by Kat Mizera
He snorted. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because this not okay.”
“Why?”
He frowned. “I don’t know…is bad to steal. No?”
“Yes. And you know it instinctively because some things are natural. You don’t need a good parent—or any parents—to teach you right from wrong. A lot of it is who you are deep down. We learn a lot of that from society, whether it’s TV or your hockey coach or something else.”
“But how do you know what to do?”
“I don’t think anyone ever knows how. You learn as you go. In my head, I imagine that once I give birth to this little human being that has no one in the world to take care of it but me, I’m going to figure out what it will take to make sure they’re happy, healthy, and loved.”
“You are not afraid you will fail?”
“No.” Her response was immediate. “Will I make mistakes? Sure. But fail? The only true failure would be failure to love him or her—and that’s not who I am. I’ve always been careful about pregnancy because I’m not ready to give up my career, but if it happened, nothing would be more important.”
“All of this, what happened to Jamie, makes me sad. Not just for him, but who were the parents to raise those men that hurt him? Were they bad also? Did they not care to teach right from wrong?”
“Those men,” she said slowly, “obviously got their hate from somewhere. Parents? Maybe. Society? I hope not, but it happens. It’s hard to analyze what made them that way, but it’s not necessarily because of bad parenting. There could be a million reasons. Mental illness, a traumatic experience during childhood, falling in with the wrong crowd… Who knows? We can’t control that.”
“But with the children we have. We are responsible for them, for who they are?”
“Only partly. Again, mental illness, a traumatic experience—those things change people. There’s only so much we can do as parents.”
“Do you have relationship with your father?” he asked suddenly. “You talk only of your mother—and you are not close.”
“My parents divorced when I was twelve. My father ran off with the babysitter, who was twenty at the time. So my stepmother is now thirty-three. I haven’t seen them, or my twin ten-year-old stepsisters in a couple of years. My dad wanted to have fun, not be saddled with a family. He would see me every other Sunday for three hours. We’d usually go to a movie so he didn’t have to talk. By the time I was sixteen I was on to him, so I’d tell him to just give me the money and I’d tell my mom we had fun.”
“So you had not-so-good parents?”
“Well, yes and no. I had a pretty good family until I was about ten. That’s when my parents started fighting. After Dad left, my mom worked two jobs and made sure I had everything I needed. It wasn’t until I made it big that she got really needy. Now I send her a check every month and only deal with her when I have to. She started asking for money for her sister, my cousins—people I don’t even know. I told her she gets five thousand dollars a month and she can spend it however she pleases, but that’s it. I also paid for her house, so she has very few expenses.”
“Your mother is not married?”
“No.” Rachel laughed. “She’ll only date millionaires, and now that I don’t take her with me to places she can meet them, she doesn’t date.”
“So even though you are not close to your parents, you are not afraid to be a parent.”
“Nope. I’d probably freak out a little if it happened now, but in general, no.”
“I searched for my parents,” he admitted. “I hired detective in Russia—almost a hundred thousand dollars—and nothing. We know only that I was left inside church, in box with letter.”
“What did the letter say?”
“Only that I was born first of January, at 7:45 p.m. I have this letter—priest from church gave me when I left. No name, nothing. Just asking to take care of baby.”
“I’m sorry, Vlad. That must be so hard.”
“But something strange, and this always bothers me.”
“What?”
“Hockey is expensive. Children in poor Russian orphanage do not play hockey. Where is money for equipment? Where is money for uniform? Skates? Tape for stick? Is not cheap. Other children did not play—just me.”
“How old were you when you started to play?”
“As long as I can remember,” he said. “Maybe four or five? Outside with sticks, and then one day someone come in car…I did not know him, but teacher tells me to go. He take me to rink and they give me skates, equipment, everything. Tell me if I am good, if I learn quickly, I can play hockey. I don’t remember details, only that I learn fast, and I love to play. I am in school until early afternoon and then every day to rink. Sometimes coach to pick me up, sometimes taxi. Is not strange to you?”
“A little,” she admitted. “Did you ever contact your coaches from back then?”
“I cannot find. Detective say they are dead but I look online and see one is coaching in same place as when I was there. I try to contact but no answer. I don’t know, Rachel. It feels funny. This is why I am always thinking about my parents. Maybe my father was a rich, married man? He could not raise me but he gave money, so I could play hockey? Something like this?”
“Maybe.” She was thoughtful. “Maybe this summer, when we’re both off, we could do a little searching ourselves.”
He was startled. “You would do this?”
“Why wouldn’t I? This is important to you and you’re important to me. Once we’re done with work for our respective seasons, we can spend part of the summer finding out your history since it’s such a big deal to you.”
He was momentarily stunned into silence. He’d never known anyone like her before and was beginning to realize what a mistake he’d made in keeping their relationship casual. He needed to find a way to tell her that, before he lost her. He’d had a feeling she wasn’t happy with the status quo.
“This is nice,” he said at last. “I have never had this kind of…” He paused. “Intimacy? To be able to talk about fear…sadness…babies…everything.”
“It’s called a relationship,” she said softly. “When two people genuinely care about each other.”
“I like it.”
“Me, too.”
“I think I’m ready now, Rachel.” He was surprised at the ease with which the words slipped out.
“Ready for what?”
“To take things to the next level. I’m falling in love with you and I don’t want to be afraid anymore. I need you in my life. Not just dating, but a real relationship.”
“I want that, too,” she whispered.
15
Present Day
Finding Grisha wasn’t complicated, but Vlad realized just how sheltered he’d been his entire life. Because of hockey, he hadn’t roamed the streets of Moscow at night looking for trouble as a teenager, and once he’d gotten to the U.S., he’d had money and hockey to keep his focus. He’d never wandered around dangerous neighborhoods.
It was early, not even seven in the morning, because Natalya had told him that was the best time to find Grisha at the café he and his wife owned. It was quiet then, and it would be easier to talk to him alone. If he waited until later in the day, she’d said he would most likely blow him off. She’d told him to use her maiden name—Natalya Ivanova—to get a foot in the door, but that she hadn’t spoken to him in more than two years.
Stepping inside the pleasant café, there was a middle-aged woman wiping down tables and she glanced up with a smile.
“Good morning. What can I get you?”
“I’d love a cappuccino and I’d like to see Grisha, please.”
The woman’s face tightened but she nodded, motioning for him to sit as he disappeared into the back. Vlad chose a table by the door even though it was kind of silly. If someone here was going to try to hurt him, he probably wouldn’t make it down the street anyway.
He longed to call Toli, ask him a
bout this neighborhood, if he’d ever heard of this Grisha guy, give him some advice. He didn’t want to involve anyone else, though. He had to handle this on his own, especially since Toli hadn’t had a good experience during his trip to Russia last year. It was the loneliest he’d been since before meeting Rachel, and he missed her even more.
It was only nine o’clock in the evening in Los Angeles so she was probably up. Impulsively, he texted her.
Thinking of you, honey. Did you receive the package I sent?
The ridiculous flowers or the big box on my porch that’s too big for me to carry?
He swallowed, hating the tone of her responses but he was solely responsible for her attitude.
Can you ask one of your friends to help?
Whatever it is, I don’t want it.
I’m so sorry I’ve hurt you. Please give me just a little more time to figure out what’s going on. I may have some information about my mother. I think her name was Irina.
Okay.
Can you try to understand how important this is?
I know it is, and if you find your mother, I’ll be genuinely happy for you, but I asked you not to text me anymore. Don’t force me to block your number.
Please don’t do that. I love you. I know you’re angry with me, but I’m going to fix this. I promise.
I don’t have time for this, Vlad. I’m sorry. Good-bye.
He sighed, jumping when someone put a hand on his shoulder.
“Vladimir Kolnikov.”
Vlad’s eyes shot up to the older man staring down at him intently. “Yes. Hello.” He got to his feet and held out his hand.
“I watch your hockey career and am humbled by your presence in my little shop.” The man shook his proffered hand.
Vlad wanted to roll his eyes, but distinct awareness of his surroundings kept him from giving in to the urge. “Thank you. I, we…” He took a breath. “We have a mutual friend. Natalya Ivanov. She told me I could find you here.”
The woman he’d ordered cappuccino from came over and put the beverage down on the table, along with a cup of tea for Grisha, and promptly disappeared into the back.
“Natalya.” Grisha sank into the chair across from Vlad, his face inscrutable. “I have not spoken with her in a few years. How is she?”
“Married. A mother. She seems happy.”
“Good. She was a nice girl.”
“Is that why you chose her for me?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t be coy. I know she worked for you, in whatever capacity that entailed. I don’t care if you were a pimp or a gangster or anything else. I only want to know why you chose someone special for me—and please don’t insult my intelligence by pretending you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
Grisha muttered something under his breath that Vlad didn’t catch but then let out a chuckle. “You boys are going to be the death of me.”
“Us boys?”
“Hockey players. You make it big and then come back demanding answers to questions you shouldn’t be asking. Can’t you just enjoy the life you’ve been afforded?”
“What’s wrong with knowing your roots? Your heritage.”
“You know your heritage.”
“For all I know, my parents were Hungarian gypsies who gave birth while migrating through Russia… I’d like to know.”
“To what end? If that’s the case, you’ll never find them.”
“That’s not the case. I know a woman named Irina sent money to the rink by the church on Ulitsa Roskovoy, specifically so that I could play.” Naming the street where the rink was located must have been on point because Vlad saw the nerve in Grisha’s cheek twitch with annoyance. Boldly, he continued. “I also know you took special care with Natalya and asked her what she thought of me. She was technically a prostitute but slept exclusively with me for that year. Who paid for her and why?”
Grisha was shaking his head. “You’re stubborn, but I cannot help you.”
“Cannot or will not?” Vlad was getting close, so he refused to back down now.
“It doesn’t matter. You should go now and don’t come back. Coffee is on the house.”
“And if I don’t leave, then what?” Vlad met his gaze directly, pushing down the nervousness in his gut and focusing on his end game.
Grisha laughed. “You’ve been in America too long, young Vladimir. That’s not how things work here.”
“Why? Because you’ll hurt me? Threaten me? Kill me?” Vlad kept his voice low as he got to his feet. “Fine, I’ll go. But I won’t stop asking questions and dropping your name in relation to prostitutes. I’m sure everyone you know will love it when that rumor spreads around town. You think I’m a pain in the ass now? Just wait.” He threw some money on the table and stalked out the door, digging his keys out of his pocket as he headed towards his rental car. He’d lost his temper, which probably wasn’t smart, but he was tired of the evasion and all the veiled threats. Why couldn’t they just tell him the truth? If his parents were bad people, so be it; at least he would know.
The one idea bouncing around in his head now was that his parents were alive and didn’t want to be found. While one part of him hoped they were, another was skeptical because he didn’t know if he had it in his heart to forgive them for abandoning him. Even if they’d secretly watched over him and sent money for him to have enough food and to play hockey, what kind of people let their kids grow up in an orphanage and merely watched from afar? Maybe he would never find out, but he wasn’t ready to give up yet.
He got back to the hotel and took a long, hot shower, opting to get room service and relax. He ordered dinner and flipped on the TV, watching mindlessly until the buzzing of his phone alerted him to a text.
He was surprised to see a message from Brock.
What the fuck were you doing in Russia? Are you back yet?
Vlad had to respond, but the enormity of missing the start of training camp was a bit overwhelming. He didn’t even have a good excuse.
No. Something came up. I have to call Coach in a few hours.
Something came up? Dude, you could be cut from the roster if you’re not at camp!
I know, but this is important. I can’t really talk about it now, but I’ll fill you in soon. How’s Rachel?
It seemed Brock’s reply took a long time. As if he was trying to formulate an answer instead of just telling him what was going on.
She’s been better.
What does that mean?
You need to get your ass home to find out.
What aren’t you telling me? Is she okay?
No. She’s not. But I made her a promise on my unborn child that I wouldn’t tell you what was going on because she’s royally pissed at you.
You can’t tell me something is wrong and not tell me what it is.
I can. I just did.
So your loyalty is to her now? I thought we were friends?
We are, but you fucked up and won’t even tell me why.
It’s complicated.
Tell me anyway.
I will. Soon. But not like this. Won’t you please tell me about Rachel?
I can’t, man. I just can’t. It was a promise. But I can tell you she needs you.
Fuck!!! I can’t leave—I would if I could but I can’t. Do you think I would miss camp if it wasn’t important?
I think you’re throwing away everything good in your life…your career, your friends, and the woman who loves you. If you don’t come home now, you’re not going to have anything to come home to.
I’m doing the best I can. Listen, I have to go, but tell Rachel I love her and I’m coming home as soon as I possibly can. I don’t care how mad she is, tell her I love her.
Text her. She’s mad, but she needs to see those words.
I will.
Vlad thought about what to write for a long time, but decided to keep it simple:
I love you. I’m sure you’re still angry with me, but don’t give up on
us. Without you, nothing I’m doing has any meaning. Please know I do it for you, for us, for our future children. I meant it when I said I’d spend the rest of my life making up for what I did on our wedding day.
Her response broke his heart a little:
Please stop texting me. You did us both a favor. We rushed into marriage and you probably saved us a very expensive divorce a few years down the road. Be well. Be happy. I hope you find what you’re looking for in Russia, because it’s no longer here with me.
16
Four months ago
Filming for Vampire Legend had ended for the season and Rachel was relieved to move in to Vlad’s Las Vegas condo until the end of hockey season. Things had been good between them and she wanted to be with him as much as possible. Their relationship had shifted at some point in the last month or so, and he made her happier than she’d been in a long time. It had been tough getting him to relax, to trust in her and in them as a couple, but now that he did, it was glorious. He was sweet, sexy, and eager to please without being clingy. She loved how protective he was of her, especially when they were out and fans recognized her. It was great because he wasn’t jealous so much as concerned about her safety. She was slight compared to most men and when they approached her aggressively, he went into what she lovingly called Bodyguard Mode.
She’d never been into the overbearing, alpha male types who acted like a woman couldn’t take care of herself, but in this instance, it was comforting and sweet. She had no complaints, and things in the bedroom were out of this world. There were no words to describe how good it was between them. They had more sex than she’d ever had with anyone when they were together. Four or five times a day if he didn’t have a game, and at least twice if he did. Obviously, they were apart when he had to go on road trips with the team and while she’d been working in L.A., but now that they lived together it was constant and as passionate as she could’ve asked for from anyone. Ironically, he was also the most vanilla lover she’d ever had, not particularly interested in bondage, spanking, or toys—he worked his magic with his fingers, mouth, and cock.