Firebird (The Firebird Trilogy #1) (26 page)

The first step had been the filing of his application for a green card. He’d never surrender his Russian citizenship, but he owed it to her to make this country his permanent home. Eight years on a work visa was long enough. He wanted to stay and Stephanie to believe that.

Today he let go of his old life. Today he became a man. Her man, if she’d have him.

Alex, grasping the handle of his brand-new cane in his right hand, stared through the glass doors of the downtown Tiffany & Co. He blew out a breath, then strolled into the store and began sweating through his undershirt and five-hundred-dollar Dolce & Gabbana button-down. He flashed a nervous smile, no doubt looking like the best-dressed burglar ever to case the joint, at the security guard. A sales clerk approached him.

“Welcome to Tiffany’s, sir. What can we do for you today?”

He scanned the display cases. The air had grown oppressive and his tongue thick, dry.

“I think I know that look. You’re not the first man to walk in here in a cold sweat.” She gave him a knowing wink. “Some have even gotten hives.”

“I…”

He had loved her like air, thoughtless, taking for granted the idea she would be there. Now he loved her like time itself, whose inherent transience reminded him it was forever running short, and so he must cherish each second.

“I’m here…” He white-knuckled his cane and cleared his throat. “To buy an engagement ring.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Old habits die hard. Used to wearing a suit when he traveled, Alex had reclaimed his gray wool Canali from the back of the closet. He paired it with a lavender Ralph Lauren shirt and Burberry check tie, along with black Ferragamo oxfords, new sterling-silver earrings, and the watch Stephanie had bought him for Christmas. He’d let his hair grow out; naturally wavy, it required only a dollop of texture cream worked through with his fingertips and an air-dry. Then he examined his face to make sure he hadn’t missed any spots while trimming his new beard and moustache. First impressions were everything. The worst of the medications’ side effects, the facial twitches, limb jerking, and occasional drooling that had terrified him into thinking he was developing tardive dyskinesia, had subsided.

He knocked back two shots of vodka at the bar next to his gate to curb his anxiety, despite the potential interactions with his meds. Then he signed some autographs and paced until the plane began boarding. He threw up once from pure fear. His whole life had come down to one week in Buffalo. To one word.

Alex settled into his business-class seat, greeting those who recognized him as they boarded. He put on his glasses and pulled a copy of Jung’s
Dream Interpretation Ancient and Modern
from his carry-on. And after a time, drifted into dreams of his own.

He was going home.

***

Stephanie

Stephanie glanced out the window, where bright green leaves dappled by sunlight danced in a summer breeze. A perfect day to walk along the lake after work. To daydream on her own time. Summer ought to bring peace; the draft had ended days ago, and she no longer had to listen to speculation about whom the Seattle Earthquakes would select in order to plug the gaping hole left by their star winger’s injury. They had not existed long enough for their farm team to offer much depth, despite the influx of foreign-born talent to the NHL in recent years, and they’d likely have to make another big trade. Alex might get his not-so-secret wish to bankrupt them after all, however unintentional.

Maybe she’d call Brandon, now that he was free for the summer. They saw each other about once a week on a platonic basis. Slow and steady, the way it should be. They might never be more than friends, but the fact she trusted a man other than Matt spoke volumes about her new companion.

A sudden silence fell upon the office, followed by hushed yet excited whispers. Someone was clapping. A shadow fell over her cubicle, and a man cleared his throat. She swiveled around, expecting Jeff.

Time stood still. Her legs liquefied. She couldn’t swallow. She couldn’t breathe. She set her hands on her stomach as if that would stop its circus act, and made a sound meant as a greeting but that resembled an ailing cat’s mewl.

The jade eyes observing her from the top of the cubicle wall reddened with tears yet crinkled at the corners from an unseen smile.

“Oh,” she whispered. “Oh my God.”

He hobbled into the entrance. Alex’s beauty was effortless, a boon of genetics, but in a tailored gray suit and a lavender shirt and tie, he’d achieved stratospheric levels. Ever the sexy, rakish bad boy with a rugged new beard and moustache trimmed close to his skin. His hair was longer too, black waves sweeping back from his face. And he was wearing the watch she’d given him for Christmas. Entranced, she stared at him for several moments before noticing the cane. She didn’t mention it, though the sight sent a twinge through her heart. A final reminder he was not the man she had left behind, that fame had taken a piece of his normal life forever. But something else was missing too. The light in his eyes. Gone.

“
Privet, milaya.
” His voice was thick with emotion, tremulous. Too distraught to speak English.

Should I shake his hand? Hug him?
She had no idea where they were right now.

That thought, when they had always known what to say or do with a look, a touch, fractured something. She folded her hands over her mouth. It was too much and not enough all at once. The eternal paradox that was Alex.

His smile faded. He propped his cane against the wall. “I’m so sorry, Stephanie.” His voice trembled. “Please forgive me.”

Simple words, but ones her father had never uttered. Ones that made all the difference.

She rose from her chair and crumpled against him, desperate for reconnection, sobbing into the shoulder of his expensive suit. His arms around her, his frayed breaths, amplified the futility of their attempts to move on. Her heart hurt so much, she wondered if she was dying. Welcomed it.

He pressed her head to his chest and laid his cheek on her hair. He sniffed. “Please don’t cry anymore,” he whispered.

Stephanie pulled back enough for him to wipe with his thumb a stray tear from her cheek. Close enough to kiss, if one of them had been daring. He dropped his bloodshot gaze to her lips long enough to indicate his battle with the same urge. It would be like this no matter how many months or years, no matter how many miles. They would long to be together, even if they didn’t know how to be. Particles so entangled that, even when separated by vast distances, one could not be described without referencing the other. The pain in her heart grew.

He gazed at her as though he had forgotten why he’d come or what he’d meant to say. As though she were the world and everything in it. “Um…are you free for dinner?”

“Yes. I am.”

He released her slowly. Stephanie put her sweater on, shut down her computer, and picked up her crossbody bag. She was shaking. Her
hair
was shaking.

She walked on his left side so as not to impede his cane’s movement. She was clumsy enough to trip over it if given the chance. Alex set his hand on the small of her back as they walked out, maybe for balance. Yet Stephanie, shoulders back and chin thrust out, made pointed eye contact with everyone she passed. Proud to be his, even when she wasn’t.

“We love you, Sasha!” someone shouted.

He laughed, his eyes scrunching at the corners again. “Thanks, guys. I miss you.”

They were alone in the elevator, but Alex, emotional control regained, made no move to touch her. Once upon a time, they’d have been all over each other.
Stephanie breathed in his Tom Ford, its notes of spice and citrus floating over a vanilla, sandalwood, and amber base. Her head swam with the nearness of him. Six months, somehow an eternity compared to the previous eight years. She was about to swoon. A legitimate Victorian-style swoon.

Who was she kidding? She wasn’t graceful enough. More like one of those fainting goats.

“I hope you don’t mind me showing up like this,” Alex said over Muzak Coldplay. “I, uh…” He gritted his teeth in a burst of quantifiable pain as he studied the floor. “Wasn’t sure you’d want to see me.”

She was still trying to remember how to speak, still processing the reality of his presence. “I’m definitely surprised. And you look wonderful, Alex. Really.”

Something flashed in his eyes, gone in an instant. “So do you.”

They walked to the nearby Chophouse, a place decorated with heavy red drapes and upholstered armchairs, the lighting low without imposing overt romance. The host pulled out Stephanie’s chair, then Alex’s. Alex folded his cane and tucked it under the table. A sommelier stopped by to explain the wine selection, and Stephanie ordered a glass of Bedell merlot. Unsweetened iced tea with lemon for Alex.

“No vodka?” she teased.

He put on his glasses so he could read the menu. “I’ve mostly quit drinking. For health reasons.”

So it
was
alcohol addiction.

He wouldn’t look her in the eye.
But she did not force the issue; he’d just arrived, after all, and would surely tell her in his own time.

“So.” Stephanie flicked her gaze to his shiny black shoe.

“Four months of PT. I never got the feeling back in my first two toes.” He shrugged. “So now I have the cane. Eventually, I should be able to walk without it.”

“I knew you would fight it, and…” Stephanie wrung her hands in her lap. “Alex, I wanted to be there for you, but…”

Those jade eyes studied her over the rim of his glass.

“I’m sure you saw the
City Paper
story. Then Dave fired me, and…Well, I guess it doesn’t matter now.”

“I was a complete asshole to you.”

“Your career ended. Anyone would—”

“Don’t make excuses for me. No one should react that way. I had no right to say the things I did. It was childish at best, and at worst…Well.” He folded his hands on the table. “Here we are.”

She sipped her wine, observing him with no small degree of circumspection. She had to tread with care. They were too good at breaking each other’s hearts. But the impishness was gone, supplanted by a maturity that, she had to admit, flattered him.

“At the end of the year, we’ll see where I am and whether I should officially retire.” His lips twisted into a sad smile. “Who retires at twenty-six?”

“I’m so sorry, Alex.”

“Eh. Once that happens, I’ll have even more options.”

“Are you thinking about going into music? That video you sent was beautiful.”

“Thank you. Still a work in progress. Like the rest of me. Anyway…” He swirled the tea, the ice cubes clacking against the glass. “I never meant to hurt you, Steph. I hope you know that. You were trying to help, and I didn’t want to admit how much I needed it. I didn’t want you to see me like…that.”

“Like an actual human being?”

He smirked. “
Da.
Maybe. Didn’t want to admit that’s all I am after all.” The smile evaporated. “Just a man.”

The server arrived with their entrees: eight-ounce hanger steak for Alex, chicken two ways for Stephanie. Her pulse pounded in her throat, and the question that had been perched on the tip of her tongue since he’d walked into her office tumbled out.

“So are you seeing anyone?”

He slid his gaze away from hers, to the steak before him.

“It’s fine, Alex—” not fine at all; in fact, she was already crafting excuses, hypocrite that she was, to get the hell out because the mere thought was killing her, “—I’d expect you to.ˮ

“I’m not seeing anyone,” he said but refused to look at her. If he had reverted to his old ways, it was only fair. She couldn’t expect him of all people to remain celibate. They owed each other nothing anymore.

He cut into his steak. “I can’t believe it’s been six months.”

“I know. Seems like yesterday and forever all at once.”

“What about you?” He continued to avoid eye contact. “Anyone?”

“Well, I have a…friend.”

His forehead creased. “I should’ve told you I was coming. I didn’t mean to—ˮ

“No, Alex, it’s not serious—ˮ

“—intrude into your life again. God, how arrogant
am
I to think you wouldn’t—ˮ

“Please don’t—ˮ She meant to touch his hand but backhanded her wine glass, which tumbled forward and splattered merlot onto the water glasses, onto Alex’s plate, and seeped into the tablecloth. “Shit!”

A server hurried over with extra napkins and offered to get her more wine. She mopped up as much of the mess as she could while Alex chewed on his lip to keep from laughing.

“I like red wine with my steak,” he said, “but…” With his knife, he nudged the meat now bathed in a burgundy puddle.

“I am so sorry. I’ll pay for this.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll still eat it.” He cut another piece, his lips pursed until he could no longer hold back and snorted a laugh. Stephanie shook her head and giggled. “So cute when you’re clumsy,” he murmured.

Her heartbeat drummed his name, stronger now.

“I’ll be in town until next Saturday. If you don’t have plans tomorrow, let me show you the sights. This is an underrated city, but there’s a lot to do here.”

“I’d like that. I haven’t had much time to explore.”

Candlelight flickered in his pupils, cast its golden glow on his face. He smiled sweetly and looked away. “Great. I’ll pick you up around ten.”

They finished dinner and, cloaked in a silence neither relaxed nor unpleasant, walked back to her office to retrieve their cars. He did not try to hold her hand as he would’ve done once without thinking, and she was still parsing the motive for his visit in the first place. The evening had managed to become more awkward than a first date, both lacking the appropriate signals to negotiate their way back to each other.

“You still have the BMW. I thought you’d set it on fire after the things I said to you.”

Not the only thing I wanted to set on fire.
“I did think about selling it, but I couldn’t.” She leaned against the car. “You sure you don’t want to come over for coffee? I live nearby.”

He looked at the dimming sky; she could almost see the gears grinding in his head. The conflict. He kissed her cheek, his whiskers scratching her skin. “Good night, Stefania,” he whispered in her ear.