Breakaway: An Accidental Marriage Hockey Romance (Sinners on the Ice)
Chapter 3

I jolt up in bed, breathing heavily. My body is covered in a cold sweat; my hair is stuck to my forehead. I glance at my nightstand, and five a.m. flashes on the clock. It’s the fifth time in two weeks that I’ve woken up long before my alarm is set to go off. With a groan, I push the covers aside and get up, heading into the bathroom. A shower is the only thing I can count on to help me get rid of the remnants of my nightmares.

It will be seven years next week, but it still feels like it happened yesterday. The void in my chest never goes away, aching more and more with each year that passes. All my achievements, all my victories and losses, my sleepless nights and lonely days during the offseason, I can never share those with him. With the person who deserved all of this so much more than I do…my brother.

Warm water streams down my face and over my body. I shut my eyes tighter, trying—and failing—to hold it together. “Chert⁠1,” I cuss, sliding down and slumping onto my ass in the shower. A single tear leaks out of my eye and trails down my cheek. I catch it with my tongue, tasting salt and feeling resentment toward myself. A fucking crybaby. Tilting my face up, I close my eyes, letting my tears mix with the droplets of water.

My therapist said I shouldn’t be ashamed of living. Shouldn’t feel guilty, because it wasn’t my fault. That’s so easy to say, and so hard to do. Especially with the anniversary coming up.

I need to go somewhere, anywhere, just to distract myself and keep from getting lost in my memories. My teammate Dean Crawford’s text pops into my mind, and I realize I’m not so opposed to his idea anymore. Going somewhere loud and crowded, with booze and the prospect of replaceing some random girl for a hookup, sounds like just what the doctor ordered. Anything to soothe this pain. My anger. My night terrors. Anything to make me feel less than I currently do.

Slowly, I stand up, turn the water cold, and let it envelop me. Only when my teeth start to chatter do I get out of the shower, grab the towel from the hook, and dry my body. I stop in front of the mirror, eyeing my reflection wearily. Nothing a few mugs of coffee can’t help with. I run a hand down my face, thick stubble tickling my palm. It’s not that visible, and it’s far from the beard my teammate Colton Thompson is sporting. His looks great, while mine barely grows, and I don’t have the patience to wait until it fills in. A clean-shaven face is what I usually go for, but for the past few weeks, I’ve been slacking on everything, including my looks. I’ll fix it soon. Maybe tomorrow…or some other time.

I lower my eyes to my SpongeBob tattoo and trace it with my fingertips. The ghost of a smile curves my lips, and I whisper the word that’s written beneath it. “Optimist.” The title of my brother’s favorite song and his motto for life. I’m not even close to the person he was, but God knows I’m trying. For him. For Mom. And maybe for me, the little Belarusian boy who spent his days dreaming about playing in the NHL with his twin. Inhaling sharply, I shake my head and walk out of the bathroom.

My sleep schedule is definitely out of whack, but with the time difference, this is exactly when my mom’s workday is over. Starting my morning by talking to her will set the right tone for the day. At least, I want to believe that.

“It’s too early,” Mom says instead of a greeting. “Why are you awake, Roma?”

“Just forgot to turn off my alarm. Don’t worry.”

Mom sighs. “I didn’t know I raised a liar.”

Sauntering to the window in silence, I look down at the pool. The water shimmers under the barely there sunlight; it’s peaceful and quiet, making me think about the house I saw last time I was scrolling through Zillow. Beige brick facade, two stories, with floor-to-ceiling windows and a light brown roof. It had a neat lawn and a pool in the backyard. It’s in a good neighborhood; Colton and Ava live nearby. That house is exactly what I want in the future…when my mom is here with me, and maybe my future wife. And yet, I closed the app the second similar thoughts filled my mind. I’m not ready for that. Living in a rented apartment suits me better.

A borrowed life in a borrowed place. The best description of Roman Pashkevich.

“Synok⁠2?” I blink, pushing away my gloomy thoughts. A note of worry is loud in my mom’s voice. “Are they back? Your nightmares?”

“They aren’t too bad.”

“Roma,” she mutters under her breath. “Why don’t you start therapy again?”

“I can handle it, Mom. Grief isn’t new to me.”

“Neither is guilt. It was never your fault, but you let this feeling consume you. Even seven years later, it’s still the same. You need to move on,” she pleads, her voice shaking. “I’m not telling you to forget. I’m just asking you to stop living as if you don’t deserve to be here. Maksim would’ve been so proud of you.”

“I will, Mom. I promise,” I say quietly, turning away from the window and heading to the kitchen. “Tell me something good, pozhaluysta⁠3. I kinda need it.”

A soft chuckle follows my words, and then Mom starts talking about her day at work. About her new colleague Olya, a cute redhead who is twenty-five just like me. I laugh at her not-so-subtle attempt to match me with this girl, even if the chances of me ever meeting her are close to zero.

I haven’t been in a relationship since I was eighteen and my life went to hell. And while I’m not opposed to the idea of starting a family one day, for now it’s definitely the last thing I’m interested in.

Besides, how can I love someone when I hate myself? It’s a road leading straight to heartbreak.

“Hey, Dean,” I say, stopping in front of Crawford.

He immediately wraps me in a hug, clapping my back. “Hey, man. Happy you changed your mind.” He steps back, his green eyes twinkling with mischief. “I really thought I’d need to beg you.”

“That desperate?”

“I got back from Arizona a week ago, and I’m already so fucking bored.” He shrugs. “Thompson is in Michigan with his family. Benson and his girlfriend are in France. Koskinen is still in Finland, just like Couri. And you were trying to bail on me. Not cool, dude.”

“Sorry.” I grin as we head to the entrance of the club. “I’m not the best company these days, but I’ll try not to be a buzzkill.”

Crawford squints down at me. “If you need to vent⁠—”

“It’s all good. Don’t worry. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Okay.” His plump lips ease into a big smile. “Any goals for tonight?”

I smirk, hiding my hands in my pockets as the bouncer lets us in. “I’m not leaving this place alone.”

“Me either.” Crawford laughs, bumping me with his shoulder. “Let’s go, Thunder Boy.”

Rolling my eyes at the nickname, I follow him further into the club. The pulsating beat of the music goes right through my body, sending a gazillion goosebumps over my skin. The sound is loud and pounding, and I start to nod my head to the bass. EDM is definitely one of my favorite genres, especially when I just want to relax and not think about anything. It’s exactly what I need right now.

Here’s hoping that tonight will be just like the beat. Fun and uncomplicated.

I watch Crawford dance with a petite brunette, a smile playing on my lips. It’s been three hours, and I don’t regret coming here with him. Dean is fun to be around, easygoing and very friendly. Not once has he tried to get me to open up. Instead, we just talked about our time off, our teammates, and his plans to go to Mexico next weekend. The more I listened to him, the more I really feel like I should go somewhere too. To distract myself from my memories and give my tortured mind a break.

Nursing the glass of whiskey in my hand, I let my eyes wander around the place. The dance floor is packed, so many people dancing and chilling to the blaring music. My gaze doesn’t linger on anyone as my thoughts swirl in my head. A few girls approached me, but despite my initial plan, I don’t want to go home with any of them. My fucked-up mood is a real turnoff to any attraction I might feel.

I raise my glass to my lips as my eyes zero in on a girl with blonde hair cascading down her shoulders and two little buns on top of her head. She’s dancing with a guy who has dark, curly, shoulder-length hair and his arm wrapped securely around her waist. Taking a sip of my drink, I frown, racking my brain and trying to understand why the girl looks so familiar.

The whiskey burns my throat, and tears form in my eyes. Realization finally dawns on me as I study her face. It’s Drake Benson’s girlfriend’s best friend, Nevaeh. And I know the look on her face all too well—she’s drunk.

Mesmerized, I watch as the guy slides his hand up, grazing Nevaeh’s tits until his palm is on her throat. He tilts her face toward him. I down my drink and rise to my feet. My focus is solely on them as I make my way through the crowd. The guy whispers something in Nevaeh’s ear, the strobe lights illuminating her face and reflecting in her glassy stare in a way that sends chills down my spine.

After she kept me company at the club the first time we met, we saw each other on several occasions: games she attended with Angie; Drake’s birthday party, where she was with her boyfriend. I don’t even remember talking to her the last time we were in the same room. I barely know her.

And here I am, an idiot playing the knight in shining armor in order to make sure she’s alright.

When I come to a stop, my eyes roam over Nevaeh, and my eyebrows pinch together. Not even a trace of pink remains in her honeyed blonde hair. Her shoulders sag, and the black minidress she’s wearing only accentuates the paleness of her skin. The dark streaks of smudged mascara under her eyes make me do a double take. She looks miserable. What the hell happened?

“Can I help you?” Tearing my gaze away from Nevaeh, I focus on the guy she’s dancing with. There’s a deep scowl on his lips, and his brows are drawn together. He’s lean and not really muscular, around five foot nine. He barely hovers over her.

Ignoring him, I step closer and lower my head so my eyes are on the same level with hers. “Nevaeh?”

Her gaze flickers to mine, and her luscious red lips slowly part. “You…”

“What do you want?” The guy tries again, his hand gripping Nevaeh’s waist even harder. “She doesn’t know you.”

I level him with a stare. “She does. Her best friend’s boyfriend is my teammate.” The guy narrows his eyes at me, pushing his hair off his face with his free hand. “So yeah, I know Nevaeh. What I don’t know is why it looks like you’re trying to take advantage of how drunk she is.”

“It’s not like that,” he retorts, avoiding my eyes. “She’s staying with me, and we decided to let loose a little. I had no idea she would get this wasted.”

“So instead of taking her home, you took her dancing?” I don’t mention that he was two seconds from shoving his tongue down her throat when I interrupted them.

The guy’s bravado slowly dissolves, and he fidgets in place, putting distance between him and Nevaeh.

“This is ridiculous.” He steps back abruptly, and Nevaeh’s legs shake now that she doesn’t have anyone to lean on. “Tell her she can get her stuff tomorrow. Her problems are not my concern. I’m done here.”

Hurrying away, the guy disappears into the crowd, leaving me alone with a very drunk Nevaeh.

Dammit. What am I supposed to do now?

1 Чёрт — Shit

2 Сынок? — Son?

3 Пожалуйста — Please