It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve been here in the past weeks, the Koteskiy household always looks like a dream house.
And lately, I’ve been here a lot. Even without Rhys.
Today, they’re letting me use Anna’s office for a meeting with my attorney, who seems a bit more motivated since Max Koteskiy and Adam Reiner got involved. Bennett’s father had apparently offered to help, but admitted that it wasn’t his area of expertise.
I have practice in an hour by the time the meeting finishes. I plan to get there early anyway—mostly to avoid standing awkwardly in the Koteskiy house with just Anna since my brothers are off with Max at a First Line Foundation event. Rhys is traveling to the Harvard game.
But just as I’m sliding on my thick jacket, Anna descends the stairs.
“Sadie.” She smiles. “How did it go?”
“Great. I think I’ll be good until January for the hearing—but, thanks for letting me use your office. I’m gonna head—”
“Do you have a minute, love?”
I do, but I wish I didn’t. She frightens me, and maybe if I looked a little deeper—or went to much-needed therapy, I would realize why.
She sits at the kitchen counter bar stool and taps the one beside her for me to follow.
“You know I was thirty-three years old and pregnant when I met Max?”
I don’t move, just sitting quietly as Rhys’ mother sits beside me. I can’t look at her, because it feels like too much.
“With Rhys?”
“No.” She smiles, shaking her head and scooting just a bit closer to my hunched form. “It was before Rhys, and the father was my ex-husband who I was running from, absolutely terrified. And when hiding from someone, running into the arms of an up-and-coming twenty-four-year-old hockey star was not a good start.”
“I didn’t know he’s younger than you.” The words slip free too quickly, and my cheeks heat at how rude that might’ve sounded. “Sorry, I just mean—”
“No, Sadie girl, I take that as a compliment.” She sighs. “Max was so mature for his age, but he should’ve been out galavanting around and being messy in his rookie years, not taking care of a woman pregnant with someone else’s baby. But he did. Because… well, that’s Maxmillian. He was so handsome, so sure—and the peak of his accent came out whenever he called me rybochka, which I believed to be something sweet until he told me at our wedding it meant little fish!”
I can’t help the burst of laughter that pours from my lips.
“He didn’t.”
“Oh he did, and even worse he’d been calling me rybochka in bed for years!” She laughs as I blush, remembering how much Rhys had stressed that his mother had no filter.
“Anyways, I’m not here to talk about that. I want to say that I was running from someone that hurt me, and as much as I begged Max to leave me alone, knowing how much shit I was pulling into his very public life, he never let it go. I was a secret for a long time, but only because I begged to be—I was still hiding and refused to tell him anything despite how much Max wanted to handle my problems for me.
“Rhys is a lot like his father; physically, I made a mini Max, but mentally, too. He’s strong and very capable and he loves with every cell in his body.”
“But I—”
She holds up a hand. “My son has more protectiveness stacked into his body than he knows what to do with. It makes him a good hockey player, it makes him a good friend, and it makes him a good son. But with you? I know… he wants to protect you more than anything.”
“Why are you telling me all this?”
She sighs deeply, running a soft hand over my cheek and straightening the hair around my ear.
“Because I wish there had been someone there to tell me it was okay to ask for help, and that I wasn’t weak or a burden to accept it.”
She starts to stand, to allow me to leave for my practice, before I stop her.
“Do you know any Russian?”
“Only a little. Not as much as Rhys or Max; language was never my specialty.”
“Do you know what kotyonok means?”
She laughs, smiling wider than I’m sure I’ve ever seen. “It means kitten, my love.”
My skin blushes and I have the urge to call him now, and threaten him as much as tell him I love him.
But it can wait. Even still, I’ve had enough space. The second he gets back, I’ll tell him.
Practice is brutal.
And my ankle is throbbing—I’m almost positive I’ve sprained it, but Coach Kelley won’t let up for a fucking second. I try to put pressure on it again, my head spinning as I look at the stadium clock and see we are well past my two-hour mark.
He’s refused every water break I’ve asked for, ignored my complaints, and now, I’m pretty sure he’s injured me.
“I can’t.”
“You can. Do the fucking jump again.”
I limp-skate towards where he stands to block my exit to the tunnels. Close enough to see the fury in his eyes, before I try to skirt past him again.
He grabs my wrist, again.
“Is this about the boy again? The pathetic little hockey player?”
“This is about you hurting me. My ankle is killing me. Please, I need just a few minutes.”
I don’t sound angry, I realize. I sound like I’m about to cry.
“Don’t be a baby, my terror. Stop being lazy and do the jump again. We will do it ‘til it’s perfect.”
“You’re going to make me seriously hurt myself.”
He grips me tighter on my wrist, before shifting up my arm to leer over me. “Not if you do it right. Again.”
I can’t take it anymore. I don’t need this.
“No.”
“Try again.” He grasps my arm somehow harder, twisting enough that there’s a sharp pain and suddenly I’m worried that he might break my arm. My stomach drops as I take in exactly how much danger I could be in. I’ve trusted him for years. Now…
A terrified sound rumbles out of me, before I gather the breath to scream.
But I don’t have to.
Someone grabs Kelley from behind, yanking him off of me and slamming one fist into his face, sending him down, out cold.
Toren Kane.
His eyes are bright embers of gold, just as unsettling and intoxicating. He glares down at my unconscious coach before looking up at me with a half-smile that’s so fake I’m sure I could peel it off.
“Tell your little boyfriend we’re fucking even.”
I don’t have a single word left in me that’s not a sob or scream so I nod jerkily and nearly trip in my skates over the mats.
