Firebird (The Firebird Trilogy #1) (32 page)

“Be with me. Stay with me.” She unbuttoned his shirt, her one purpose to touch him, to kiss him, to smell him and taste him and feel him on her, inside her. “Don’t go. Don’t ever go.” She flicked the romper’s straps off her shoulders. He plotted delicate kisses along her collarbone, where his hands had left discolored imprints, as if she was blown sugar. She dissolved in his mouth, melted like caramels on a hot stove. They had been created for this. For each other.

They fumbled with the rest of each other’s clothing, fingers clumsy with need. Stephanie drifted her hands down the length of his torso and slid them under his boxer-briefs, over his ass. His erection popped free. She pulled Alex, stumbling, to the cushioned patio sofa and lay down, folding her legs back and framing him between her thighs.

He rubbed his sheepish smile as if to erase it. “I’m afraid I’ll come too soon. Just looking at you…”

“If you do, it’s not the end of the world.”

“It’s been so long. I want this to last forever.” Where his fingers touched her, he caressed with his lips and tongue, working all the way down her body and back up. He penetrated her in one fluid motion, entwining, entranced, and moving together in a symphony of sighs and moans as though they had never been apart. “
O Bozhe
,” he murmured and began to thrust, slow, lush, like his kisses. His muscles contracted beneath her hands. Skin slipped against sweat-slick skin. Short, sharp breaths puffed against her ear.

She dug her nails into his shoulder blades. “Look at me, Alex,” she whispered.

He lifted his head. Hips pumping. Deeper and deeper, the friction so delicious that even when he obeyed, they could do nothing except try to remember how to breathe. He clutched at the cushion and braided the fingers of his other hand with hers. Never letting go. He closed his eyes for a moment, his mouth half-open in a quiet sigh. Bodies locked together, metrical, in the beat of their inimitable song. They spoke in staccato gasps and yet understood each other perfectly. He shifted again so his pubic bone was pressing against her clit, rubbing with each thrust.

She groaned: soft, rhythmic, desperate, beyond her control. Gripped his ass, sank her nails into those toned cheeks as their unrelenting clench and release pushed his cock deeper. “Like that,” she breathed. “Just like that.”

He glided in and out, his body flowing against her in a sinuous current. The fullness of him, his exquisite body harmonized with hers, brought her to the edge. She ran her thumb over his parted lips, and he sucked on it, swirled his tongue around the pad. Heat suffused her limbs, radiating all the way into her cheeks. A warm night breeze danced along her skin. White-hot fire, a new star born inside her. She closed her teeth on his forearm so her scream wouldn’t alert the other residents and reared against him.

Alex burrowed deeper into her, probing. Throbbing. He rested his forehead against hers. His cool breath fanned her burning cheeks. He did not look away, though the complete trust implicit in their eye contact was almost too candid even for her. “I felt that.” He sat up and pulled her onto his lap, traced his lips and tongue along the hollow of her throat, her collarbone, between her breasts.

She sank her fingers into his shoulders and sprang up and down his length, circled her arms around his neck, and with a brutal kiss staked her claim on him. She remembered all the little tells he was about to come, had tuned in to his frequency again, as though their bodies spoke a secret language. The tremor, his sharp breaths, his open mouth. Forehead to forehead, arms around each other and lips touching, they met each other’s gaze. She wondered when or how it had happened, that he would enjoy letting her read everything inscribed on his heart. Wanting her to.

Alex moaned and clutched her hips. The orgasm roared through him in violent contractions until he sagged back, emptied and exhausted. He exhaled a long sigh, his chest rising and falling with breaths that grew less labored each time, and sketched the contours of her body with his fingertips.

“I love you.” She let her hands wander over him, her body more complete with the sensation of his beneath her fingers.

He closed his catlike eyes and smiled. “All the bad things, all the things that hurt, go away when you say that.”

“I’ll say it every day.”

“
Pozhaluysta, bud′ moyey zhenoy
,” he murmured. He opened his eyes, his expression comic in its seriousness. “I want to make love to you again.”

Stephanie kissed the tip of his nose. “I have something to show you first.” She rose from his lap and gathered her clothes. Alex was dressed when she turned back and gripping his cane. He hadn’t bothered buttoning his shirt. The sight of his rock-hard chest and its light covering of hair, his washboard stomach, tempted her to yield to his demand.

“Sit,” she said once they’d reached her bedroom, and he did. She handed him the card and stood by the light switch.

Alex’s lips moved as he read it, a habit he’d never discarded from his days of learning English. As soon as he looked up, she flipped the switch, then sat beside him. He rubbed his mouth. Tears trickled down his cheeks.

But he was grinning, and his shoulders shook with laughter.

Alex, will you marry me?

“You clever, beautiful, amazing girl,” he said and kissed her. Then fished into his pocket and, arranging into an ungainly kneel on the floor, held out a blue velvet ring box. “This time, it’s exactly what it looks like. Although—” he laughed, “—you kind of stole my thunder.”

“Alex…?” Stephanie folded her hands over her mouth. Someone had dumped a bag of feathers into her stomach.

He opened the box, and a two-carat Tiffany Setting ring blazed within. “This is why I’m here. To ask if you would do me the honor of becoming my wife. Fortunately…” Alex glanced at the ceiling and broke into another grin. “I think you already said yes.”

“Oh-oh my God,” she gurgled. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t cry if the love of her life ever asked her to marry him. And of course he wouldn’t. He was Aleksandr Volynsky, a man so ill-suited to commitment his name had become synonymous with eternal bachelorhood.

She cried anyway, ugly, choking, joyful sobs because he had proven everyone wrong, even and especially her.

“More than anything in the world, I want to marry you.” He moved the promise ring to her right hand and put the engagement ring in its place. He was trembling as she was. “
Ty dlya menya vse. Tol’ko moy.
You saw the angel in the marble.”

She cradled his beautiful face, kissed it all over. “He was always there. You were always my angel.”

“You carved him. You set him free.” His kiss was devastating in the purity of its purpose. “You saved me from myself.”

***

Stephanie awoke from dreams so lovely she thought the preceding hours must too be part of them, because the spot beside her was empty. Warm, the bedding rumpled, but empty.

The ring. That was real; it sparkled from the ambient light of the windows in the otherwise dark room. She threw the covers aside, pulled on her robe, and padded to the door. The moon glowed through the glass, transforming the condo into a dreamlike space of silver, gray, and black. She walked down the hall. Alex stood before the windows facing Lake Erie, one arm propped against the glass and his weight on his left foot. Her angel carved of marble. She watched him for a moment, silent, admiring.

“I’m going to insist you walk around naked. You have the most magnificent ass I’ve ever seen.”

Alex snickered.

She rubbed the small of his back, just above the point where it flared into that lissome ass. “Did you see what came in the mail yesterday?”
The Body Issue
with Alex’s cover, where he’d been captured midskate toward the net, his brawny thigh obscuring his genitals. “The behind-the-scenes video on ESPN’s website was nice too.” She’d watched it several times, the graceful ripple of each muscle as he skated. Buttocks, thighs, and calves engaged, back and biceps tightening and stretching as he swung his stick.

“Yeah. I tweeted the link, but I haven’t watched it.”

“I know it hurts, honey.” She rested her head on his shoulder.

“What did you think of the pictures?”

Sitting nude in the penalty box. Seated on a locker-room bench, holding his helmet in front of his crotch. And her favorite, his stick over his shoulders, biceps bulging. Turned to his left so his thigh and the skillful application of shadows concealed his penis. They had left visible the scar on his face.

“I have the sexiest fiancé on earth.”

“You’re biased.”

She got up on her toes and kissed both of his dimples. “Everything okay?”

“It’s funny. When we were kids, I used to think, ‘If I can just break into the NHL, I’ll make enough money to give her the life she should have.’ Breaking in turned out to be the easy part. I wanted everything to be perfect for you, but I can’t give you that.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re afraid.”

“Fucking terrified.” With an uneasy laugh, he arched one eyebrow. “Aren’t you a little?”

“Of course. By the way, I never expected perfection.”

“Don’t think I’m getting cold feet. I wanted two things in this world other than hockey. To marry you and to father your children. And I already know, Steph.” He shifted his gaze back to the window. “I know you don’t want kids.”

She had assumed so many things when she’d made her silent declaration to end the family line. Marrying Alex had not been one of them. But they weren’t seventeen anymore. Alex had wanted the baby. She’d wanted the baby because it was Alex’s. Maybe that was the unfinished business.

How finally brave I am.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”

“It’s okay.” He sighed and pressed his brow to his forearm. “I mean, I don’t even know if you can have kids, after…And I wouldn’t want to give ours something like this, anyway.”

“That’s not fair to you, Alex. I know how badly you—”

He shook his head, didn’t want to talk about it anymore. They both had their dragons to slay.

“Alex, you told me something last year, and I remember it word for word. You said, ‘Those little cracks you feel inside don’t mean you’re broken. Everything you thought he ruined is still right here. And it’s beautiful.’” She curled her arm around his waist, the warmth of his skin exciting hers despite the bathrobe she wore. “The only difference is that you think you ruined yourself. Of course you’re not perfect; nobody is. But you’re you, and that’s why I love you.”

“How did I get so lucky?” Alex moved her so her back was against the glass. He untied her robe. He let his hands and lips roam her hungering flesh. “I love you so much, I think that’s what scares me the most. That I don’t know how to live up to you.”

“All you have to do,” she said, stroking him as he came to life in her palm, “is be my Alex.”

“I can do that,” he whispered. She knelt before him, her hands on his hips, and sealed her lips around him. “I can do at least that.”

Chapter Thirty-One

September

Alex had gone downstairs to the gym. After two months, they were still adjusting to the idiosyncrasies of living together, in time for him to fly back to Seattle in a week. But as two people used to structure, for the most part they had settled into their routines. Alex busied himself with workouts, semisecret meetings with the Gladiators’ front office, and starting the Aleksandr Volynsky Foundation for terminally ill kids and their families.

Stephanie had spent the past two days in bed, unable to keep her eyes open more than a few minutes at a time except to throw up. She felt well enough today to get up, though bouts of dizziness and nausea struck at least once an hour. And her breasts hurt, especially when she bent over, as if someone had attached two heavy stones to her chest.

In the bathroom, she reviewed the instructions twice to prevent any room for error. She sat on the toilet, removed the plastic cap from the stick, and peed. She’d told Alex she had picked up a bug but not about the missed period.

She washed her hands, wandered into the bedroom for no reason, and returned to the bathroom as three excruciating minutes ticked by. That she hoped for two pink lines despite the damaged genetics on both sides, despite the potential for a repeat loss neither one of them could abide, terrified her to the point of sickness.

She brushed her teeth and mouthwashed, then picked up the stick and held it at arm’s length. She squinted as though the intensity of her stare could influence the result.

And clapped a hand over her mouth.

***

Aleksandr

The day of his first public singing performance that did not involve vodka or a DJ—he would have relished a shot of Chopin—had at last arrived. Danny had called a few weeks ago, informing him Toronto’s minor league baseball team had requested him to sing “O Canada” and “The Star-Spangled Banner” before an upcoming game. He’d practiced both songs so frequently, Stephanie had threatened to lock him out of the condo.

He was relieved to see her emerge from the bedroom dressed in something other than pajamas or sweatpants. For his part, he was wearing jeans and a Blue Jays T-shirt, accessorized with a nerve-jangling anxiety that whispered his voice would crack on a high note or he’d forget the words, or he’d throw up on the pitcher’s mound. He pretended he was pumping up for a hockey game. He jingled his keys. “Feeling better?”

“A little. Wouldn’t miss this, anyway. You’re going to be amazing, honey. And if you get nervous, just look at me.”

“I do like looking at you.” He hooked an arm around her waist to kiss her, but when her breasts brushed against him, she winced. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just a little stomachache.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“There’s nothing wrong; I promise. Focus on singing.”

Easy for her to say, now he was going to dwell on it. “Baby, if something’s wrong—”

“Nope, not a thing. Now let’s go.” She hooked her arm around his elbow and hauled him to the door.

***

Stephanie

Fans were packing Coca-Cola Field on this clear, late-summer evening. Stephanie peeked out from the tunnel where she would watch Alex perform and wondered how many people had bought tickets only for his three-minute performance. Word was spreading about his post-hockey transition, fueling conjecture that he did indeed plan to retire at year’s end. He’d been more discreet with other aspects of his life. A couple weeks ago, he had filmed a PSA about mental illness in the NHL, set to air the opening night of training camp.

“At this time,” the announcer said, “we ask that you please stand and remove your hats for the Canadian national anthem, followed by our own national anthem. Our anthem singer tonight is the Gladiators’ own Aleksandr Volynsky!”

Alex limped to the pitcher’s mound and gave an appreciative nod to the applauding, whistling crowd. He paused for a breath, raised the microphone, and sang “O Canada” a cappella. The slight tremor in his voice vanished as his rich baritone boomed from the PA system, his brilliant smile lighting up the eighty-foot HD scoreboard screen overlooking center field. Born to perform.

He concluded “The Star-Spangled Banner” to a riotous ovation. Alex waved again and mouthed “
Spasiba
,” and blew kisses before hobbling toward the tunnel. “How did I do?”

“You were incredible.” Stephanie hugged him, then they walked to their seats on the club level. “ʻGladiators’ own,’ huh? Something you’re not telling me?”

“Well, Rochester offered me their head coaching position, but I didn’t want to uproot you with the show about to start. As it turns out, one of the Gladiators’ assistant coaches is leaving after this season. They think I’d be a good coach for special teams.”

She deflated a little. He’d jump at the chance to coach his old team. Back to spending most of the year on the road. He was used to that lifestyle. Needed it, even. But in its own strange way, hockey had given them this new life together. She supposed she could loan her future husband to it as necessary. It was still a year away, and the baby would be five months old by then.

She smiled to herself.

“Nothing is set in stone yet, but I think they’re going to offer me the job.”

“That’s great, honey. I told you it would all work out.”

“I know. You were right, as usual.” He kissed her cheek. “What about you? Everything okay?”

“I need you to watch the scoreboard very carefully after the fifth inning.”

He dug out his glasses from his jeans pocket. “How mysterious.” 

The final out of the inning. Alex leaned forward. The scoreboard scrolled through birthdays and special welcomes and finally the message Stephanie had requested as soon as Alex’s singing of the anthem had been confirmed. “Congratulations Stephanie and Aleksandr on your new addition!”

One eyebrow inched its way up as the slow dawn of comprehension lit his face.

“I’ve known for over a week, but I was waiting for the right time to tell you. I didn’t have the stomach flu.”

Alex turned whiter than a Buffalo winter.

***

Aleksandr

Something he’d intended as a word but that sounded like “Huuuhhh” rumbled in his throat. He folded a hand over his mouth.

“I had an ultrasound last week. I’m about seven weeks along. And so far, everything is fine. Good thing I played in a no-checking, no-fighting league, huh?”

“How…I mean, I know how, but…”

“I went off birth control when I moved. The hormones were screwing with me, and I wasn’t in a relationship, and then there you were again.”

He stared into the outfield. It hadn’t yet sunk in. Maybe it never would, not until he saw his baby’s face for the first time. That Stephanie had proposed first had been difficult enough to believe. But this…

“I want this, Alex. I want everything with you. And you know the best part? You’re going to become a father right around your birthday.”

His breath hitched. He curled one hand around the cane’s handle, the other pressed in a fist to his lips. “Really?” he whispered.

Stephanie wrapped her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder. “Really.”

“But what if it…” He emitted a soft, defeated
uh
and stared at his feet. He could not bear the guilt of it suffering as he had and because of something he had passed on, of witnessing what he loved most in the world coming to self-harm or harming those it loved.

“We love it. And we make sure it knows that every single day.”

Alex rubbed his hand over his eyes. “Oh my God. I’m going to be a
papa
.” He laid his palm over her belly. A sacred space now. “When do we know…?”

“We can find out the sex in a few months.”

Overwhelmed with the naïve terror and anticipation of first-time fatherhood, the self-doubt and the blinding potential, the obligation to be the very best man he could be, he succumbed to tears. She had given him so much. She had given him everything.

She curled her fingers around his. “Baby,” she whispered, “you’re going to be the best papa ever.”

***

Stephanie, catching her breath, lay on her back. Alex stretched out beside her and kissed her shoulder. Armed with knowledge, he could now distinguish the subtle symptoms that in mere hours had become as obvious as freeway signage. The lovely fullness of her breasts and the darkening of her nipples, the plumping of her hips and thighs. All the wondrous little ways her body was reshaping itself to create the ideal home for their baby.

He kissed each of those parts, her supple skin, then rested his head on her stomach and curled an arm around her hips. He would have loved her without end if they’d never had children; hers was the love, above the din of so many strangers declaring their affection over the years, that had saved him. That something so beautiful had formed from it, the tiny life growing inside her, was a gift for which he would strive each day to be worthy. A chance to rewrite his legacy on a future as unspoiled as a new morning.

Please stay with us this time.
He crooned a song he remembered from a popular Russian children’s show he’d watched growing up. Though their little bean could not hear him, he liked to think the vibrations of his voice might somehow transmit to it his immeasurable love.

“Alex, I don’t want to wait anymore. I want to marry you as soon as we can.”

Her words knocked the wind out of him. “Don’t you want a big wedding? The dress and the cake…” He’d attended teammates’ weddings before. He assumed everyone wanted that, because each wedding had been the same.

“I’ve planned a big wedding before. It’s horrible. Besides, by the time we planned it, the baby would already be here.”

She had a point.

“We’ll have a party or something later, after the baby is born. But what I want is right here.”

Alex propped up on one elbow. “Okay. Let’s do it.” A big wedding gave him months to overcome his terror of being a husband. But it, like becoming a father, was inevitable either way. Why not plunge in headfirst? He embraced spontaneity, and he was about to embark on the greatest adventure of his life.

“You’re really okay with it? Weren’t you raised Eastern Orthodox?”

“You think American weddings are big? Ours last at least two days, sometimes a week. Two ceremonies. Lots of ritual. And for me? The whole fucking city would show up.”

Stephanie, smiling, caressed his hair. “I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you too.” He closed his eyes and laid his head on her shoulder, his palm on her belly. “Both of you.”

***

With a towel around his waist, Alex shaved, his face that of a frightened child. He felt as though he had borrowed this body she loved so much.

They hadn’t wanted to see each other before the wedding, so he’d spent the night in a Niagara Falls hotel. He envisioned every conceivable way the day could turn out to be the greatest fiasco of his life. Runaway bride. Left at the altar, wondering why she hadn’t appeared, why she had changed her mind. What he’d done to make her leave again.

She wouldn’t now, would she? They were going to have a baby.

Something went wrong in his stomach, which had begun a wretched gurgling that forced bile into his throat. He dashed to the toilet as quickly as he could with a bad foot and, huddling over it, threw up everything. Shivering, he sank against the cool tile wall. He took several long, deep breaths.
Played in front of thousands of people a night, gets stage fright at his own wedding.

The nausea faded. He hoisted himself up, then splashed some cold water on his face, brushed his teeth and rinsed with mouthwash, and dressed in the black Hickey Freeman suit he’d purchased two days ago. They’d shopped separately for their outfits after applying for the license and buying the rings, and somehow the store had finished the necessary tailoring in a day and a half. Stephanie had found a chapel in Niagara Falls willing to do a private ceremony.

He spent at least twenty minutes on his hair, which he’d gotten cut yesterday. He toweled it, then with a brush and blow-dryer dried the hair on top up and toward the back to give it some height. Once dry, he worked pomade through it, tweaking until he’d achieved the perfect height and shape. He set it with a light coating of hairspray.

Hairspray.
Stephanie would laugh if she knew the extent of his styling routine. He consoled himself with the knowledge that, being European, he cared more about his appearance than American men did about theirs. Besides, it was his wedding day.

Alex straightened his tie in the mirror, then rearranged a few strands of hair. He was pale, waxy, someone who had clearly just puked his guts out.