Page 63 of A Vegas Crush Collection #2

how’s it possible?

Tyler

Ten days later.

There’s been court dates and interviews.

And because Haley and Logan came to me literally with the clothes on their backs and nothing more, shopping trips to places like Target and Kohl’s.

Basically, it’s been a crash course in kidlet for the three of us this past week.

They don’t have experience or knowledge in what kids need any more than I do.

They’ve been living in conditions far worse than anything I ever experienced as a kid.

Back to the guilt tripping later.

Winter has been a godsend. She set me up with an intern from children’s services who helped me shop online for the myriad of things the kids will possibly need for school and normal daily life.

I literally had no clue what that entailed.

Pretty much everything is the short answer.

Oh, stuff like age-appropriate clothing that fits and isn’t dirty or ripped.

Ditto for shoes, pajamas, coats, backpacks, kid toothbrushes, plus a few items they chose for themselves like blankets and toys and books. Thank you, Prime.

I was close to tears watching Haley choose a quilt set with unicorns for herself and dinosaurs for Logan, especially when she asked if she would really get her own bed and not have to share with her brother?

And why? Because she’d have more room? Because she was too big to share a bed with her brother?

No. Nothing so normal as any of those reasons.

It was because her sheets were often wet when she’d forgotten to change Logan’s diaper before bedtime when Ma wasn’t there.

Apparently, he wasn’t potty trained overnight.

And sometimes, she hadn’t done laundry, so there were no sheets to replace the soiled ones.

Fuckin’ six-years-old and changin’ her little brother’s diaper… because her mom was out who knows fucking where. I’d never known such grief. Anger.

My cleaning lady, Marlena, has been unpacking everything has shipped, getting their room set up.

I had Vik grab some guys to set up the beds.

I also gave Marlena a raise and explained she’ll be earning every cent of it.

She’s been an angel to do this for me, and I am just so appreciative of the help I’ve been given so far, not just from her, but a lot of people.

That said, it’s still been a rough week for them.

Haley and Logan have had to go see physicians and counselors and go to court to talk to the judge.

It’s been a whole clusterfuck simply tryin’ to get temporary custody of my brother and sister.

And I’m no dad, you know. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.

The judge sat up on his high horse while I was in there for the hearing. He was like, “Son, I see that you’re a professional athlete. It’s dubious you can play professional hockey and take care of two small children.”

Winter’s attorney husband, James Blakney, walked me through everything with the judge in Boston. Cool dude who loves hockey and his wife. I’m keeping my promise to treat them to seats whenever the Crush comes to Beantown. The very least I can do after all they’ve done to help me.

James had the forethought to get letters from Coach Brown, Crush owner Max Terry, and team captain, Evan Kazmeirowicz, all of them gushing about how committed I am to the team, how hardworking and responsible.

It’s all bullshit, I think, but I appreciate that they’d fib to make me look good.

What I really think sold the whole thing is the many comments they made about how the whole organization would be committed to giving me as much support as needed to assure the kids would be safe and secure.

That part choked me up, I gotta admit.

A little tug at my sleeve and I’m looking down at a tiny, wide-eyed face.

Logan’s face. Honestly, he looks a little like I did as a kid, with blond hair and an impish grin.

Haley’s got darker hair, curly. She’s more serious, I’ve realized.

The caretaker, I think. She’s protective of her little brother.

I’ve spent countless hours feeling the shame of guilt that I haven’t been there for them as I should’ve been.

But that’s for a shrink appointment on another day.

Right now, I gotta get two kids—who’ve never been on a plane before—on a flight to Las Vegas.

They keep wandering off, wanting snacks, having to pee.

It’s a whole thing, managing these two in a place as busy as Boston-Logan.

And holy hell, can I take a little girl into a dirty men’s room in a packed airport?

Fuck, no is that answer. But I can’t let her go in the ladies’ room by herself, either. Can I?

I am so not prepared for this.

We get some overpriced snacks and then make it to our gate where I could literally kiss the woman who lets us board early.

The kids are excited to walk on the jet bridge, then onto the plane.

Everything is a new experience for them, so I explain and explain to help them process it all.

We’ve got first-class seats, so we sit right up front.

One of the pilots greets the kids and even allows them to glance in at the cockpit before the door is closed.

The flight attendant pins tiny wings on their shirts from the captain.

It’s pretty cute, actually, how excited they are to fly. I think I’ve done it so many times that the shine has worn off, but I do remember my first flight. I wonder if they’ll remember this one.

Once we reach altitude, I turn on a movie for them and they sit happily munching on treats.

I keep hoping they’ll pass out and take a nap, but they never do.

We watch movies, get up to check out the bathroom, and order about fifteen different snacks and juice boxes and whatnot.

Every time they’re quiet and calm, I sit across the aisle from them, knees bouncing up and down and out of control, trying to imagine how the hell I’m going to do this.

Be a parental type. I’m sure I’ll be shit at it.

As we’re making our final descent, I have the kids look out the window to see how different the terrain looks here than back home.

Once we land it hits me like a ton of bricks…

again. I am now the legal guardian to two small children.

Kids, welcome to Vegas. Pushing down my momentary panic, I lead them off the plane and into McCarren International, the very first stop for them on their way to a brand-new life.

One baby step at a time, dude. Thank you to whoever thought of family bathrooms though, because it means I can just take them together into one room and not have to deal with strangers.

That brilliant concept deserves a fuckin’ Nobel Prize or something.

We head down to baggage claim, where I see a man in a suit holding up a sign with “Lockhardt” on it. I’m thrilled about the driver, but it’s his companion who really makes me smile. I can’t believe it, but it’s true. Smokeshow came to the airport to meet us.

“Zoya?”

She gives a radiant smile, heading toward me. Do I hug her?

Oh, yep. She’s coming in for a hug. Wow. She smells amazing.

“Hey,” I say as we pull apart. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought you might like to see a friendly face.”

There’s that friend word again. Always with the friend zone. Still, as she bends down and says, “Hi, I’m Zoya,” and shakes the kids’ hands, I’m choking up—again—because she bothered to come and meet us. I need to turn away to swallow it back before facing her again.

“This is Logan, and this is Haley.” I touch each kid on the head as I introduce them.

“You two are so cute,” Zoya says, crouching down to their level.

“She’s pretty,” Haley says as she looks up at me, wide-eyed.

I nod because Zoya is pretty. More than pretty.

She is a feast, with her brown hair long and wavy, her lips plump, and her eyes dark and sultry.

She doesn’t try to be flashy or sexy. She’s in jeans and a simple, gray T-shirt, her toes painted baby pink, on feet in simple black, leather flip-flops.

But still, she takes my breath away and I don’t know how to feel about that.

I’ve seen plenty of beautiful women. I’ve slept with beautiful women.

The difference? Zoya is unassuming. She’s smart and quiet and steady.

She’s not falling all over herself to get my attention.

And she listens. Really listens. Cares about the Tyler who grew up poor in Boston.

The Tyler who just wanted to get away from his shitty life.

The Tyler who’s trying to get custody of his siblings to keep them from ending up somewhere awful.

I’m staring, made obvious by the way Zoya’s cheeks flush as she meets my gaze.

“Your voice is funny,” Logan says, breaking the spell.

Zoya giggles as I shake my head. “Logan, Zoya is from Russia. It’s far away from here. She probably thinks your voice sounds funny, too.”

“Sorry,” he says.

“It’s okay,” Zoya says, holding out her hand. “Can I help you find your suitcase? Then we can get something to eat?”

Logan happily takes her hand and they walk off, Haley taking my hand as we follow along. “Is that your girlfriend?” she asks.

I wish. “No. Zoya is my friend.”

“Is she special friends like Mommy has?”

A strangled sound comes out of me. “Uhhhh…no. I’m not sure what that means, exactly, but just a regular friend.”

“Will you get married?”

“Haley.”

“What?”

“I told you Zoya is my friend. That’s all. We’re not getting married.”

Zoya has tuned into the conversation now. She smirks as she says, “I’m only nineteen, Haley. It is too soon to think about marriage.”

“But are you in love?” Haley just won’t let it go. “You look like a princess.”

“Thank you, sweetie,” she says, ruffling Haley’s hair, expertly avoiding the question about being in love.