“I’m gonna hang with Aleksandr,” I said. “He’ll give me a ride home.”

“Auden?” Drew’s voice lifted, scolding me like I was a child.

I shooed him away with a wave of my hand.

“Fine.” Drew shook his head and knocked into Aleksandr’s shoulder as he blew past him.

“Should I let that go?” Then, without waiting for an answer, Aleksandr nodded to himself. “Yes, I’m just gonna let that go.” He watched Drew jump into his Explorer and slam the door.

“I have protective friends,” I said as if that was an explanation for Drew’s rude behavior.

“He’s just a friend?”

“So, you guys won last night.” I ignored his question.

Aleksandr chuckled. “How did you know?”

“Read it in the paper.”

“I like that you keep track of me when I’m on the road.”

“All part of the job,” I assured him.

We traded the grass of the soccer field for a wood-chip-covered playground. A tall metal slide loomed in front of us. A swing set with six black U-shaped seats swaying in the wind sat empty a few feet away from the slide. I dropped my duffel bag on the dirt and claimed one of swings. I took a few steps backward to push myself off, but I didn’t get a good start. Strong hands on my back propelled me forward. Aleksandr gave me a few more pushes so I could get moving.

Sailing through the air with the wind against my face was magical. No matter how long I lived and how jaded I became, I hoped I could always appreciate a good swing. Forcing myself higher and higher by using the pumping power of my own legs was liberating.

“I’m sorry I embarrassed you the other night. I thought I was being funny.” Aleksandr’s voice interrupted my childlike euphoria.

“It’s fine.” I dragged a foot in the wood chips to slow me down. “I blew it out of proportion. Sorry for yelling at you in front of your team.”

“I deserved it.”

“No you didn’t. What I did was totally unprofessional.”

“Unprofessional, of course,” he said, a wry smile on his lips.

“This is the first time I’ve ever gotten to work with a real person. Grandpa always had me translating documents before. I just want to prove I’m good enough.”

“Good enough? You speak Russian better than Gribov.” Aleksandr laughed.

“Don’t even talk about that guy.” I shuddered at the memory of Aleksandr’s teammate’s toothless sneer and rude gesture.

“A woman who doesn’t want to talk about Pavel Gribov? Can’t wait to tell him.”

“He was mean to me for no reason. I don’t even know what I did to piss him off.”

“Maybe because you don’t stare at him in the locker room. Most women want to see Gribov naked. He gets fan mail about it.”

“I don’t stare at anyone.” I didn’t want him to think I was a perv.

“Not true.”

“Who, I—” I started, but realized he was talking about himself and chuckled. “When he has his teeth in, Gribov is hot. But I know some hot guys who aren’t nice people. Now all I see is the ugly. It works the opposite way, too.”

“Which one am I?”

“Attractive. Inside and out.” I couldn’t lie to him.

“Whoa!” Aleksandr sat up straight on his swing. “Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

“Yeah, but I still have to figure out how to get back at you,” I teased.

“Wasn’t wearing that black dress punishment enough? I need to keep my pants on when you’re around.”

Just to make sure I hadn’t missed something, I dropped my eyes to his legs, which were covered in a pair of gray fleece warm-up pants.

“My hockey pants, I meant. I’m not usually excited by things in the locker room, you know? And my hockey pants keep, uh, things hidden.” He must’ve noticed my eyes widen after his unconventional compliment, because he kept talking. “Did you ever audition with that band?”

A flustered subject change from the cocky jock. Any other time, I’d take that as a win, but knowing I’d gotten him hot and bothered in the locker room was having a similar effect on me right now.

“I did. And I made it.”

“That’s awesome.”

“Thanks.” I took a deep breath and caught his eyes. It was my turn to apologize. “I’m sorry I made fun of your sweatshirt. I didn’t know about your dad.”

“No worries, Audushka. How could you know?” He smiled, but his eyes lost their shine. “What about you? What happened to your parents?”

“What about them?” I crossed my arms in front of my chest. Talking to guys about my parents was unchartered territory. I’d never felt comfortable enough with anyone I’d dated to tell them that my grandparents raised me. Hell, I’d never dated anyone long enough for that conversation to come up.

“You live with your grandparents and you said something earlier about having an old shirt of your mom’s. ‘Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in their own way.’ ”

“Could you be any more stereotypically Russian? Quoting Tolstoy, drinking vodka, playing hockey.”

He laughed. “Don’t be jealous because Americans can’t quote great literature like Russians can.”

“My dad ditched me before I was born and my mom was killed in a robbery when I was six,” I blurted. Dropping the traumatic bomb of my childhood would push him off his high horse and get him off my tail. Except, I wasn’t sure that’s what I wanted.

“Shit! I’m sorry, Audushka.” Aleksandr’s expression softened.

I was used to the look his face held: a crease between his eyebrows, droopy puppy-dog eyes, lips in a solemn line. I hated pity.

“Don’t worry about it.” I shrugged. “It’s been a long time.”

“Did they find the person who killed her?” Aleksandr asked.

I locked eyes with Aleksandr. You’d think the question would be routine, but it wasn’t. Most of my friends would shut up and change the subject when I talked about my mom’s death. After years of fielding the “Why do you live with your grandparents?” question, I usually felt so desensitized when I told the story that most conversations sounded as if I was reciting a rehearsed script.

“I don’t think so. I doubt anyone is even working on it anymore.” Murders were a dime a dozen in Detroit. My mom’s was a freezing cold case by now.

“Never having any justice, any closure, has to be frustrating for you.”

“I used to believe that the police would find her killer and my life would go back to normal, but that’s not how it works. The damage has been done.” I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment. “I have to live with a bad decision someone else made and hope karma really does exist.” An empty, bitter, and completely inappropriate laugh escaped my lips.

“My parents were killed,” Aleksandr murmured, reaching out to brush a strand of hair out of my eyes and tuck it behind my ear. “I wish I could believe some force in the world will provide justice.”

“They were?” I bolted upright, backing out of his reach. “I’m, geez, I’m so sorry.”

“It was a car accident,” he clarified. “The traffic in Moscow is bad, um, heavy, yes? They were taking back roads trying to get somewhere faster. A bus turned onto the side street they’d taken and hit them head-on. They had no chance.”

I didn’t know what to say, since I’d never been around another person who’d lost both of their parents in such a tragic way. So I followed his lead. “You didn’t get closure either. You never got to say goodbye.”

“No.”

“Are you okay?” I leaned toward his swing. My fingers were stiff and alert in case I had to brush away tears.

“I am Russian. Cool head, blazing heart,” he responded, tapping his temple, then his chest. He shook his head and gazed into the distance.

Forcing myself to focus on deep breathing, so as not to ruin the tranquility of the moment, I folded my hands in my lap. Silence meant I wasn’t telling him something foolish that I would regret later. It was comfortable to sit there with him.

There was a faded yellow stain a few inches below the frayed crew neck of his sweatshirt. I imagined a young Aleksandr and his parents eating lunch at a picnic table in a park, with the magnificent onion domes of Saint Basil’s Cathedral looming in the backdrop. The Varenkovs are feasting on hot dogs and potato chips. His father raises his hot dog to his mouth, and a dollop of mustard falls onto his favorite sweatshirt. Aleksandr and his dad laugh as his mother tries to blot it away, warning her husband that the stain will be there forever. Mr. Varenkov just smiles and says it will be a constant memory of the wonderful day he’s had with his family.