by Kat Mizera
“Something had to have happened,” he repeated. “I know you don’t want to hear that, but this wasn’t a random, hey-let’s-embarrass-Rachel-as-badly-as-I-know-how moment. I refuse to believe that.”
“Well, obviously he doesn’t trust me enough to tell me.”
“I know you’re angry and hurt right now but give him a little time before you give up on him. My gut tells me there’s more to the story, and once you get past this initial humiliation and pain, you’ll see I’m right.”
She nodded. “Oh, I agree. What bothers me is that he didn’t trust me to help, or at the very least to give me the real reason so we could deal with it together. Instead, he left me hanging, in a room full of our friends and family. Why would he do it that way?”
“I don’t know.”
They looked up as Tessa poked her head out. “Rach? Your mom just called and is demanding to see you. Said you’re not answering your phone and she’s coming over.”
Rachel sighed in resignation. “Yes, of course, but please send a car for her so she doesn’t lead the paparazzi straight to your door.”
Tessa nodded. “Got it.”
Before Rachel could say anything, Viggo came out, his eyes searching hers as he hesitated. “Do you mind if I join you? If you’d rather be alone, it’s okay…”
“Not at all.” Rachel smiled. “Come sit down. I’m sorry we’ve never really had a chance to hang out.”
Viggo chuckled. “This probably isn’t the best day to make new friends.”
“Actually, it’s the perfect day to make new friends. I need all the friendship I can get.”
The next morning, they were a group of five that drove in two cars over to Vlad and Rachel’s condo. Though it was technically Vlad’s, she’d been living there for nearly six months, just as he lived at her house in L.A. as well. Brock, Ashleigh, Jamie, and Tessa followed Rachel up to the spacious condo with a handful of boxes and one empty suitcase. Rachel unlocked the door and stepped inside, swallowing hard. It was just as they’d left it, clean and everything put away. The housekeeper had come yesterday and was supposed to come back the day before they returned from their honeymoon to freshen things up. Instead, Rachel was here to empty out her drawers and the things she had in the closet and bathroom.
“I’ll get your stuff out of the closet,” Ashleigh said, dragging a suitcase behind her.
Rachel smiled. “Thanks.” She wandered into the bathroom and pulled her hair care products, toothbrush, and skincare products off the shelves, tossing them into a small bag she’d brought.
She went to the dresser and opened the top drawer where she kept panties and bras, dumping them into the suitcase Ashleigh was filling.
“Anything in the kitchen or living room?” Brock asked.
“I don’t think so, but I want you to take this.” She handed her engagement ring to him. “It’s not safe to leave it sitting out here—what if he got robbed or the housekeeper decided it was worth losing her job for a ring that probably cost three years’ salary for her? Just give it to him when you see him, okay?”
Brock nodded sadly. “You okay, hon?”
“I don’t have a choice but to be okay.”
“He loves you,” Brock said. “I don’t know what’s going on, and I had no idea he was going to do this, but I know he loves you. Something must be going on…”
“Blackmail?” Jamie suggested. “God knows, I’ve had my share.”
“And he couldn’t tell me? What could he possibly have done? I mean, if it was something really heinous I wouldn’t want to marry him anyway, but even after how badly he’s hurt me, I have a hard time believing he did something like that.”
“I agree,” Brock said. “That’s not who he is.”
“Well, we’re not going to figure it out standing here talking,” Rachel sighed. “So let’s get this over with and get out of here.”
“I think the closet is empty,” Ashleigh said, coming out of the bedroom. “Do you want to double-check?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“I really want to kick his ass,” Jamie grumbled as Rachel walked around checking closets and suitcases.
“You and me both,” Ashleigh muttered.
“I can hear you,” Rachel snickered. “And kicking his ass won’t help anything.”
“I’m worried about him,” Brock said after a moment. “Like we’ve all said, he loves you. Why would he do this? Do you think he’s in trouble?”
“I have no idea,” Rachel said sadly.
Ashleigh frowned. “He wouldn’t talk to you or Brock, so either he’s gone off the rails or something happened. Why else would he do this?”
“Come on, guys,” Rachel said, rolling a full suitcase in Brock’s direction. “Don’t look at me like that—I’m going to be fine. I can’t promise I’ll be waiting when Vlad decides to come clean about whatever’s going on, but right now I have no choice but to move forward. I need normalcy from you, not pity. Can we please change the subject?”
“Brock and I are coming to L.A. with you,” Ashleigh announced, lifting her chin. “It’s not because we pity you but because we want to be there for you—and I have to be at work tomorrow anyway. Okay? Let us be there for you. That’s what friends are for, right?”
Rachel couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, that is what friends are for. Thank you.”
“And I’m always just a phone call away,” Jamie said quietly.
“I know. Thank you. I appreciate you guys coming with me today and being here for me.” Rachel turned and headed to the kitchen, anxious to get this over with and go home.
5
Vlad had left Las Vegas and flown to New York. It was a big city, easy to get lost in, and that was his plan. He used a fake name when he traveled with the team so groupies seeking out hockey players couldn’t find them, and he was using that name. Brock knew it, of course, but chances were he wasn’t thinking about that now, and he wouldn’t know where Vlad was anyway. He didn’t plan to answer the hotel phone or his cell phone, though part of him itched to get online and see what was going on. He didn’t care what people thought about him—he deserved all the wrath—but he hated what might be happening to Rachel. The media could be relentless when pursuing a hot story like this one.
He longed to call her, try to explain, but since he didn’t have any answers—“I’m terrified” didn’t seem like a welcome explanation—he opted to leave her alone. He had to sort out his heart before approaching her or even considering a reconciliation. It occurred to him he might need to see a therapist but didn’t know how to go about doing that anonymously. He could afford it, but he didn’t know who to trust and didn’t dare ask any of his teammates. Toli and Brock would keep his confidence, but it was too soon after his wedding debacle to go to them; he’d have to handle it on his own or wait. Neither of those options were tempting.
He strolled through Greenwich Village, walking up and down the streets with his face shielded by a baseball cap and sunglasses. He got a slice of pizza, eating as he walked, even though he wasn’t hungry. He and Rachel should have been on the way to Hawaii, but instead she was probably back in L.A. and he was here in Manhattan eating pizza that tasted like cardboard. It was undoubtedly because of his broken heart, not the pizza itself, but it still tasted like ass and he threw what was left in the nearest trash receptacle. Part of him yearned to find a bar and drink until he passed out, but that would only make him heartbroken and hungover.
Passing an art studio, he paused, staring in the window at a beautiful painting of the Waikiki coastline in Hawaii. It was beautifully done, showing the pristine waters and Diamond Head on the far right. The sun was glistening, the waves looked as though they would crash through the frame at any moment, and he suddenly needed this painting desperately. It would look amazing over the fireplace in Rachel’s house, with the big picture windows that overlooked the city.
He walked inside and looked at the young woman behind the counter.
She smiled. “Hi, c
an I help—”
“I’d like that one, please.” He pointed. “Can it be shipped out of state?”
She blinked. “Yes, of course, but it’s—”
“I don’t care how much it is.” He paused, remembering his penchant for getting into debt for buying ridiculous things he didn’t need. “It’s not a million dollars or something, is it?”
She smiled. “Seven thousand five—”
“Fine.” He pulled out his American Express card. “What information do you need to have it shipped?”
The girl efficiently pulled out paperwork for him to fill out while she ran his card. “It’s a beautiful painting. The artist—one of the owners here—recently passed away and her partners have been trying to sell off her stuff. That one is my favorite, it always makes me feel like I’m there, in Hawaii…”
“Yeah.” He sighed, not wanting to let her see how melancholy it made him feel.
She gave him copies of everything and cocked her head. “It’s none of my business, but I recognized your name… As a woman, I’m glad you did it before the wedding instead of a year from now with an ugly divorce. Whatever it is, you’ll figure it out.”
“You don’t even know me,” Vlad frowned. “Why would you say that?”
“Because you bought that picture, the only one in this whole gallery that makes me yearn for something I don’t have, even though I can’t identify what it is. You zeroed in on that picture, so you must feel something like that, too. Am I right?”
He lowered his head. “I really don’t know what I feel.”
“It’s okay. The answers will come to you out of nowhere, but until then, don’t be too hard on yourself.”
“Thank you.” He turned and walked out of the gallery even more confused than before. Why the hell did he need a seven-thousand-dollar painting of Oahu? There was no shortage of free video online.
Rachel would love the painting, he thought, wondering how she was. Was she still hurt or had the hurt turned to anger? He figured it was one of the two and silently cursed himself. The overwhelming anxiety just before the wedding had caught him off-guard and his sole goal right now was to figure out why it had happened. Deep down, he already knew. He had to sort out the past. There were so many unanswered questions and he was determined to explain at least part of his history. He’d hired a private detective two years ago but the man had been useless, telling him everyone was dead or had disappeared. In retrospect, the guy had probably been a hack who’d taken his money without searching for anyone. He’d discovered he’d been taken for a ride when he’d seen an article about one of his old coaches online, which meant the detective hadn’t really looked.
Russia, he thought glumly. The solution to his problem and the answers to his questions were in Russia, the one place he had no desire to ever see again. As a nineteen-year-old coming to the U.S., he’d vowed to find an American or Canadian woman to marry so he could get citizenship. As he’d settled into life in Las Vegas and sowed his oats, that plan had fallen by the wayside, but he’d been steadfast in his reluctance to visit. He’d lied and told friends he was going home two summers ago, but instead he’d gone backpacking all over Europe, avoiding Russia like the plague.
Reluctant decision made, he headed back to his hotel. He had to make a reservation on the next available flight and get this over with. Whatever secrets were in his past needed to come to light and he wasn’t leaving Russia until he made that happen.
Vlad got to Moscow feeling like he hadn’t slept in days. He’d dozed on the plane but was afraid he would have a nightmare in front of strangers, so he hadn’t allowed himself to really sleep. Once he checked into his hotel, he would shower and go right to bed. Hopefully, he’d get some rest and wake up refreshed in the morning. It had been a harrowing few days, between the wedding fiasco, flying to New York and then a ridiculously long flight to get to Russia. Now that he was here, he wasn’t sure what he was feeling.
Excited was probably too strong a word, but he didn’t know what else to call it. He needed answers, and the nightmares he’d been having had proven he needed them before they would allow him to do anything as important as marry the love of his life, assuming she would still even talk to him, much less forgive him. He wasn’t sure what he would do when he found what he was looking for, but not knowing was driving him insane.
Turning on his phone for the first time since he’d left Las Vegas, he was bombarded with emails and texts and he felt the already familiar twinges of guilt when he saw how angry his friends were. They’d all sided with Rachel, as he’d known they would, but it still stung a little. Except Toli, of course, who’d texted him merely to remind him he could call, day or night, if he needed anything. Over the last year, Toli had become the father figure he’d never had and he was grateful for that relationship. Toli was fourteen years older than Vlad—thirty-seven to his twenty-three—and a married father of three, but he seemed to have taken Vlad under his wing. Though Vlad excelled in everything to do with hockey, his personal life had been a mess before Rachel and he’d often made such a fool of himself on dates the other guys teased him mercilessly.
Growing up in an orphanage can do that to you, he thought as he flagged down a taxi to take him to his hotel.
Rachel, however, hadn’t seemed to find him awkward or difficult to understand. Before her, his English hadn’t been good, but she’d helped him over the last eight months. Though he still had an accent, his vocabulary had probably quadrupled and he was now much better with grammar and figures of speech.
Rachel. Just thinking about her made his heart squeeze painfully. God, what had he done to her? Imagining the hurt in her eyes when she’d realized he was canceling the wedding nearly gutted him. He’d wanted to go through with it, but everything inside of him screamed he wouldn’t be a good husband until he found out the truth about his past. He’d always wanted to find out who his parents were and why he’d been left at a church in Moscow. Now that he was back, for the first time since being drafted to the NHL, he was determined to find out anything and everything about his parents. Although his other attempts had failed, he was here now, and that had to make a difference.
Rachel weighed heavily on him, though, and he impulsively pulled out his phone to text Toli.
How is she?
It was early in the evening here in Russia, so with Las Vegas being ten hours behind, it was morning for Toli.
She’s a mess! How do you think she is?
Watch out for her for me. Please.
The phone rang and Vlad sighed but picked it up, careful to speak English; he didn’t want the cab driver to recognize him and alert the sports networks he was here. He didn’t want to fall into the habit of becoming a media darling the way many other Russian players were, and that meant staying under the radar.
“Hi.”
“Where are you?”
“Moscow.”
“You’re speaking English… You’re not alone?”
“In a taxi, heading for the hotel. I’m beat, need to get some sleep before I start looking into things.”
“What kinds of things?”
“My history, my family, that kind of thing.”
“Do you remember the story of my trip to Russia last year? You don’t need to go digging up your past. It’s never a good idea. Trust me.”
“I have to. Please, just keep an eye on my girl for me, okay? I’m sure the media is having a field day with her and I hate that I’m responsible.”
“Why didn’t you call things off in the morning, before everyone got to the chapel?”
“I tried, but I couldn’t go through with it—” He cut off, afraid to say too much in front of a stranger who might or might not understand English.
“I have no desire to set foot in Russia ever again,” his friend said quietly. “If you get into trouble, it’s not going to be me who comes to save your sorry ass, but you can contact my father if you need to.”
Vlad paused before letting out a small laugh, op
ting for levity. “Brock could come—he hasn’t gotten into any trouble for months.”
Toli laughed. “Yes, he’s due.” It was a running joke on the team, placing bets on how long before Brock got arrested again. He’d averaged once per season until last season when team management had made staying out of trouble part of his contract renewal. Ashleigh seemed to be making a difference in that department, but they teased him incessantly.
“We’re almost to the hotel, let me go. Just, uh, you know, make sure she’s okay.”
“She’s angry.”
Vlad swallowed, nodding to himself. “She has every right. I deserve it. But I have to take care of myself before I can take care of her.”
“When things hit the fan on my last trip to Moscow, it was Tessa who saved me. Not physically, but emotionally. She was my reason to fight through the drama with my brother, my father—my son getting kidnapped. What are you fighting for if you have nothing to come home to?”
Vlad was momentarily quiet. “I guess it’s too late to think about that, but—”
“Whatever it is, whatever you’re doing, get it done and come home to the woman who loves you. She’s not going to wait, she’s not going to easily forget the way you walked out on your wedding day, and she’s definitely not going to have your back if you get into trouble.”
“I know, dammit!” Vlad clenched the fist of his free hand, squeezing his eyes shut. “I know I fucked up, but I have to do this and I have to go. I’ll call when I’m on my way home.” He disconnected and stared out at the streets. He’d really never wanted to come back.
6
Moscow held nothing but bad memories. Growing up in an orphanage, he’d always been cold and hungry. His earliest memories were of being yelled at, his ear pulled painfully, his head being shaved in summer because all the children had lice. Then he found hockey. He had no idea who’d first put a stick in his hand, but he’d been young. The kids in the orphanage had always played a version of hockey outdoors in the winter, using wooden sticks and whatever was handy, but when he’d been introduced to genuine ice hockey, his whole life had changed. He went to a local rink and skated as many hours as he was allowed. He’d go to regular school for five hours in the morning and then to the rink until they kicked them out at night.