“I’m sorry . . .” She barely got the words out. “I’m going back to Russia.”
CHAPTER ONE
Six months later
In another era, the neglected building on the south bank of the Cumberland River might have been quaint and inviting. Happy, even. But no more.
Empty, broken flower boxes hung beneath windows that had been painted black and boarded up from the inside. The thin scraps of what had once been red-and-white awnings flapped in the humid June breeze, clinging to the building’s past like ghosts who whispered of the dangers that awaited. Only fools would willingly fail to heed their warning, but Vlad had already proven himself a fool. And even as his mind berated his body for its weakness, his skin prickled in anticipation of the sweet relief he knew he would find once he knocked on the door.
The man sitting next to him in the passenger seat of his car berated him for another reason entirely. “Let me get this straight,” Colton said, adding some whiny twang to his voice. “I don’t hear from you for three months, and when you finally call, it’s for this? So we can sit here while you mutter to yourself in Russian?”
“It has not been three months,” Vlad protested. It had actually been four.
In the first several weeks after Mack’s wedding—after Elena told him she was leaving and wanted to end their marriage—Vlad deluded himself that he could still be part of the book club. But every minute with the guys was more painful than the last. Their happiness was salt to a wound, and when he finally told them that he and Elena were getting a divorce, their earnest offers to help were even worse. He couldn’t stand to spend one more minute making up excuses and lies. Couldn’t stand to watch his friends live the life he always dreamed of, knowing he would never have the same. Couldn’t stand to be reminded that his belief that he could build a real marriage with Elena was nothing more than a delusional fantasy. The manuals had filled him with nothing but false hope that Elena could ever see him as the romance hero of her dreams. That she could ever love him like the romance heroine of his. He knew the truth now. Happy ever afters were for other men.
All Vlad had left was hockey.
And now, for first time in twenty-five years, the Nashville Vipers had made it to the conference finals of the Stanley Cup playoffs. One more win, and they’d be in the championship series. Vlad had never hit harder, skated better, or scored more goals than he had in the past six months.
He couldn’t risk losing now. What would be left of his life?
“I curse the day I told you about this place,” Colton said. “I thought I was doing you a favor, cheering you up and shit. I didn’t know you’d become an addict.”
Vlad clenched the steering wheel. “I’m not an addict.”
“Really? Then what the fuck are we doing here?”
“I need it. For the game tonight. I need it.” Even to Vlad, his voice sounded small and weak, powerless to the pull of his desire.
“No, you don’t. It’s a dumb superstition.”
“I swore the last time that I would never come again, and look what happened. We lost the game.”
“So that’s why you finally called me? So I can get you back in with my membership?”
Vlad stared ahead at the gloomy façade. “Since I started coming here, I have played like a beast. I cannot risk it again.”
“This is the last time, Vlad,” Colton said, throwing open his door. “I’m not coming here again with you.”
Vlad followed closely behind as Colton marched toward the door of the building, his feet crunching on gravel and shattered glass.
“I mean it,” Colton said, spinning and poking Vlad in the chest. “You can’t just disappear on us for months and then call me up for a favor like nothing ever happened. The guys and I deserve better than that.”
The weight of regret and guilt tugged Vlad’s gaze to the dirty, broken concrete beneath his feet. “I know. You are right. I am sorry.”
“We miss you, man. And we’re worried about you. I know the divorce is hitting you hard, but that’s what we’re here for. To help you fix things.”
“There is nothing to fix,” Vlad said, meeting Colton’s gaze again. “I told you before. She is leaving, and there is nothing I can do to stop her.”
“How do you know if you won’t let us try?”
“Enough!” Vlad barked.
Colton blinked, shock coloring his expression at the unfamiliar bite to Vlad’s tone. He never raised his voice with his friends. Never.
Vlad swore under his breath and dragged his hand across the whiskers that had already begun to sprout along his jaw even though he’d shaved just a few hours ago. “I know you are trying to help, but Elena has made her decision. She is going back to Russia to be a journalist like her father. There is nothing I can do about that.”
Colton regarded him silently for a moment before acknowledging Vlad’s words with a simple nod. Then he turned around and resumed walking.
A single window in the center of the door was blocked by a small wooden shutter. Colton knocked three times in quick succession and then twice more. A moment passed, and someone from inside knocked once. Colton followed with two more knocks. The shutter slid open, and a pair of dark eyes peered out.
“Coin,” a voice said.
Colton held up the round silver disc that proved his membership in this clandestine club. The shutter closed with a snap and was followed by the sound of heavy locks turning. The door opened, bringing a burst of cold air and a sour smell.
Colton slipped into the darkness, Vlad closely behind. As soon as they were inside, the door slammed shut behind them.
“Back again so soon?” The stern voice that demanded their coins now mocked them. Vlad clenched a fist, but Colton stepped between them.
“Our money no good for you or something?” Colton snapped.
The man, a scrawny little cuss who made up for his slight build with an attitude that would’ve gotten him knocked on his ass on the ice, just smirked and pointed. “Wait inside. He’ll be with you shortly.”
Vlad and Colton walked down a short hallway that ended with a slight ramp, where a thick black tarp hung low to the ground. Vlad pushed the curtain aside. When he walked through, bright lights automatically turned on, momentarily blinding him. But after blinking a couple of times, he adjusted to the light, and his mouth began to water.
The inner room was as sterile and pristine as the outer entryway was disgusting and dirty. Stainless-steel refrigerators lined an entire wall, and matching countertops were lined up classroom-style through the center of the room.
Atop each table, a line of platters displayed the source of his weakness. The names were scribbled on tiny chalkboards, an alphabetic smorgasbord of the world’s greatest delights. Ädelost. Burrata. Fontina. Passendale.