whole life built. And Erin—” He gestures vaguely. “She’s just starting. She doesn’t need?—”

“What?” My voice sharpens. “Obligations? A guy with baggage?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you meant it.”

He exhales through his nose, rubbing his temple. “I meant she’s not ready for something serious. Not this serious.”

I press my lips together so hard my teeth ache. Because he’s not wrong.

“You think I don’t know that?” I snarl. “You think I don’t lie awake at night thinking about how fucking selfish this is?”

“Then why?—”

“Because she fits, Liam.” The words tear out of me, unexpected and brutal. “Like a lost puzzle piece. Like she was always meant to be mine. Ours.”

His face shifts—surprise, understanding, something else. “Does she know?”

“Know what?”

“How serious you are.”

I think about this morning. How she kissed me goodbye like it was nothing. Like we hadn’t spent five nights proving we were everything.

“No,” I admit. “I don’t want to scare her off.”

“Smart.” He leans back, studying me. “But you can’t keep her in the dark forever. Not if you really want her to stay.”

“I know.”

I unlock my phone again. Another Luka notification. I swear to fucking God.

“I just need time,” I grind out. “To show her we could work. That she doesn’t have to choose between her dreams and…”

“And you?”

I nod.

Liam scrubs a hand down his face. “Jesus Christ. You’re really going all in.”

“Looks that way.”

“And if she chooses pretty boy over there?”

My jaw locks. “She won’t.”

“You sound awfully sure.”

“I am.”

He studies me, eyes narrowing. Then, suddenly, his eyebrows lift. “Holy shit.”

I stay silent.

“Oh my God,” he breathes, leaning back like I just rocked his entire worldview. “You’re in love with her.”

I don’t answer. Don’t need to deny this. It’s her brother I’m talking to here.

“Dima…” His voice softens, but he doesn’t finish.

“I know.”

“She might not be ready.”

“I know that too.”

A long pause. Then: “You’re going to pursue her anyway, aren’t you?”

I think about Erin in my kitchen. In my bed. In my life. Playing with Ris. Making our house feel like a home again.

“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I am.”

Liam sighs, but there’s something like reluctant admiration behind it. “Well, fuck. Guess I better start calling you brother-in-law.”

“Don’t jinx it.”

He smirks, clapping my shoulder as he stands. “For what it’s worth? I’ve never seen her smile like she does with you and Ris.”

The hope in my chest flares to life. Bright. Dangerous. Unstoppable.

But then, another notification lights up my screen.

Luka, commenting on Erin’s latest post: Can’t wait for tomorrow’s session, draga. You’re pure magic.

My blood goes ice-cold.

Two more days in Tampa.

Two days of watching this smug fuck circle what’s mine.

Game on, pretty boy.