Page 2 of One Last Shot

“I will, sir.”

I hate pandering to his father like this when their relationship is so strained—it feels like a betrayal to Sasha—but this boarding school and the ski training it will provide me are my last hope at making the Austrian National Ski Team. I have two more years of high school, if I don’t make the team by the time I graduate, it’s unlikely I ever will. My high school coaches are good, but not good enough. The coach for that national team has told me as much. He said I am a promising skier but need more training. So I’m headed to the best school with the best ski training program I could get into.

I don’t know how my father will ever repay Mr. Ivanov, though Papa insists it’s doable. He says all I should worry about is my skiing and my academics, and leave the rest to him. As if I will be able to do that.

My father clears his throat and holds his hand out for the pen. There are two papers on the desk, and he bends to sign on the line above his name on both pages, and then hands me the pen to do the same. The Russian letters swim together, and I’m frustrated that I can’t read them. I speak four languages, but only read and write the three I’ve studied in school—German, French, and English. Still, I recognize my name and sign where I’m supposed to on both pages.

Before I push away from the desk, my eyes track to Sasha where he stands off to my side, but his eyes don’t meet mine. They’re too focused on the space where my denim miniskirt meets the back of my upper thighs. I’d give him shit for that if I wasn’t so thrilled and both our fathers weren’t here.

There was a time I worried he’d only ever think of me like a little sister, and then this summer happened. There have been so many moments like this one that have given me hope. And the longer his eyes are locked in place, the more that hope grows. Eventually he looks up, sees me noticing him staring, and quickly looks away.

Behind his desk, Mr. Ivanov takes the papers back. “Aleksandr,” he snaps as he holds the pen out to his son. If he’s embarrassed his father just caught him staring at my ass, he doesn’t show it.

Instead, he steps confidently up to the desk and the back of his left hand brushes against my hip as he passes me. I slow my breathing to calm my racing heart as I debate whether that was an accident or whether it was intentional. Sasha signs both papers, and Mr. Ivanov quickly pulls them out from under his son’s hand and signs them himself. He shuffles them together, opens a folder, and sets them inside.

Mr. Ivanov stands, and it’s obvious where Sasha gets his height, though it’s always amused me that the resemblance ends there. Whereas they both have fair skin, Sasha’s got eyes the color of steel and hair that’s nearly black like mine, while his father’s blond hair is graying with age and his blue eyes are so pale they’re almost lifeless. Both Niko and Sasha must take after their mother.

“I wish you the best at school, Petra,” Mr. Ivanov says and holds his hand out to shake mine.

“Thank you. I’ll work my hardest.” I sound like an idiot, but I’m not sure what else to say to this man with the eyes that refuse to thaw. Even his well wishes sound forced, like he doesn’t know how to show genuine emotion—which has me wondering why he’s helping me at all.

I want to feel the thrill of excitement from this amazing opportunity I’ve been given, but there’s a worry wriggling around in the deep recesses of my mind. I pray Papa hasn’t gotten in too deep.

Papa and I leave the library and head back toward the stairs. I glance over my shoulder once we’re in the hallway and find Sasha watching me walk away. I don’t have time to consider what that means because as we descend the stairs Papa tells me, “I have to go check in with Felix about a delivery of some fruit trees he’s ordered.”

The mention of our new gardener, who just started this summer, gives me pause. He’s in his twenties and stupidly attractive. I may have spent some of the early summer flirting with him—more out of boredom than anything—but I’ve been keeping my distance since Sasha’s been home. When he’s here, Sasha occupies all the space in my mind.

I’ve spent the last few years wishing I didn’t care about Sasha quite so much. He’s never seen me like I wanted him to—I was like a little sister or a best friend, but never more—until, I hope, now. Each time we’ve touched accidentally and not pulled away immediately in response, the way he looks at me sometimes, his eyes lingering on my body in a way they didn’t before. Or maybe they did, and he’s just not as good at hiding it this summer? Maybe at sixteen I’m finally old enough that he doesn’t need to hide it?

“All right,” I say to my father as we walk out the door. “I’ll see you back at the cottage, then.”

Papa turns right, toward the greenhouse, and I head down the crushed stone path between boxwood hedges that will lead back to our cottage. I’ve walked for less than a minute before the sound of crunching gravel behind me has me stopping. I turn to find Sasha.

The boy is a man now, he just keeps growing. He seems to have topped out at six foot three, but he has more muscle every time I see him. He stalks toward me, never as graceful on his feet as he is on his skates. His huge frame should be intimidating. I rarely feel safe around men, but Sasha has always been a protector. My protector.

He steps into my space, a hair too close to be considered polite distance, and those gray eyes are practically black in the fading light.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” he says, as if I haven’t been dreading the day he returns to Russia and his hockey team.

“I know, I’ve been counting down the days.”

“Because you can’t wait to be rid of me?”

I consider being coy. I think about telling him I can’t wait for him to finally leave, then reaching out and sliding my hand down his chest. My entire body tingles at the thought, at how he might react to my mixed message. But I can’t do that to him. He doesn’t need teasing. Sasha needs unconditional love more than he needs anything else, even if he doesn’t know it yet.

“Because I hate it when you leave.” I can feel my lips turning down at the corners.

“Hey,” he says, reaching out and tilting my chin up so I’m looking at him instead of at my sandals. “I’m still very much here.”

“Yeah, for like twelve more hours.” I don’t know if this crushing sense of disappointment is just because he’s leaving, or because he’s leaving and I still don’t know if he feels the same way about me.

“I bet you’re not even going to miss me. You’ll be away at boarding school anyway,” he says with a small smile. “You’re going to love it.”

“I hope so.” So far, high school has been hell. The girls all hate me, and the guys pay way too much attention to me.

“Most importantly,” he says, “you’re going to be skiing all the time. This is your chance, Petra. Keep your eyes on the prize and don’t let anything distract you from your goals. You’re so close.”

I love skiing, but I do worry that getting to do it every day still won’t be enough to fill all the lonely voids in my life. “I know. I don’t do anything halfway. I’m one hundred percent committed.”

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