Ghost Dance (Tulsa Thunderbirds Book 3) (5 page)

“How would you know?”

“I remember when it happened. I was seventeen. I’d been watching you since you first came into the league. You always had a baby face and a big smile. Now you have that ugly beard and your hair’s too long. What are you hiding?”

“Why should I tell you?”

“Maybe you don’t need to tell me, but you should tell someone.”

“Nothing to tell,” he said. Then he drank his entire triple shot of espresso in a single swallow.

“You wish that were vodka?” I asked, watching his grimace.

“Don’t drink vodka. Not anymore.”

“Not since the wreck?”

He stared at me, those dark eyes trying to bore holes through me. It was like he wanted to see if he could break me, make me blink first. I refused to back down or look away.

“I drank after wreck. Tried to forget.”

“So why’d you quit drinking?”

“Didn’t work. Couldn’t forget. Realized I needed to remember.”

“Is that what the beard is about? Trying to remember?”

“
Nyet
.” He sounded more exasperated with me than ever, the word coming out like a dog’s bark, and he clenched one hand into a fist. His right hand, which had something tattooed on the back of it in Cyrillic. He had a lot more ink than just that, too. His arms, back, ribs, legs, hell, even his neck had black ink permanently etched into it. He was a walking billboard. “Beard is just beard.”

“I doubt it. You gonna tell me your tattoos are just tattoos next? That they don’t mean anything?”

“Tattoos have meaning.”

“Yeah? What’s that one mean?” I nodded toward his hand.

“It’s personal.”

“Everything’s personal, Nazarenko.”

“Dima,” he corrected me. “Or Dmitri, if you want.”

“How about you answer a question, and then I’ll call you whatever the hell you want to be called?”

“How about you stop asking stupid questions?”

I gave him a sly grin over the top of my latte as I sipped. “Been asking them twenty-four years, if you ask my brother, and I haven’t stopped yet. I doubt you’ll have better luck than he has.”

“Why do you torture me like this?”

“Torture?” I winked. “If I really wanted to torture you, I’m sure I could find a much better way of doing it than having coffee in a public place.”

“I need more coffee. To put up with you.” He shoved back his chair and stalked away with his empty cup, ignoring my laughter.

I watched him as he stood in line, still as a statue. In annoyance, he crushed the cup. Then he tossed it in the nearest trash bin and crossed his arms, determinedly looking anywhere but at me. Once he’d finally received his order, he glared down at his cup and tromped back to our table.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, still not hiding my amusement.

He glared at me as he set the cup down between us. It read
Sir Grouch-A-Lot
this time.

I snorted from laughing so hard.

“Yeah, very funny,” he groused.

At first, I hadn’t been sure I was doing the right thing when I’d blocked him in the locker room and dragged him along with me. It’d just been a gut feeling, something that felt right, after watching him the whole day.

But now? Now I knew, without a doubt, that Sergei was right. Someone needed to needle at this man, to prod and dig and tease until he broke.

And while it might amuse me to no end to poke this bear of a man, I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to be the one to keep doing it. I’d been going at him all afternoon, and he still hadn’t budged. Not even an inch.

Which told me he was dead set on staying exactly as he was.

Lost.

Lonely.

Angry.

Beating himself up over a past that could never be changed.

I wasn’t sure I had the patience to drag him out of that, but I doubted I could back away now.

His cell phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out. “Have to go,” he said a moment later. “Need you to take me back to my car.”

“Something wrong?”

He shook his head. “Hunter needs my help.”

“Where? I can take you there.”

“Just need my car. Fast.”

“It’ll be quicker if we just go straight from here,” I pointed out. “I can take you back to your car when you’re done.”

He glared some more, then chugged his second triple espresso. Something told me he wouldn’t sleep for a week. But then he backed away from the table and headed for the door.

“Let’s go,” he said.

I followed him, a grin stealing over my face. On my way out, I gave the barista a thumbs-up. I was probably opening up a can of worms I didn’t really want to get into, but at the moment, I didn’t care. It was way too much fun to spar with this guy.

“YOU CAN GO
home,” I said to London as she came to a stop in Hunter’s driveway. “Hunter can take me back to my car later.” The sun was already setting, anyway. No reason for London to stay out with me. Depending on how bad Harper’s current fit was, I might end up staying for hours. Besides, if London came in, Tallie would insist on adopting her like she did everyone, and I’d never get this woman out of my life. Hunter’s wife was relentless.

London put the car in park and shut off the engine. “It’s all right. I don’t mind.”

“So, no being subtle with you?” I groused, ripping open the door and climbing out. “I’m trying to tell you to leave.”

“I’m not done with you today,” she said before I could slam the door closed. She pushed the button on the passenger seat, bringing it forward so she could get her chair and wheels out from the back.

I was tempted to storm into Hunter’s house and leave her out here alone, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to do it. She moved into her chair and gave me a look, then headed for the door in front of me. I hurried to get there first and ring the bell. It was only when we got there that I remembered the step.

I hadn’t yet decided what to do—whether I should offer to lift her up or angle the chair so she could somehow roll over the step—when I realized she was already taking matters into her own hands. She picked up speed and headed toward the step. Just before getting there, she tipped back to raise her front wheels, then leaned forward to bring the larger back wheels along with her.

I tried to act like I’d seen the same thing dozens of times before and she hadn’t just blown yet another of my ideas about her all to pieces, then rang the bell.

Tallie, as disheveled as I’d ever seen her, opened the door. She had purple circles under her eyes, and her usually perfect hair was frazzled. Not only that, but she was wearing some stained pajamas underneath one of her usual aprons.

“How long she’s been crying?” I asked, stepping inside without an invitation.

London followed us inside and closed the door, but I was focused on the sound of Harper’s screams coming from down the hall. I headed that way with Tallie.

“A few hours? I don’t know. I’ve lost track of time, it’s been going on for so long.”

I walked straight into the nursery, where Hunter was pacing back and forth with the little girl bouncing over his shoulder. She had a fist of his long hair tangled with her fingers, and her face was as red and wet as ever.

“Why didn’t you call me sooner?”

“Because you had that game today, dumb ass,” Hunter said.

I reached for the baby, and he readily passed her over.

“Game ended almost two hours ago,” I muttered, drawing her in close to me. Then I switched to Russian. “There you are,
kukolka
,” I said, patting her back. “Dima’s here.”

Within moments, she started to settle, so I took a seat in her rocker and pushed us into a gentle motion. Since she calmed so soon, I was almost positive she’d already cried herself out before I got there, but I didn’t want to tell Hunter and Tallie that. My time with Harper was as much a balm to my own soul as it was to hers, and I wasn’t ready to give it up.

Especially not after a day like today, when London Hawke had trampled all over the last of my frayed nerves. I needed this as much as the baby did. It might not be much longer before she didn’t need me anymore, but I would still need her.

“I’ll calm her down,” I said, since Hunter and Tallie were both standing near the doorway, looking on with hopeful expressions. “You send London home.”

“London?” Hunter asked.

“That’s me.” London’s voice came from the hall, and both of them turned around. “I drove him here. We were having coffee after the game.”

Just like that, Tallie turned around with a renewed gleam in her eyes that sent shivers racing up my spine. “Well,” she said, and it was clear she meant to be speaking to London even though she was looking straight at me. “Isn’t this a surprise? It isn’t every day that Dima brings one of his girls around.”

“She just dropped me off. She can leave now,” I argued.

Tallie gave me an over-my-dead-body sort of look. “Not if I have anything to say about it. Come on, London. Let’s go to the kitchen. You can help me make dinner.”

I stared Hunter down. “Make Tallie stop. London should go home.”

“I don’t think you understand, since you’re not married, but there’s no
making
Tallie do anything. Ever. If the thought strikes her that she wants something, then she and I both have to do everything required in order to be sure she gets it.”

“You owe me. Deal with it, or no more baby whisperer.”

He snorted on his way out the door. “Whatever, Dima. You’re smitten with that baby. All I have to do is text you, any time of the day or night, and you’re here in twenty minutes. You’re not going to cut her off just because I don’t make my wife kick your girlfriend out.”

“Not my girlfriend,” I called out to his retreating form.

He laughed.

I looked down at Harper, who had her big, wet eyes trained on me, her chin trembling as she grasped for my beard. “London isn’t my girlfriend,” I said to her in Russian. “She’s a thorn in my side. Why won’t your papa help me get rid of her, huh? We need to teach him to run people off before you’re a teenager, don’t we?”

She made a sound that was half whimper and half coo.

“If he doesn’t, I’ll do it. I’ll scare those boys away. Just the ones you don’t want in your life, though. I’ll only scare the good ones enough to make sure they don’t do anything stupid. You should learn now,
kukolka
, that boys are stupid. And even if they say they’re not just trying to get in your pants, they’re liars.”

The longer I talked, the calmer she became. Soon, I was telling her about the summer I was sixteen and my papa died, and how Sergei, who was two years older, had looked out for me. He’d gone on to play pro hockey, and he’d taken me with him. “In Russia, once you’re fifteen, they leave you to be on your own if you have no parents. Most of those kids end up in bad situations, little one. Very bad. And that was to be my fate. But Sergei wouldn’t leave me all alone. He took me with him and helped me find my own way. I don’t know where I would be if not for Sergei. I’ll bring him over someday for you to meet. He doesn’t have a beard for you to pull, but he can talk to you in Russian and tell you stories about me as a boy. Stories that will make me glad you don’t understand, probably.”