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

I hate losing.

It’s part of the job. Part of every sport there is. And still, I fucking loathe it.

We won four games, one after the other, but now it’s our second game in a row that we’ve lost. It’s our second away game, dammit. It’s one to five with only four minutes left in the third period, and it makes me mad.

I grab my water bottle and drink, my hand tightening around it. My eye twitches when I see Seattle leading another charge at our net.

“Da chto za…⁠1” I mutter, falling quiet and gritting my teeth instead of cursing louder. My fucked-up mood is all over the place. Thankfully, this time Rodgers makes a brilliant save, and I release the breath I was holding.

Jumping to my feet, I rush on the ice and go after Carter, Seattle’s winger. I cut around him in the left circle, ruining his chances for a clear pass and sending the puck in Colton’s direction instead. Realistically, I don’t think we can win, but we can try to score at least one more time while making sure Seattle doesn’t score again. I’ll take it as a fucking personal offense if they end up scoring six goals.

When I notice Seattle’s winger, Svensson, dashing toward our net, I speed after him. He hits the puck, making a diagonal pass to his teammate in the right circle. Fuck. I grit my teeth, pushing as hard as I can to intercept the puck. Pavel Bure’s speed would come in fucking handy right now.

Leaning forward, I extend my stick as far as I can, catching the puck at the last moment, literally grabbing it right from under Seattle’s nose. I glance over my shoulder, noticing Drake, and send the puck flying into the board so it’ll land right where he is.

The second he has the puck, he skates behind the net, Seattle’s players stalking him. With a short pass from behind the net, the puck ends up right in front of Colton, and he doesn’t waste even a moment, just lifts his stick and fires a goal into the left corner behind Seattle’s goalie.

Thank fucking God. At least we scored two.

When the game ends, the final score on the Jumbotron gives me an expected rush of anger. Five to two isn’t the best way to end a game, but at least we didn’t let them score more, and we got that second goal. I’m not super proud of myself, but, like Drake always says—it’s just another lesson. Take in the loss, mull it over, learn from your mistakes, and do better next time.

“I watched the Champion’s League game with Thompson last night, and you fucking reminded me of Rüdiger from Real,” Clay says, looking at me with a lopsided grin. “The way you sped up in the third period was awesome. I can’t wait to check the highlights.”

I roll my eyes and look out the window. We’re heading to the airport for our flight home, and, strangely, the atmosphere on the bus is super calm. Obviously, no one is happy that we lost, but it doesn’t feel bitter. Or maybe it’s just me. I think I’m getting better at accepting defeat.

Mom watches every game, most of the time recorded because of the time zone difference, and she says I’m not as brutal as I used to be. She’s sure it’s all Nevaeh’s influence. And no matter how much I want to argue with her and prove her wrong, deep down I know she’s right.

It’s all because of my wife.

Nevaeh sees my flaws and knows damn well how imperfect I am. She’s witnessed my broken parts, and instead of running away she holds them close, feeding my soul with her warmth and affection. Even when I’m falling into the abyss of my own darkness, she stays with me. Being with her is easy. Effortless. Right. And she’s not trying to change me…I’m changing for her myself.

“Any plans for tonight?” Clay’s voice rips me out of my thoughts. I turn my head to look at him, and a half smile plays on his face. “Or maybe your only plan is your wife?”

I smirk. “My only plan is my wife.” I pull my phone out of my pocket and unlock it. “The article she’s been working on was published today. I think I’ll take her out to celebrate. Or maybe we’ll order in and stay home. I haven’t decided yet. It depends on what sort of mood she’s in.”

“Must be nice to have someone waiting for you at home.” Clay’s gaze becomes distant. Shaking his head at himself, he looks out the window. “All I plan to do is play Xbox until I pass out.”

“That kinda⁠—”

“Sucks, I know,” he says with a shrug. “I just know what I want, and I don’t want to settle for something that isn’t right for me.”

I keep silent, holding my unlocked phone and just staring at my teammate. “Layla is great,” I blurt, and Clay’s eyes flare at me, and then at Drake, who’s sitting with Colton in the next row over.

“You probably want to make that reservation, Pashkevich,” he drawls, diverting his attention to the window. Laughing, I open the last message Nevaeh sent me, read it, and quickly reply.

Me:

On my way to the airport. Plan to buy your magazine so I can read your article on my flight

Malyshka:

Hope you like it

Malyshka:

And I can’t wait to see you

Me:

I have no doubt I’ll like it. I’m so proud of you, Nevaeh

Slipping my phone in my pocket, I notice the airport ahead of us, and my lips stretch into a big smile. I’ll be home soon.

With my earbuds in, I nestle comfortably into my seat and open the magazine I bought. A few of my teammates start throwing curious glances my way, but I don’t care what they think about me reading a magazine with Olivia Rodrigo on the cover. I would read a fairy tale about a princess if Nevaeh wrote it, simply because I want to support her. If it matters to her, it matters to me. It’s the kind of logic I believe is right. Because I’d do anything for the people I care about.

Nevaeh doesn’t deserve anything less.

I think we all learn from a very young age to be compassionate. To be respectful and merciful to those who need it. A homeless man, an orphaned child, a grieving family. It’s so easy to feel sorry for them. For most of us, our desire to do something to help, to support, is powerful. Listening to their stories, crying with them about the tragedies of their past, feeling happy when we see how their lives are changing for the better. It feels all kinds of right, and we never question it. Never think there might be others who desperately need help too…but some people just do a good job of hiding it.

We see them in crowds. In the faces of our classmates. In our colleagues. In our friends. In a woman who passes us hurriedly on the street. These people are everywhere, and the only thing that unites them is a lack of love.

And I was one of them.

Tightness in my chest prevents me from breathing freely. I wiggle in my seat, as if hoping that if I change my posture it will be better. Of course it won’t. The feeling isn’t physical; it’s all emotional. It’s suffocating me, forming a lump in my throat. My eyebrows are pulled together, and I start chewing on the inside of my cheek.

Moya devochka…⁠2

More than anyone, kids look up to their parents. Especially when it comes to their professions, looks, or behaviors. I was no exception. Growing up, I’d watch my mom and think she was the most beautiful woman in the world. The most elegant and stylish. I wanted to be just like her. She was my role model, and more than anything I wanted her to notice me. To hear her praise me for my achievements. I desperately needed her, but she never cared.

Neither did my dad, who thought money would fix my loneliness.

By the age of six, I knew I was an unwanted child. A burden that my parents carried as they both drowned in their own misery. We were a wealthy family that lived without love in a house filled to the brim with hate and indifference.

Unfortunately, little by little, it poisoned my heart.

I keep reading, learning more and more about her childhood and her years in school. How she sought approval from others, tried to replace the emptiness she felt with a feeling of belonging. Some things I already knew, but some shake me to my core, enraging me and making me hate her parents even more than I already do.

Never showing up to events. Never supporting her in her desire to become a writer. Never telling her that they loved her. Indeed, she had financial support, all the toys she wanted, expensive clothes and electronics. But she didn’t have the thing that everybody needs…unconditional love and support.

Bitterness became my last name when I grew older. I was hurting inside, and I wanted to make others hurt too. I’d use my status, my parents’ money, and even my body. I did anything I could to replace the lack of love with sick adoration from people who simply feared me.

Nevaeh Lawrence was the meanest girl you could’ve imagined. The Queen B who thought she ruled the school and everyone around her. I deserved to be knocked off my high horse. To pay for all the tears and hurt I caused…and Kyle Edwards was my punishment.

Pressing my palm to my forehead, I scowl as I read about her relationship with Kyle. A girl who lived without love met a narcissistic guy who was spoiled by the love of his parents. The most popular kids in school, they looked like the perfect couple, with only one flaw—neither of them loved the other.

What started as a beneficial relationship for both of them quickly turned into something Nevaeh couldn’t control. Kyle used her for sex and his sadistic games, not giving a damn how many bruises he left on her body. He knew she wouldn’t say anything, because of the image she was trying to uphold, and he used it in his favor, to justify his own behavior more and more. It was only a matter of time before he tried these things with other girls while also maintaining the image of a loyal boyfriend. Lyn was the one with whom he crossed the line.

Knowing that someone died because I was too ashamed to talk honestly about my boyfriend was heartbreaking. Finding out that everyone in school thought I had something to do with it because Lyn and I didn’t get along was devastating. Shame became my constant companion. My self-confidence disappeared as if it hadn’t ever been there to begin with, showing me what a miserable person I was, someone who used other people’s pain and hurt to make myself feel better. I deserved every bad word said about me. Every insult. All the hate. It was my punishment for being silent, for being indifferent. For being a coward.

I still remember the questions I was asked during the trial. After all the pictures I took of my bruises were displayed on the screen for everyone to see. “Why didn’t you talk to your parents about it? Didn’t they notice your bruises?” the prosecutor, a woman in her forties, asked…and I laughed. I laughed so hard I couldn’t stop until I realized I was crying.

Dad was always busy with work; Mom hated my guts for taking my dad’s side after her affair was revealed. I couldn’t remember the last time I saw them, let alone talked to them. They didn’t care to listen.

For years I had no one in my corner. Until I finally met her. My best friend.

A smile forms on my lips for the first time since I started reading. The story of her friendship with Angie warms my insides and makes me feel happy. Two lost souls who met on the first day of college and have been inseparable ever since. Nevaeh and Angie saved each other; they’ve been there for one another through thick and thin. Their friendship is pure, and their love is unconditional. They are family.

After meeting Angie, I know how important it is to have someone who’s always there for you. Someone who will always support you. Who will always stand by your side, even when things get rough. Someone who will help you without questioning whether you deserve it or not.

Knowing firsthand what it means to live without love, I always notice people who are just like me. I see through their masks and the walls they build around themselves. People who hate their own existence and don’t believe they deserve anything good. I recognize their demons, because in the past they were my demons too.

And that’s who my husband is. My broken boy. My Roman.

Everything in me freezes. My hand hovers over the page, not turning it. I stare at the magazine, but all I see is a blank space. She never told me she was writing about me. Never even asked if I wanted my story to be told.

Swallowing down my nerves, I feel my body tensing. My hand curls into a fist as I force myself to continue reading. Word after word, fury overwhelms me. The music in my ears is loud, but I can’t hear any lyrics. It all mixes into one word, sounding thunderous in my head. Predatel’stvo⁠3. It’s the only feeling I have, and it makes my blood boil. She betrayed me.

Maksim’s death. My struggles with alcohol and my first team threatening to kick me off of it if I didn’t do something about my problems. My father dying from a heart attack after months of severe drinking. All the assumptions about me getting into the NHL only because my twin died and I took his spot since I was always second for consideration.

My temples pulsate, my headache intensifying with every breath I take. This can’t be happening. Why would she do this to me? The beating of my heart becomes shallow, the pain in my chest blinding me.

Seeing myself in Roman, noticing his hurt, I knew he needed saving. Needed my help, even if he was afraid to ask for it. His broken pieces were longing to heal, and I was the only one who could do that for him. And that’s why I decided to stay.

Because people who live without love deserve our help and support.

I close the magazine, gripping it so hard my knuckles turn white. Even tearing it apart wouldn’t be enough. Nothing would be enough to make me forget what I just read. I can’t ignore the betrayal of her spilling my secrets.

She lied to me. All this time, I was no more than an experiment. Damaged goods she tried to fix, to prove her own theory about people who live without love. People like me, who hate their own existence because of the trauma of their past. People who have no one in their corner until someone like her walks into their lives and suddenly changes their world.

I am a project. A failure she’s trying to repair. A disease she’s trying to cure.

I stand up from my seat and head to the back of the plane. The magazine is still in my hand. I pass Clay, and he gives me a questioning look, his eyebrow raised.

“You alright?” he asks as I march past him.

“Yeah.” I smile as I throw the magazine in the trash. “Better than ever.”

Not sparing a glance at Clay or my other teammates, I return to my seat. Slumping down into it, I turn the volume up as loud as it will go and close my eyes. I want to fucking laugh at how delusional I was to think that this girl might mean something to me. Stupid motherfucker.

As for my wife, I have a surprise for her. Her little project is about to fail.

1 Да что за… — What the…

2 Моя девочка… — My girl…

3 Предательство. — Betrayal.