Ghost Dance (Tulsa Thunderbirds Book 3) (33 page)

I took the china as she came up the steps into the living room.

“For your Svetka,” she said. “My mama always wanted to drink tea from her china.”

She followed me into the kitchen, where I set it down on the counter. She put her tote bag next to it and started unloading all sorts of teas and a few other items for the kitchen.

“She’s only going to be here for a few days,” I said, dumbfounded by how much Viktoriya had brought over. “Where did you find this?” I asked, pointing to the
samovar
. I’d honestly never seen one in North America, even if they were common enough in Russia. Most people used a Keurig here to heat the water for their tea. For that matter, most people in this part of the world liked their tea over ice and full of sugar.

“Found it at garage sale.” Her eyes lit up when she said it. “Tallie took me. Like whole store in driveway. Everything costs very little. Only two dollars. Two dollars!”

I couldn’t help but laugh at the thought of Viktoriya and Tallie going garage sale shopping. It wasn’t something I’d ever taken part in since I’d been here, even though I passed them on the streets almost every weekend. Someone was always trying to sell their old things, and it seemed someone else was always ready to buy them. “Is that where you got the rug, too?”

“Yes. And china. And vase.”

I raised a brow and scanned all the things she’d unloaded on my counter. “Haven’t seen a vase yet.”

“In car, still. Razor will bring inside. Fresh flowers, too.”

“You didn’t need to buy all of this.”

“But she should be comfortable while she’s here,” she said, not looking up at me as she continued to unload her bag.

“Wanna give me a hand with this?” Razor called from the stairs. He didn’t mean it as a question, either, based on his tone.

I didn’t particularly want to help him, but I also didn’t want him to break anything in my house, so I headed back into the hall to see what he was doing. He’d dropped a pile of things at the bottom of the stairs and was halfway up with the rug.

“We should move the bed so we can put the rug underneath it,” he said, not slowing down on his way up.

“How much did you know she was bringing?” I asked once I reached the landing.

He chuckled, leaning the rolled rug against a wall while we made our plan. “I knew she’d bought some china. Apparently she and Tallie have been going to every garage sale in the greater Tulsa area every Saturday morning for months. She never spends more than five dollars here or ten dollars there, though, so I had no idea she’d nearly filled an entire bedroom with
stuff
. So I’m glad she’s bringing some of it to you.”

We each picked up a side of the bed in my guest room and moved it against the wall. Then I unrolled the rug and he helped me center it in the room. It had rich reds and golds—a bit gaudy for my taste, but Svetka would love it as much as she’d love the dainty pink-and-blue china set. I just didn’t know what I’d do with them once she went back home to Russia.

“You get any sleep yet?” Razor asked as we moved the bed back into place.

I shrugged.

“What the fuck’s going on with you, anyway? You’re always a mess, but this is worse than normal.” He headed back down the stairs, so I followed him. We both grabbed armfuls of the stuff he’d left at the bottom and carried it up with us: curtains, a matching comforter, and some pillows to go with the rug, plus a bunch of tchotchkes and a set of
matryoshka
dolls.

This might be Svetka’s first trip outside of Russia, but thanks to Viktoriya, it would be as much like home as possible.

“Nothing’s wrong,” I said, setting the nesting dolls on the nightstand next to the bed.

He tossed the comforter and pillows on the bed and carried the curtains to the window, taking down the rod. “Feed me another lie, why don’t you?”

“Nothing for you to worry about.”

“When you start fucking up on the ice, it’s something we all need to worry about.”

“Everybody fucks up sometimes.”

“You don’t. You might not be some superstar or anything, but you’re as consistent as they come. You’re like clockwork. Coach trusts you to always get shit done, but last night you were a mess.”

“Had a bad night.”

“Was it because of London?” Viktoriya asked me.

My head shot up in surprise. I hadn’t heard her come up to join us. And she spoke in Russian, leaving her husband out of the conversation, which was unusual. The two of us sometimes spoke in Russian, but never when Razor was around because she didn’t want to leave him out.

I glanced over at him, but he was busying himself with putting the curtains on the rod and tactfully ignoring us, so I turned back to Viktoriya. “Why do you think that?” I asked.

“Because we all start doing stupid things when we fall in love.”

“I don’t love her.”

“Okay.” She moved to the bed and started arranging the pillows and comforters, making it cozy.

“I don’t.”

“If you say so. But sometimes, love can sneak up on you. Even if you think you’re immune to it.”

“I’m not immune to it.”

“You just don’t think you deserve it.”

I put a piece of gold fabric on the top of the dresser and spread the tchotchkes over it, hoping if I didn’t respond, she’d let it go.

“I haven’t met your Svetka yet,” Viktoriya said, “but something tells me she wouldn’t agree with that. She’d want you to have all the love in the world.”

“With London, it doesn’t come easily.”

“Nothing good is easy. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t work for it.”

I stared at the tchotchkes, rearranging them over and over again, mirroring the way I was rearranging all the thoughts in my head. “What you have with Razor,” I said slowly. “It’s not easy?”

“The hardest thing I’ve ever done is let him love me.” She crossed over to join me, taking the pieces from my hands and setting them in place to force me to stop messing with them. “But it’s also the best thing I’ve ever done.”

Well, then.

There wasn’t much I could say to that.

DIMA WAS LETTING
his beard grow in again. I knew only because I’d taken to watching the Thunderbirds games lately. It was the only way I got to see him these days. It was up to him when we’d see each other again, and he knew it. Once he showed me he was making an effort at moving on with his life, we could pick up again where we’d left off. Until then, I was limiting our contact to the phone in order to salvage my own heart as much as was humanly possible.

I had to admit, he looked pretty hot with all that scruff. It wasn’t overly long now, just the perfect length. Enough to hide the scars he wanted to hide, but not so much that he hid every single aspect of his appearance.

Other than that, though, he looked like hell. Red eyes with deep circles under them. More scowling than usual. I hated seeing him like that. Especially because I knew I was at least part of the reason for it. Maybe more than just part of the reason.

Still, we were talking again, at least. After that night when I’d told him I was pregnant, he’d been calling me almost every night. Sometimes we talked until the wee hours of the morning. Other times it was only for a few minutes. For the most part, the length of our calls depended on his mood.

The night after Razor and Viktoriya helped him ready his house for Svetka’s visit, we talked for hours. He filled me in on all the things Viktoriya had brought over to help Svetka feel at home even though she’d be halfway around the world. “She even brought a Russian tea maker,” he said, laughing. It was good to hear him laugh, since it didn’t happen often. “Don’t know where she found one of those. She apparently goes to garage sales with Tallie every weekend. Razor said she filled a whole bedroom with things.”

“What kind of things?”

“No telling. But she never had much before. It’s new for her to have something of her own. I think she likes it.” He went on for eons, describing all the ways Viktoriya had filled his home with small tastes of Russia.

The next night when we talked, it didn’t last anywhere near as long. He called when he got home after a game that the Thunderbirds had been shut out and had six goals scored against them. “I played like shit tonight,” he said.

“You weren’t that bad.”

“How would you know?”

“I was watching.”

He let out an indecipherable sound. “Was awful. No skating legs.”

“Why do you think your legs were shot?” I asked.

“Not sleeping.”

“Maybe you should try sleeping tonight, then.”

“Been trying. I’d sleep better if I could see you.”

“I’d sleep better if I didn’t have to worry about you.”

“Why you’re worried about me?”

“Because I’ve seen what guilt can do to a person.” Too many times to count, and some of them way too close for comfort.

“Guilt is good for you.”

“Guilt is good when it tells you to make amends for something. It’s not good when you can’t let it go once you’ve done that.”

“You don’t give up, do you?”

I couldn’t stop myself from smiling. “Not when it matters.”

“I matter to you?”

“You do.”

“Viktoriya said nothing good is easy.”

“Did she?” I asked, curious where this was heading.

“Must mean we’re better than good.”

I laughed. “Maybe we can be.”

“I still can’t come over?” he asked.

“No. But I’m glad you haven’t given up.”

“Can’t give up. You’re having my baby.”

The way he said it made my heart flutter with hope that he really meant he wanted to fight for this. For us. We’d fought plenty in the time we’d known each other, but this was the first time he’d given me any sense at all that he wanted to fight
for us
instead of
against me
. Which meant I had to fight for us just as hard as he intended to. I had to get my own life in order.

But hope could be dangerous. Too many times over the years with Wade, I’d allowed myself to hope he was finally turning the corner with his PTSD. Too many times, I’d been wrong. The weight of improperly placed hope was enough to crush me, so I was always cautious where I set mine.

Maybe I was too cautious.

But maybe I wasn’t.

The only way I could know for sure was to be patient and stick to my plan.