Page 57 of A Vegas Crush Collection #3

number nineteen

Mikhail

Reagan opens the door slowly after, I’m sure, checking the peephole first. As she definitely fucking should. But she looks so different from the woman I was with last night.

Her eyes are swollen, dark circles blooming beneath, a strong contrast against her pale skin. Her hair is a mess, and she’s still in her dress from the night before.

Without saying a word, she leaves the door wide open as she heads to her couch, flops down, and buries her head under a throw pillow. I take this as an invitation to come in, shutting the door quietly and finding a spot to sit at the end of the couch, pulling her feet into my lap.

For the longest time, I don’t know what to say. There’s so much to this story of Reagan that I don’t know. And I want to ask why she left. Why does she keep leaving? What else is going on? Did she do something for real? Do those guys have a reason to be after her?

So many questions, but not a one of them comes out of my mouth.

“I’ve always lived in my father’s shadow,” I say, surprising myself at where my brain is taking me.

“He was a god of a hockey player. You don’t get to live among the Greats unless you’re really something special, you know?

And I was the only son. I have two sisters—I think I already told you that?

—and hockey was a boy’s sport as I was growing up.

Not many girls played, you know? So, I was it.

I was the only one who could hold up the legacy my father had built. ”

I fiddle with a loose string on the Crush hoodie I hastily pulled on when I woke up and found Reagan had disappeared. Again.

“I’ve played hockey since I was old enough to get into skates.

I was, like, three maybe? I don’t remember those early days much, so it often feels like I’ve been on skates my entire life, you know?

My dad just expected me to play and nothing much else really mattered.

And I just pushed myself. I kept pushing myself, but nothing I did was ever really good enough for him.

I’d make one milestone and he’d set another.

He never praised me or even said, ‘good job, son.’ He just kept telling me how inadequate I was, how much work I needed to do to be good enough. ”

Reagan extricates herself from underneath her pillow, turning to her back, her eyes tired as she watches me with interest.

“I was kind of a loner in school. I played hockey all year long, and we were always traveling for games and tournaments plus stuff my dad was doing, so I couldn’t have friends over or anything.

Because of that, I started reading comic books.

Got really into superheroes.” I let out a light laugh, feeling like the dork I totally am.

“When I graduated high school, I went straight to the pros. I was just three months shy of twenty when I took the ice for the first time as a starter with the Crush. And I was a grade A asshole. I used to pretend I didn’t speak English and spoke Czech instead, just to have an excuse not to have to talk very much.

I did it every time a new teammate joined the Crush just to make it harder for them to get to know me.

Such a dick move on my part, I am aware.

I never tried to make friends on the team because, you know, why bother? ”

“You probably didn’t know how,” she says, letting out a big yawn.

I nod. “Yeah, deep friendships weren’t a part of my life equation.

I just focused on the game, got the starting position, and left it all out on the ice.

Nineteen-year-old starter on a top NHL team.

When they asked me what number I’d like to wear, I didn’t hesitate to pick number nineteen out of what was available even though my father’s number eight was available as well.

You’d think my dad would’ve been gushing with pride, right? Nope. Still not impressed.”

“Why are you telling me all of this?” Reagan asks softly, her pretty brown eyes glittering with what could be leftover tears from before I got here and began this epic crygasm of a tale.

“Good question,” I say with a chuckle. “I don’t talk about this stuff with many people.

My teammate Aiden knows there’s some tension between my dad and me, but he doesn’t know half of what I just told you.

But I don’t know. I guess it seems like maybe you’ve got some stuff going on in your life—a lot more than you’ve shared—and I want you to know I’m here.

You can talk to me about any of it because I’m a good listener.

I thought it might help if you heard about my baggage first, I guess. ”

Reagan is quiet for a long time before she says, “Everyone has parent issues. I have them, too, among the many other ways my life is in chaos.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She laughs and shakes her head. “We’d be here all day. I doubt you’ve got that kind of time.”

I check the calendar app on my phone, and I really do need to get to a morning training session at the practice arena.

“I do have to go to training, but I’ll be back this afternoon. Do you have to work tonight?”

“No, actually. I’m off tonight.”

“Good. Look, Reagan, I’d like to give you someone to talk to. A friend to talk to. Someone you can trust.”

“I’ll admit I don’t have many of those.”

“Do you want to grab dinner? I could take you out somewhere fun? We could eat a ridiculously expensive meal and talk about our issues? It’ll be like a caloric counseling session.”

This makes her smile. “That sounds perfect.”

“Awesome.” I pat her ankles as I stand up. “I’ll figure out the details and come grab you around six?”

She nods and I debate bending down to give her a kiss.

She bites her inner lip, looking tentative, so I bail on the idea.

Maybe I should just take a step back from the physical and be a good friend to her.

Fuck if I want to do that though. I’ve enjoyed good sex in the past. Last night was a step above anything else I’ve ever done.

But the woman in front of me seems so…heartbroken, and I want to be the man she can at least lean on. Maybe even heal some of the hurt.

I run my hand through my hair and stand there awkwardly, not sure what to do or say next.

“Mikhail, I’ll be fine,” she says, bringing her hand up to cup my cheek. “Thanks for checking on me. And for telling me some of your story.”

I turn my lips into the palm of her hand and give it a kiss. “Okay, I’ll see you tonight.”