Gloves Off: a marriage of convenience hockey romance (Vancouver Storm Book 4)

I thought I was wrong about you.

A puck bounces off my chest, padded by my equipment. Walker stands twenty feet away with a curious grin, waiting.

You steamrolled right over me like you do everyone else.

“Sorry.” I give myself a shake.

I was actually starting to like you.

We resume the defensive drills. The best way to get her out of my head is to focus on hockey.

“Do I steamroll people?” I blurt out a few minutes later.

Walker gives me a strange look. “Huh?”

“Steamrolling.” I can feel the frown between my eyebrows, and when I swallow, there are rocks in my throat. I flex my hand, feeling my wedding ring beneath my glove. “Do I, uh, steamroll you?”

“If by steamroll you mean you think you know best and aren’t really interested in hearing anything different, uh . . .yeah. Definitely.”

Once again, the doctor was right.

I am not your wife.noveldrama

Walker hesitates. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

He leans on his stick. “Is this something to do with your pretty, new wife?”

“No.”

His eyebrows go up. “It has nothing to do with the smoking hot super babe that you married?”

I stare at the ice. She kissed me on the cheek this morning. How’d I go from that to Fuck you, Alexei? She told me all that stuff about medical school. She was just starting to trust me.

I can’t stop picturing the hurt look in her eyes.

I don’t know why I keep thinking about her. I don’t know why I can’t get her out of my head.

Walker laughs. “Volkov, what’s going on? Normally, you’d have my head on a stake by now, talking about her like this.”

“I bought her a car.”

Pleased surprise flickers in his eyes. “Nice.”

“Her car was always breaking down. It wasn’t safe.” I was worried about her. With hockey, I can’t always be there if she gets into a bad situation. “I got rid of her car without asking.”

Walker huffs a laugh. “Yikes.”

I pull my helmet off, raking a hand through my hair, pushing it back. It sounds bad, out loud.

Owens skates to a stop between us, spraying ice on the boards. “What’s going on, Chatty Cathys? Are we scrimmaging or what?”

“Volkov bought Georgia a new car.”

Owens gives me a big smile of approval, nodding. “Nice.”

“And he got rid of her other car without asking,” Walker adds.

Owens’ smile drops. “You didn’t.”

“I didn’t think it was a big fucking deal,” I rush out. How does everyone know this stuff but me?

Because you’re an asshole, a part of my brain whispers.

Owens glances up at the glass offices overlooking the ice. Her office is up there. I doubt she’s watching, though. “How did she react?”

“She was mad.” My gut twists, thinking of the way she looked at me this morning, so hurt and shocked. “Really mad.”

I hurt her. Pain writhes in my chest and I blow out a heavy breath. Fuck.

Owens gives me a wary look. “How did you react?”

My eyes close. “I told her she should be grateful and that most women would kill to be in her position.”

When I open my eyes, they’re both staring at me with wide eyes.

Owens lets out a sharp laugh. “Well, it was really nice knowing you, Volkov.”

I make a frustrated noise. “Probably not the best thing to say.”

I was actually starting to like you. I don’t know which stabs harder, that or her hurt expression which I keep replaying.

Even with Emma, I never felt like this. “I need to fix this.”

Miller skates over with his arms out in a what gives? gesture. “What, is this the golf course or something? Let’s play.”

“Volkov needs help,” Owens says.

“He got rid of Georgia’s car without asking her,” Walker explains, and I wish they’d stop repeating it, because it sounds worse every time I hear it.

How could I think that was okay? This is exactly the kind of thing Liam would do. Who the hell is Liam? Nausea and frustration rolls through me. I don’t even know what he did, but I hate being in the same group as that guy.

Miller whistles. “Bad boy, Volkov. I’m shocked you’re even standing right now. Hazel would have my balls for that.”

“She already has your balls,” Owens says.

He wiggles his eyebrows. “Yeah, she does.” He sobers and points to me. “Fix this.”

“I want to.” I exhale a hard breath. “I don’t know how,” I admit. “I need to get that car back.”

“At least.” Miller turns to Streicher in net and waves him over. “Practice is over. Volkov needs our help.”