“What your boyfriend omitted from his back story is totally different.”
“Is it?” Cynda asks. “Because he knew back when we dated the first time around that it could have been a deal breaker if I knew who he really was. And who knows how long he would have kept it a secret if I hadn’t accidentally found out.”
Her argument makes sense. And though I really am happy for her and want her relationship to succeed, I find myself asking, “Then why did you forgive him?”
“You know, in the end, forgiveness wasn’t even the point. It wasn’t about me forgiving him for what he’d kept from me. It was about me figuring out if I loved this man the way he loved me. Also, did I trust him enough to believe that he’d love me forever and would never lie to me again. The answer to all those questions was yes. And after I figured that out, there was only one question left.”
“What?” I ask. I’m all the way leaned into the phone, like I’m watching a cliffhanger on Netflix.
“Could I allow myself to let him love me, even though I was afraid?” Cynda answers, her voice sincere and quiet.
The question hits me like an ocean wave. And I lean back as I try to figure out if my own answer to that question is yes or no.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Cheslav keeps his promise about not getting back in touch with me. Vlad is the one who ends up texting me to make sure I know he’ll be the one escorting me to my 12-week ultrasound.
It is super awkward having someone who looks like he could play Russian Henchman # 3 in that crime movie waiting for me when I get done with my appointment. But he takes a print out of the ultrasound from me and places it in his inside pocket without a word.
And when we pull up to my condo after my checkup, he says, “Okay, I’ll be seeing you in July,”
“I can go to the rest of my appointments by myself,” I let him know.
“If that was true, I wouldn’t be here,” Vlad answers.
Then before I can protest again, Vlad says, “He hangs back even though it’s killing him not to be there for the first ultrasound. Take the win. I know you’re mad, but he’s a mess right now, and he won’t be able to handle it if you cut him all the way out.”
I want to feel resentful that Vlad is acting like Cheslav was the one who was hurt most by our breakup. But the only emotion weighing me down as I climb out of the car is sadness.
Anyway, I take an online version of the CPA exam shortly after and find out immediately that I passed. Which means an automatic pay increase at my job. Yes!
The raise thrills me. But for some reason, not being able to tell Cheslav, threw a cloud over the whole thing. Like my victory wasn’t a victory if he wasn’t there.
Luckily, I have work to distract me. Just as I’d predicted back in the spring, June is the new March. And after a few congratulations from my co-workers and boss, I’m buried with work.
So my life is boring again. Just as I like it. And I’m pretty sure my lawyer and Cheslav’s will figure out a way to split custody of the baby in a way that’s fair, even if Cheslav decides to take his brother up on the opportunity to buy the Minnesota Razors.
But then I wake up from a “Did you see this???” text from Cynda.
My mouth drops open when I see the screaming headline from a popular sports site: “King Chess Refusing to Return for Rest of Hockey Season.”
Then I blink several times as I scan the article about how Chess has decided not to finish his last season because he has a baby on the way and doesn’t want to do anything that would put the child or its mother in danger.
I snatch up my phone. “What are you doing?”
Cheslav’s answer comes back just a few seconds later. “What is best for our family.”
What the hell?
“We’re not a family. We’re two people who need to get a long-distance custody agreement in place. And this is your last chance for a Stanley Cup,” I inform him.
“I already have two Stanley Cups. Endangering you or the baby isn’t worth my last chance.”
I read and re-read the text message, having no idea what to do with it. “Don’t do this. Tell them you’re good to play. There’s no reason to make this sacrifice because I’m NEVER coming back.”
His reply takes a lot longer this time. But when it comes, it hits me like a punch. “If there is even 1% chance you return to me then it is worth season.”
I choke. No one—and I mean no one has ever done anything this big for me.
That he would be willing to give up his last season.
Just to be with me.
Just to protect me.
He is everything my absent father and horrible brother aren’t.
And for a few moments, I’m overwhelmed with clashing emotions. But eventually, sensible accountant Billie makes me type, “There is no percent chance!!!!”
This time he doesn’t answer.
And eventually, I decide it doesn’t matter. Our crazy relationship is done. And though Cheslav plays to conquer, he’s going to have to figure out how to move forward without me in his life. Just like how I have figured out how to keep it moving without him.
That’s my decision. And it’s final. I’m no longer an idiot who believes in modern day fairytales. My mind is totally made up.
Yet, on the morning of my second prenatal appointment, Cheslav comes back from his morning run to find me waiting on his couch. Directly in front of his chess set.
“Wh-what are you doing here?” he asks. God, he looks handsome. I realize he must have been grooming just for me. He has a full-on beard now, and his dark hair is sticking to his sweaty face, which means he probably hasn’t hit it with his electric razor since I left.
“Apparently, you never took me off the family list for this place. The doorman didn’t stop me, and Vlad wasn’t manning the elevator,” I answer. Then I hold up a chess piece. “Wanna play?”
Cheslav hesitates, glancing from the chess set to me as if he’s trying to figure out if this is a dream.
But then he says, “Da, I will play. Let me wash up first.”
He disappears down the hallway and comes back just a few minutes later. The sweat is gone, and he’s wearing a beanie over his unshorn curls. He’d almost put me in mind of a hipster if his eyes weren’t boring into me. Green and intense. Not laidback at all.
“Cool,” I say. “Since you like to gamble so much, let’s make a little wager—oh, that’s right. You never bet little, and you always bet big. So let’s make a big bet.”
I pause, pretending to consider possible stakes. “If I win, you agree to whatever custody arrangement I want.”
Shock flits across his face but is quickly replaced with a hard, determined look. “So this is about custody. And if I win?”
“If you win, then you get another five days with me,” I answer.
His expression darkens. “Only five days?”
“I’m told that’s how long it takes to get someone out of your system,” I answer, my face just as hard, if not harder than his.
He regards me for a long time. Then he says, “Da, I will take your bet, Billie.”
Billie, not krasotka. I can tell he really means business.