Page 49 of Heated Rivalry 1
“I will be honored,” Ilya lied. He wanted to toss back the vodka and pour himself four or five more.
“Youshouldbe honored that he would want to meet you. After last night.”
Ilya bit down on the inside of his cheek.
“To lose to Latvia,” his father continued. “How could you have allowed that to happen? How are you not ashamed?”
“Iamashamed, Father.”
His father waved a hand. “Not nearly enough. They don’t teach you discipline in the American league. You are sloppy now. It’s a shame because you had such promise when you were young.”
I am only twenty-two. I am one of the best hockey players in the world.
“I am a better player now than I have ever been. The team just hasn’t been working well together.”
Wrong thing to say.
“You are the captain, are you not? Whose fault is it if the team isn’t working together?”
The coach?
Instead of saying anything, Ilya looked at the floor and waited for his father to change the subject.
Grigori stepped closer, setting his vodka on a table, and began to needlessly adjust Ilya’s bowtie. “Aagh. Who tied this for you? Your mother? She doesn’t know how to do this properly.”
Ilya froze. His breath caught in his throat, and he swallowed hard before saying, as evenly as possible, “No, Father. Mom is dead. Remember?”
And then Grigori froze, and Ilya could see the confusion in his eyes before he blinked and shook his head. “Yes, of course. I know that. I was thinking of your stepmother.”
“And where is Polina tonight?” Ilya asked, ignoring his father’s obvious lie.
“Home.” No further explanation. Fine. Ilya didn’t care anyway.
His father released Ilya’s bowtie and smoothed a hand over his lapels.
“We should go,” Ilya said.
Grigori’s brow furrowed. “Yes...”
“To the gala,” Ilya supplied. “For the Olympics. You are going to introduce me to the Minister.”
Grigori’s head snapped up, eyes blazing. “I know that!” He turned away from his son and threw open the closet door. He pulled his overcoat off the hanger and put it on.
Ilya didn’t like his father, but he hated watching him deteriorate. He wondered if it would be easier when Grigori’s brain was fully gone and he no longer had to suffer the embarrassment of drifting in and out of himself.
“With me, Ilya. And behave tonight. Try to make up for the shame you have already brought your country.”
He made it hard to feel sorry for him.
“Of course. I will.”
As Ilya followed his father down the hallway to the elevators, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He quickly glanced at the screen.
Jane: Having a good time?
He really did not need Shane stupid Hollander to be trying to make contact. Not here. Not now.
He ignored the message, and stuffed his phone back into his pocket.
