Page 73 of A Vegas Crush Collection #3

When I’m in the shower, I think of Mikhail, of course, and how he washed me so lovingly after my ordeal.

And it occurs to me that I am not so different from him in how I’ve helped my mom.

That he would jump in to help someone he loved in the same way.

He’d do whatever was necessary. He’s told me this—so many times—that he doesn’t see us as so disparate from one another.

That he thinks I’m strong and compassionate. And worth saving. Worth protecting.

In my mom, I see the same thing. I see someone worth protecting, worth helping.

She has a mental health disorder, but it’s only a small sliver of the person she truly is.

My mother has taken in friends and even the kids of friends who needed a place to stay.

She’s always volunteered at community events for charity.

She has always supported me in what I wanted to do, even when it hurt her.

She is kind and caring, and she loves me.

Later, once she’s calm enough, she wants to know the details of what I did to take care of her finances during that manic period. I walk her through everything, meticulously recorded, and show her how everything gets paid and managed now that she is on disability benefits.

“I’m so sorry I disappeared,” she says. “I can’t believe you did all of this while you were still going to school. Where was I?”

“It’s fine, Mamma.”

“No wonder you didn’t ever want to come home these past couple of years.”

I shrug. I didn’t want to come home. It worried me too much. What if I’d come home to another crisis? Another financial wreck? I don’t say any of that, but I know she understands.

“I’ve been stable for a long time now, Reagan.

I have a good doctor and we’ve found a nice combination of medications.

I have my moments, here and there, but therapy has made me more aware of the signs.

There are people I trust who help me reach out for help as soon as they notice I start doing something that seems out of the ordinary. ”

“That’s great, Mamma. Really great.”

“I know this is the way of this disease,” she says, looking over the paperwork I’ve put in front of her. “It cycles. It comes back. So I can’t say I won’t have another episode in this life. But I am committed to staying on my medication, to staying connected to my doctors.”

I stare at her, my face caught between a cry and a smile. “I love you, so much.”

“As I love you, my darling daughter. I bless the day you were born and chose me to be your mamma.”

“I need to get a replacement for my cell phone,” I tell the T-Mobile rep at a kiosk inside Columbus Towne Center. “I lost it in an accident.”

Shea at T-Mobile gets me set up in no time and sends me on my way with a brand-new phone covered by my replacement plan.

My first call is to one Detective Stone at LVPD using the card Officer McNabb gave to Mikhail when he took me home.

I saw the card sitting there by his front door when I left.

Just remembering my emotional state as I was leaving, with Mikhail begging me not to go, takes my breath away as I wait for the call to connect.

As I’m sitting on a bench at the food court inside the mall, the gruff detective tells me they have my phone in evidence, but it seems to have been run over by a vehicle.

It probably fell out of my pocket or hand when I got out of the cab.

He asks why I didn’t stay in Vegas for questioning, and I tell him I needed to see my mom.

I get an earful about leaving, but I end up answering his questions over the phone and promising to check in at the police station as soon as I return to Las Vegas.

My second call is to the wedding planning company, Silver & Golden Events, in Henderson. The person who was supposed to interview me, Veronique, is dubious when I tell her why I didn’t show up for my interview.

“I’m so sorry, Veronique. There was an emergency completely out of my control.

My phone was lost in the chaos. It’s taken me a few days to recover.

I would really like the opportunity to interview if the position is still open.

This is what I went to college to do, and I don’t want to miss an opportunity.

I’m a hard worker and I’m ready for the next chapter.

I hope you’ll consider giving me another chance. ”

“You know, I don’t usually give second chances,” Veronique says. “We’re in the business of making dreams come true and we don’t get second chances on wedding days. Our reputation is built on delivering what we have promised, and on exceeding those expectations.”

“I know. And I would be so thrilled to be part of building that for your clients. Please, just a chance to come in and talk about the opportunity.”

She’s quiet for a long pause, but then she speaks. “Okay, Reagan. I feel like I can believe you, that you really did have an emergency. I’d still like to take a chance on you. Let’s schedule another interview.”

Oh, thank you, God. Maybe, just maybe, my life is turning around for good.

Late at night, alone in my room with my new phone in hand, I get brave enough to face all the texts and voice mails Mikhail left while I was missing. It’s hard for me to acknowledge just how much I’ve hurt him by always pushing away after letting him in.

But face it, I must.

Once everything downloads from the Cloud, I read his texts first. The early ones are the usual short messages and emojis we use with each other, mentioning his game schedule or meetups at the gym.

He sent one on Thursday morning, wishing me luck at my interview.

And another that night asking how it went.

He sent one on Friday morning, reminding me we were supposed to have dinner that night to celebrate success or drown our sorrows, whichever fit the situation.

The voice messages are worse, not because of the words, but because I can hear the worry and concern in his voice. He doesn’t say a lot, because he’s not a chatty guy in person or on the phone usually, but I can hear the worry loud and clear even through those few voice mails he left for me.

Then everything stops after Saturday when I left Las Vegas. After I pushed him away for the last time. But then I see he’s left me a text with no message—just a song attachment, dated yesterday.

“Breath” by Breaking Benjamin.

I hit the link and listen as the song starts to play on my shiny new phone. I sit there frozen as it plays, my guilt for the hurt I’ve caused him only growing stronger as I listen to what the words say:

You take the breath right out of me

Left a hole where my heart should be

You got to fight just to make it through

'Cause I will be the death of you

This will be all over soon

Pour the salt into the open wound

Is it over yet?

Let me in

So sacrifice yourself and let me have what's left

I know that I can find the fire in your eyes

I'm going all the way, get away, please

I'm waiting

I'm praying

Realize, start hating

You take the breath right out of me

Left a hole where my heart should be…

The tears come as I hit single repeat, so it’ll just play over and over.

I figure the punishment is what I deserve, listening to the angry words of a song that demonstrates to me very clearly just how much I’ve hurt him.

Even more, made him mad at me, something I’ve never really felt from Mikhail before.

I’ve pissed off Mr. Hockey good and truly, and that’s a terrible thing to do to the best man I’ve ever known and probably will ever know.

I send him a single text.

Mikhail, please believe me when I say I’m so terribly sorry for everything I’ve put you through. You didn’t deserve any of it. I’m only safe because of you, and when I can, I’ll be home soon. xo R

I try to suck it up when he doesn’t reply.

The weight on my shoulders feels lighter already, just being away from all the bad consuming me over the past two years.

Reconnecting with my mother is probably the best medicine of all. Doing simple things together. Just accepting the love and support from another person throughout the day and knowing they’ll still be there for you (and you for them) tomorrow and the next day, has helped me tremendously.

Mom and I have been taking long walks around the old neighborhood, visiting with people and their dogs and families walking with babies in strollers.

I’ve even introduced her to the basics of kickboxing, which is hilarious, but she’s into it.

We watched Wonder Woman one night, and all I could think about was Mikhail and his encyclopedic knowledge of the DC and Marvel universes.

How he would explain Wonder Woman’s backstory to me, wanting to help it all make sense for me.

One night, when I turn on ESPN to watch the Vegas Crush playing in New York, Mom turns to me.

“You haven’t mentioned your hockey friend since you’ve been here. Something I’m missing, Bug?”

“Well, there’s not much to say. He’s a wonderful man, but we’ll only ever be friends.”

“Which one is he again? It’s hard to tell with their gear on.”

I point to the screen. “He’s the left forward—winger, I think it’s called—for the Crush. I’m such a crummy friend though. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own craziness that I’ve barely asked him about his stuff.”

“He’s your friend?” she asks, as Mikhail’s image and stats pop up on screen. “That hot, professional hockey player is your friend?”

I laugh. “I know, it’s insane.”

“How did you meet him?”

“Well, first I accused him of being a creeper, when really, we just work out at the same boxing gym and live in the same building. Then, he saved me from a bad guy in the alleyway. We’ve been friends ever since.”

I’m purposely picking at nonexistent lint on my shorts to avoid my mother’s gaze. She is fully present these days and, therefore does not miss the slight blush that heats my cheeks.

“Friends,” she repeats. “What kind of friends?”

“Um,” I hum.

“Is it serious?”

“No, it hasn’t been.” Then I sigh. “Well, he’d like it to be. And I think I’d like it to be, but I keep telling myself he doesn’t deserve to get stuck in this web I’m in. You know?”

“Well, he’s a grown man, Bug. Shouldn’t that be his choice?”

“I suppose.” I think about her words. “He’s a really good man. Kind of on the serious side. His dad was a pro player, too. A very famous one, from what I gather.”

“Oh,” my mom breathes. Then, “Ohhhh. The Great Zelenka. That’s his dad?”

I pull a face. “You’ve heard of him?”

“When I was younger, I went to hockey games with my friends. He was quite the hockey poster boy back in the day.”

“Well, I think he might be quite the asshole in the now. Mikhail seems to feel oppressed by him.”

“I can imagine it’s hard to live in the shadow of someone like that.”

“I don’t think he does, though. I think he’s quite good on his own. Mikhail told me he started for the Crush in his rookie year.”

“That’s a rare feat. Well, maybe his father pushes him too hard? Makes him feel inadequate?”

“I think that’s more like it,” I say. “He’s very serious about the game. But he also has a thing for superheroes. Movies, comics.”

“It sounds like he’s worth getting to know.”

“He’s been a great friend.” Even to my own ears, my voice sounds wistful. When I meet Mom’s gaze again, she’s wearing a knowing smile. “I think I’m in love with him.”

“I can tell.”

I blush again and focus on the game. I don’t know much about hockey, so my mom, of all people, walks me through the rules as things happen. I ogle Mikhail through the television and wonder just how, amidst all this chaos in my life, I have managed to fall in love.

I just hope it’s not too late for me to let him know.