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“You’re not going to wish me good luck?” I teased, already backing toward the door.
“You’ve never needed luck, Jansen. Now go!” She shooed me off with a grin, and I went.
The hallways beneath Reaper arena weren’t crowded yet. Security was always tight on game day, and I made my way toward the locker room with minimal interference until I neared the fork in the hallway that intersected the players’ entrance and the path to the locker room.
There, two women with passes around their necks waited, both leaning against the wall. One was blonde, and one brunette, but that was all I noticed until one stepped into my path, effectively blocking my way.
“Oh, my God,” the brunette whispered. “You’re him.”
I put on the smile I used for fans. “Depends on who you think I am.”
“You’re Jansen.” She stared at me with wide, blue eyes, the color draining from her face as she gripped the thick strap of her purse with both hands.
She was a beautiful girl, but I wasn’t interested. Besides, no one in the world could hold a candle to what London stirred inside me.
“I am.” I peered to the left, over her head, and caught Coach McPherson looking at me from where he stood at the entrance to the locker room, tapping his watch. “And I am going to get reamed if I don’t get into the locker room.”
“Right,” she said, shaking her head like she needed to clear it. “It’s just that I’ve heard so much about you that I wanted to meet you.” She stepped to the side, making room so I could pass.
“Well, hi,” I said, maintaining my fan smile. “I’m Jansen Sterling.” There was something oddly familiar about her face, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Had I seen her at a game before? “It’s nice to meet you.”
She swallowed and shifted her feet nervously. “I guess you should probably get to your game.”
“They do tend to get mad if the starting goalie doesn’t show up,” I joked.
She laughed, a smile flashing across her face. “Good luck.”
“Thanks.” I nodded to her and the quiet blonde who stood just behind her, like she was ready to catch the brunette if she fell. “Enjoy the game…” I waited for her to say her name.
The blonde glanced between her friend and me, then nudged her.
“Mila,” the brunette said, her chin rising slightly as she took a shaky breath. “Mila Zolotov. I’m…your little sister.”
I blinked once. Twice. Somehow I managed to force some air into my lungs while I looked at her again. Her hair was the same light brown Maxim’s was, and there was something about her cheekbones that reminded me of him, too. Holy shit.
“From what I know of you, which isn’t much”—she scrunched her nose—“you’ll probably say something like I don’t have a little sister. Right?”
My mouth opened to reply, but I shut it because she was right.
“But you do. It’s me.” There was a vulnerability in her eyes that somehow glued my feet to the fucking floor.
Maxim, I could ignore. He was an absolute asshole who’d shown up with a chip on his shoulder and hatred in his eyes. But this girl? There wasn’t any malice in her, at least none that I could see at first glance.
“We have the same eyes,” I muttered. “Mine are more gray, but the shape…”
She nodded. “Our grandmother. Maxim and Nikolai have Dad’s eyes, but you and I…” She teared up but shook it off. “Well, we get them from our grandmother.”
“Sterling!” Coach called out.
I put my forefinger up in his direction, asking for another minute, but I was going to need way more than that to digest this.
“And you?” My gaze jumped to the blonde at Mila’s back. Was she another relative?
“Me?” The girl’s features were delicate, with big green eyes that reminded me of a Disney princess, and the majority of her body was hidden under an oversized Reaper hoodie. She shook her head, which sent her glasses sliding down her nose. “I’m just Mila’s friend.” She pushed the glasses back into place.
Mila smiled. “Evie is my best friend. We’re up at Dartmouth right now, but we’ve both been accepted to graduate school here in Charleston.” The grip on her purse tightened. “I mean, Evie got in at Stanford, but we’ve been stuck at the-hip since kindergarten, and the University of Charleston has a great MFA program for photography, and you should see the pictures she takes. I keep telling her that she can’t turn down Stanford, right—”
“Mila,” Evie whispered, her cheeks turning pink.
“Right.” Mila squeezed her eyes shut and took a breath before opening them again. “Sorry, I babble when I’m nervous, and well, I’ve been thinking about this moment since forever. I kind of ambushed you, didn’t I?”
“Uh…” Words. I needed some words.
