Page 89 of Gloves Off

“Fir and Twelfth.”

We drive in silence for a few minutes before he flicks an irritated glance at me. “You’re buying a new car.”

“Volkov, I didn’t ask you to drive me. Besides, I don’t need a new car. Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Your car is a piece of shit. It isn’t safe.”

We’re approaching the school where we practice. “Here’s fine.”

“This intersection? Tell me where you’re going and I’ll drive you there.”

Why won’t he drop this? “Volkov, stop being so stubborn.”

Outrage flashes in his expression. “You’rethe stubborn one. I’mnot letting you traipse around dark alleys in the middle of the night.”

“Again, it’ssix thirty. If you let me out here, it’s easier for you.”

“Since when have you cared about making things easier for me?”

He doesn’t say it unkindly, and there’s a tiny, minuscule spark in his eyes when he glances at me sidelong thatalmostlooks like he’s laughing.

“If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were making a joke.”

He stares at me and makes a low, growly noise in his throat that I find annoyingly hot. “I want to make sure you’re safe,” he says quietly, still wearing that serious, hard expression, and for some reason, I actually believe him.

This is weird. We don’t act like this with each other. Volkov’s an asshole—he doesn’t get protective and caring.

The light turns green. “Up another half block and then turn right onto Helmcken.”

A minute later, he parks in front of the school. I can already see the girls gathering at the field. I open the door and slide out.

“Thanks for the ride.” I close the door behind me, but his door opens, and he gets out of the car. “No. No, no.” I’m shaking my head. “What are you doing?”

He gives me a look I can’t decipher. “You’re just going to end up calling me for a ride home, anyways.”

As if. I’d never ask for his help. And now he’s going to spend the night watching me coach, judging me and telling me how bad I am at it?

“Fine.” I shrug like I’m unaffected. “Make yourself useful.”

CHAPTER 43

ALEXEI

“Last fifteen minutes,”my wife calls to the girls forty-five minutes later. “You know what that means.”

“Scrimmage?” one of the girls asks with a hopeful smile.

Georgia grins and nods. “Scrimmage.”

Excitement ripples through the team, each player wearing a sharp-looking red and black soccer kit. The Vancouver Devils. Everything tonight has been about rehabilitation and healing. They’ve done an easy warm-up, physio exercises, and low-impact skill work, but I can tell they’re itching for more.

“Easy mode, though,” she tells them with athis means businessexpression. “Slow it down. This is not the time to push too hard.”

They divvy up the teams and start the game.

“How’s the knee, Isabel?” she asks a player who’s wearing a knee brace.

“Fine,” the girl calls back.

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