Page 48 of A Vegas Crush Collection #3

chaos theory

Reagan

This hockey player does not need my drama.

I finish telling my story and I can tell that this is way out of Mikhail’s depth.

He must doubt that I’m telling the truth, too.

Who wouldn’t? I’ve clearly interrupted his dinner, yet he didn’t complain, which I do appreciate.

But he does not need me, some stranger, pulling him into my dramatic world.

Scary-as-fuck-drama.

Taking a deep gulp of air, I try to steady myself.

But I’m terribly uncomfortable in my casino uniform.

White shirt. Black bow tie. Black pants.

“I need to change.” I pull at the bow tie as if it might choke me at any moment.

Honestly, the thought of going back out into the hallway, to maybe face yet another assault by Sodorov’s henchmen, terrifies me.

“I can walk you up, just to make sure you get in okay. If you’d like?”

Relief forces an audible exhale out of me. “That would be great. Thanks.”

He stands and holds out a hand to help me up. I take it, trying to convince myself the flip of my stomach when I touch him is just misplaced gratitude. He’s a good guy. He’s helped me. He continues to help me. That’s all.

Unfortunately, by the time we reach my apartment, the relief I felt just moments ago evaporates as soon as we see the state of my door.

The lock has been jimmied, judging from all the scratches and marks. Mikhail steps in front of me and tries the handle. To my horror, it opens easily.

And I never leave it unlocked—especially lately.

He looks back at me, then both ways down the hallway before pushing the door the rest of the way open.

It’s quiet as we step inside. I swear I can hear both of our hearts beating in the eerie silence. Stuff is strewn all over the place. Papers on the floor, drawers hanging open. Oh, God. These people were inside my home.

Limply, I stand, taking in the chaos. Feeling the chaos. Becoming one with the chaos in the span of a single moment.

This situation feels like a tunnel, a long, dark tunnel where no light ever appears. I can feel my tears start to stream down my cheeks as my chest constricts. It’s hard to breathe. How will I ever feel safe in this apartment again, knowing someone can so easily bust in?

“What do you think they were looking for?” Mikhail asks as he returns from my bedroom area. “They’re gone now.”

“I don’t know. If I had to guess, maybe proof I took Henri Sodorov’s money?” I look around and sigh helplessly, repeating myself, “I don’t know.”

As if that somehow helps me out of this mess. Riiight.

I can feel myself going into shut-down mode, and the effort of answering coherently to questions must be weighed with my ability to keep breathing.

He’s got his cell phone in his hand. “Should we call the cops?”

“No!” I say a tad too sharply. “No. I think involving the cops will only make it worse for me.”

He chews on the corner of his lip. Runs a hand through his hair, both things I’m starting to recognize as nervous habits.

And what does that say about me? Pretty much that I’ve stressed this poor guy out enough times in our very short acquaintance to spot his nervous habits of chewing on his bottom lip and dragging his hands through his really good hair.

Both of which look incredibly hot whenever he does either.

Not that I should be taking notes or anything, but impossible not to admire.

Not good. For me or for him. And I really need to put a stop to this.

My problems are not Mikhail Zelenka’s problems. “You don’t have to stay involved in this though.

This mess has nothing to do with you, Mikhail.

I’ll figure it out.” I probably won’t. Of course, I won’t, but at least I’ve given him an out.

He should take it and get away as fast as he can.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Mikhail blows out a long breath.

“Reagan, I confess, I don’t really know what to do here.

I don’t feel great about just leaving you in an apartment that was just vandalized.

I guess…maybe grab some stuff and come stay at my place for a few days while you think things through? ”

I look around at the mess of my apartment and realize that I don’t want to stay here.

I can’t stay here. Not right now. But where can I go?

Most of my friends from college have scattered, and there’s no one at work I’d feel comfortable staying with.

Should I actually consider Mikhail’s offer?

Surely, he’s only offering out of obligation.

What other choice do you have, Reagan? None.

And that’s the saddest part of this. I have no one.

“Okay,” I mumble quietly. I take another deeply relieved breath. “Okay.”

After quickly packing a bag, I call the emergency maintenance line and ask them to change out my locks.

“I never ate my dinner, do you mind? I’m just gonna heat this up for a minute and make some tea. Can I get you anything?” Mikhail asks after taking my bag and leading me to his couch.

Guilt washes over me yet again for disrupting this man’s life as I sit, leaning my head back on the couch and staring up at his ceiling.

“I’m so sorry for interrupting your meal.

” I shake my head in disgust at myself. “I already ate, but I’ll take some tea if you’re making some,” I lie.

I didn’t eat, but honestly, I don’t think I could right now.

“Please, have your dinner.” He flashes me a quick nod combined with the sexy bottom lip chew he’s got down to perfection and heads for his kitchen.

I can hear him using the microwave and then the clink of utensils as he eats, I imagine, standing at the counter for efficiency.

After he finishes his food, I hear him busying himself with the tasks of organizing hot water, mugs, and tea bags.

I have no idea how much time passes while he’s doing all these things.

It doesn’t matter. I haven’t changed my position since he let me back into his apartment.

I’m still stiff-backed with my head on the back of his couch, staring up at his ceiling, racking my brain for some magic solution to the fresh hell I’ve landed myself in.

He sits down next to me a while later, handing me a steaming mug of tea that smells comforting and amazing. I cup it with both hands, savoring the warmth. “Thank you. This is lovely,” I say, trying to give him as big of a smile as I’m capable of, which probably isn’t much, but I do try.

“Do you have any friends here that you could stay with for a while? How much longer do you have on your lease?”

I can tell he’s processing choices, problem-solving. He’s got a hot mess of a girl in his apartment, and he’s a decent guy, and he doesn’t know what to do. I would be doing the same. I’d be counting the seconds until I could rid myself of this unwanted visitor.

“I work a lot, so I don’t really have close friends here in Vegas, just acquaintances.

Being on the floor, I don’t get the chance to really talk to my coworkers much.

And my college friends all went their separate directions after graduation.

” I lost contact with all my friends before I graduated, but I don’t say that part out loud.

He nods a few times. Reflects. Sips his tea. “Can you go home for a while? Lie low for a bit? Maybe start fresh?”

“No.” I shake my head. I can’t say more, won’t say more. He already thinks I’m damaged goods. He does not need to know about my family situation, about the reasons I won’t go back home.

We sit in silence for a while, both of us deep in thought, drinking tea together. Eventually, the choke of my bow tie reminds me that I went to my apartment with intention to shower and change. I unclip the tie at the back of my neck and pull it off, unbuttoning the top button of my shirt.

“Do you mind if I take a shower?”

“No, of course not,” he answers, quickly standing.

I take my bag as he leads me to the bathroom and hands me a clean towel.

I thank him and shut the door, that tight feeling of panic in my chest and throat returning the instant I’m alone.

As the water heats, I undress, focusing on one tiny task at a time.

But the second I step under the calming, hot water, the tears I didn’t realize I was holding in, let loose.

My body slides down, my back slick against the wall, with my head in my hands, I sob and sob and sob. What am I going to do? If I leave, they’ll come after me. It’ll look like I’m running, like I’m guilty. And I am not guilty. Not of stealing.

I left Ohio to get a fresh start. I went to college with a plan. But now, in so many ways, that plan has gone off the rails in a cataclysmic disaster.

I’m stuck here in a dreadful situation I could’ve never even imagined…running literally for my life.

And if not for Mikhail, I could be dead already.