“You’re all I have. You’re all I want. I love you,” I said when we broke from the kiss.

The words must have been picked up by the microphone because the crowd exploded.

Greg moved forward and grabbed the mike. “Should we let these lovebirds go somewhere private?”

The audience responded with another thunderous cheer. I tapped Greg’s shoulder with his phone and held it out to him, giving him a huge smile. He winked and returned the grin.

Aleksandr bent down and tucked one arm across my back and the other at the back of my knees. He lifted me up and jumped off the stage. His arms never wavered as he jostled me through the crowd. Rather than have my head bonked by every shoulder we passed, I burrowed into Aleksandr’s neck.

“Where to?” he asked, setting me down once we arrived outside.

“This way.” I grabbed his hand and led him to the Central Club, which was private and close.

Aleksandr stopped abruptly when we crossed the threshold. “Is this—”

The way Aleksandr’s head whipped from side to side and up and down as he took in every inch of the space, getting whiplash was a strong possibility.

“The newest branch of the Central Club,” I finished.

“Wow. It’s amazing, Audushka.”

My cheeks burned at the compliment, excited that the person I cared about most was proud of what I’d done. But I didn’t want to make small talk right now. No beating around the bush. No running away until everything was out in the open. Whatever happens will be.

“I know the poem was horrible, but it was out of context,” I said. “It was a stupid outlet I use to get all my pent-up frustrations out. I was lusting after you, but I wouldn’t let myself act on it. I never thought that way about you. I would never use you like that.”

I continued without giving him a chance to speak because I needed him to understand everything, understand me. “That poem was fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of getting too close. Fear of letting someone love me. Fear of ending up like my mom.”

Without a word, Aleksandr grabbed the hem of his shirt and lifted the left side, revealing one of the tattoos I’d admired on numerous occasions but had never asked about. Black Cyrillic script began at his hip and drifted elegantly up his side.

“ ‘To fear death is not to live,’ ” Aleksandr translated before I converted the words myself. Then he lifted the right side of his shirt and revealed the same beautiful script, only this time the words started under his arm and flowed down his lean side. “No matter which way I turn, this is the message I must remember.”

“You got those after your parents’ accident.”

“See? You know me better than anyone.”

“Well, I’m sure anyone who knows your story could’ve guessed.”

“Sorry I flipped out. Seeing you with Greg set me off. It’s hard for me knowing you’re with these guys all the time. I want it to be me you confide in, not them. But I should’ve trusted you like you trust me with the bunnies.”

Suddenly my shoes were more important than anything else in the room. I didn’t trust him with the bunnies. I just hoped for the best.

“I don’t confide in them, not really. I write stupid poems, and we try to use them for lyrics. I guess it’s confiding in a way, but I’m not knocking on Greg’s door at three a.m. looking for a shoulder to cry on. It’s totally different.”

“True. And I’m not answering the door when bunnies come knocking on it at three a.m.”

“Bunnies come to your door? Not just the arena and bars?”

“Perspective, Audushka.” He brought me back to the present. “I’m sorry I didn’t answer your calls. I needed time to cool off, to think.”

“To screw other women,” I finished for him.

With the haze of admiration lifted, I reminded myself that this wasn’t a dream. I couldn’t forget about his betrayals because he’d made a (freakin’ awesome) grand gesture. This was real, and the wounds of reality sliced deep. Being with him again immersed my mind in melancholy thoughts, reminding me how difficult it is to modify deeply ingrained insecurities.

“I didn’t touch another woman,” he told me. When I refused to meet his eyes, he tipped my chin up with his fingers. “I haven’t touched another woman since I’ve been with you. I swear.”

“What about Angie?” I asked.

“Who’s Angie?”

“The last time I called you Pavel answered. There was an Angie in the background. It sounded like you were—” I stopped, shaking out of his hold. I couldn’t finish.

“Fucking Pasha.” Aleksandr let out a breath. “I didn’t do anything with any woman. It may have sounded that way, but I didn’t touch her. Pasha was, I don’t know, trying to break us up or something.”

“Why does he care?”

“He doesn’t want me to be happy.”

“What?”

Aleksandr dropped his chin to his chest and clutched his hair with both hands, groaning as if in pain or anger.

“I didn’t tell you the whole story of my parents’ car accident, Audushka. It’s not a secret, I just, I didn’t want you to hate me like he does.”

I reached up and grabbed his hands away from his hair, hoping that my touch would give him the strength to continue with what he was about to reveal. Though I didn’t know what it would be, I knew we could handle it. Together.

“My father was driving the car. Pavel’s father was in the passenger seat, and our mothers were in back. They were all killed.” Aleksandr’s voice was almost a whisper. He cleared his throat and looked into my eyes. “My father didn’t do anything wrong. He wasn’t speeding, wasn’t going the wrong way. It was the wrong place, at the wrong time against a bus making a fast, wide turn. But Pavel blamed my father. And ever since then—” I squeezed his hands for him to continue. “He’s made my life hell ever since then. Said I don’t deserve happiness because my father killed his parents.”

“But it wasn’t your fault. Even if your dad was driving. It wasn’t your fault. You lost the same thing Pavel did.”

“He doesn’t see it that way.”

“He’s grieving and looking for someone to blame. We’ve both been there.” I kept my eyes glued to Aleksandr’s until he squeezed his shut and nodded. “Gribov was right about me, though. I am selfish.”

“He’s not right, Auden. You are the most wonderful, loving person I’ve ever met. Look at this place.” He gestured around the Central Club. “You have this ridiculous idea that talking about your own tragedy is selfish, but it’s not. I want you to trust me enough to talk to me. I want everything from you. Your pain, your insecurity, your trust, and your heart. And I want to give all of mine to you. You’re the only person who knows how I got this.” He took my hand and lifted my fingers to the scar on his cheek. “You are the only person who knows me at all.”

“I want to trust you. I do, but I don’t know if I can get over some of the issues we have.”

“Like what?”

“You left me.”

“Audushka, you know I have to leave for—”

“No.” I cut him off. “After you read the poem you left without even looking back. Without answering my phone calls to talk about it. You left even when you knew that was my biggest fear.”

“I ran from the situation, not from you.” He rubbed his face in his hands. “It’s what I do, Audushka. I run. I drink. I smoke. That’s how I deal with things. You shut down and let people go. I run. Being a hockey player suits me. I escape to a different city every other day, and I get my aggression out on the ice. Slap shots, skating hard, checking hard.”

“How do I know you won’t do it again?” I asked, my voice shaky, on the verge of tears.

“Because deep down you know that everything we feel for each other is real,” Aleksandr pleaded, passion radiating in his voice. “I love you, Auden. I know we’re young, and it happened fast, but I had other girls before you, and none of them touch you. I want to be with someone who sparks something inside me. Someone I can’t stop thinking about. That’s you, Audushka.”