Page 74 of A Vegas Crush Collection #3

weird clubs

Mikhail

The Crush are on fire tonight. I’ve scored twice in two periods, and we’re playing full subs. Whatever hiccup there was between all of us on the team seems to have dissipated. Everyone is playing like a team.

Which is good because I really need something to keep my mind off Reagan.

Who I haven’t heard from since she left, except for a single text apologizing for hurting me and letting me know she was safe and coming home soon.

I know she only sent the text because I was a dick and sent a song letting her know just how she was making me feel. It wasn’t my best moment, and the lyrics are kinda mean, even though they’re spot on with where my emotions have been.

For an entire fucking week.

I still worry about her. And look for her everywhere I go.

She hasn’t been back to the Tangiers for work, but William from the bar told me she cleaned out her locker.

I’m not sorry she quit her job there though.

It wasn’t a good fit for her, and there are better jobs out there where I know she’d be a lot happier.

I did take care of a couple things on my own, whether she likes it or not. It’s already done. And I won’t apologize for helping someone I care about out of a serious problem when I have the means to do so.

With Viktor and Boris’s help, who hooked me up with a fixer in Vegas who deals in such things as handling payoffs to the degenerate fuck who dared to put his hands on Reagan and threatened her with being sex trafficked or murdered (her choice).

Debt paid in full—

The message Saul Heisenberg had delivered to Peter Pellton in his jail cell via a picture of Reagan with a second message written on the back and signed by me.

You don’t know Reagan Marlowe anymore. Fuck with her again and find out. Your choice.

—Mikhail “Mr. Hockey” Zelenka

So yeah, I did that. I know people now. And I always keep my promises.

But then, a few days after settling Reagan’s debt through Saul Heisenberg, more news came out.

Henri Sodorov was found unresponsive in his cell where he was being held before his arraignment.

No video to show what really happened to him, either, because his guards were conveniently absent when it all went down in the early morning hours.

The fucker is dead.

Didn’t even make it a week before someone unalived him in what’s being called a suspected suicide/poisoning? That someone was not me, of course, but kudos to the mastermind who handled it, whoever they are.

The Vegas crime boss probably knew too many names and where all the “bodies” were buried so to speak.

Probably had too many connections with high profile clients who didn’t appreciate the very noisy federal raid on his compound.

Doesn’t matter why he was taken out, or by who.

The important thing is Henri Sodorov got what was coming to him.

Saul Heisenberg assures me all the backroom books are wiped clean of Reagan’s name, her debt, of her existence even, and that’s all I care about. Whoever takes up the helm of the former Sodorov crime syndicate won’t even know about Reagan Marlowe. She is free to move on with her life now.

Not very superheroish of me to be thrilled at the death of a person, I realize, but maybe it was on second thought, if I righted a wrong and protected someone I love from a literal bad guy.

Even though I’m still fucking pissed at her, I’ve accepted where I’m at with my feelings.

Which is flat out in love with her.

Even if she doesn’t love me back. Or can’t, or whatever.

I’ve learned you can’t help who you fall in love with, and that goes both ways. Even when they hurt you, it may not be on purpose and only because of the circumstances they’re in. At least, that’s what I tell myself to get through the days until she comes back—

“Let’s go, muthafuckahs, and get Zelly his hatty in the third!” Evan busts through my deep thoughts in the locker room before delivering a few hearty slaps to my back with his big mitt.

Time to head out to the ice and finish off this game.

In the third period, we just keep dominating.

Cal is not letting a damn thing through, and our defense isn’t letting much get that far anyway.

Boris is hungry, ready to prove exactly why he’s called the Ice Dragon.

He takes three rapid-succession shots on goal.

One goes wide. He grabs it, jukes a Boston defenseman, and takes a second shot.

It hits the goalie and bounces back, and he’s right there again.

Boom. Third time’s a charm, and it’s in.

The horn is loud and obnoxious, but everyone in the arena is also loud and obnoxious.

In short, it’s awesome. Boris’s face is huge on the jumbotron, and then the screen changes to his girlfriend, Talia, blonde and bespectacled, and the genius financial manager for a lot of guys on the team, including me.

She blows a kiss to him from the stands, which he returns right back to her by way of the jumbotron in full garish Las Vegas style, complete with a cartoon dragon giving an air kiss with hearts floating around his head.

No hat trick for me tonight, but we finish four-zip, a shut-out at home, with a full tank of gas on the ice and on the bench.

Coach comes in with our GM, and they tell us that this is what they’ve been waiting for.

Tyler and Georg dump a bucket of ice water over Grant’s head.

And all over his expensive suit. I can’t help but smirk about it.

“Hey, you’re smiling!” Aiden says. He points and yells, “Hey, everyone, Zelly’s smiling!”

I roll my eyes and shake my head, turning back to my locker, but the grin just gets wider. Sometimes, I forget how fun this game can be.

“You up for a celebratory drinkie-drink?” Aiden asks.

“Nah.” I tap him on his pec with my fist. “I’m good. But you have fun.”

“Lame, Mik, so very lame,” he scolds with a slow shake of his head.

Evan claps me on the back, his British coming through as he tells me, “Fine work out there, my lad.” There’s a new understanding, I think, between us. I still don’t speak up a lot to the team, but I do speak. Not just with words but with my play.

I walk home, as usual, ready to find some chow and try to relax with a movie. But as I step off the elevator, I see a small familiar figure sitting cross-legged in front of my door.

I think it’s the most beautiful fucking sight I’ve ever seen in my life.

She stands as I approach, dusting off the front of her jeans. “I expected to find an eviction notice when I got back, but management tells me an anonymous person paid up my lease for the next three months.”

I shrug. “Nice person.”

“Very nice.” She grins. “I’ve missed you.”

I’ve missed you, too. So much. But I’m wary about the hope spreading through me. Cautious she’s only here to say a final goodbye.

I unlock the door and invite her in. “Where were you?”

“I went home to see my mom for a while. I’m sorry I didn’t check in.”

“I tried calling for the first couple of days, but it just went straight to voicemail.”

“I know.” She sighs and pushes her lips together.

“Reagan, I don’t think I can keep doing this, you know?

You keep bailing on me.” It’s all I can do to not pull her to me.

To kiss her, and more. I still want her.

I still care for her deeply. And knowing she’s here and safe?

It’s everything. I think I might be able to actually sleep tonight.

But I’m also still raw from believing she was dead in that morgue, from the constant back and forth.

And what I’ve said is true. I can’t keep doing this.

Getting close and then pushed away will fuck me up worse than I already am.

“I know I hurt you when I left. It was wrong of me not to keep in touch with you. I should have told you where I was, but I had some things to figure out. With my mom. With my life. And I didn’t want to hurt you or your career.”

“My career has nothing to do with this.”

“If there had been word that you were involved, even peripherally, with Henri Sodorov? A criminal? You don’t think that would tarnish your reputation in hockey?”

“No,” I snap. “I’m not a criminal. And neither are you. What’s there to be afraid of? Especially now the fucker’s dead.”

“I guess that’s really the difference between us. You live in this bubble. You have money and people know who you are. They care if something happens to you. You go missing for two days? The FBI will be out looking for you. I go missing for two days?” Her arms flap out helplessly.

“You go missing for two days and there’s this hockey player who goes to the morgue, hoping and praying it’s not your body he has to identify.

He stays up for nearly two days straight, worrying and pacing.

” I shove my hands through my hair and groan.

“You’re killing me, here. We go back to the same arguments over and over again.

Yes, I’m a pro athlete. Yes, I have money.

Yes, I grew up with money. Stop using those things against me.

I am who I am, and you are who you are. And you’re worth knowing.

I want to know you more, but you keep running away. ”

Reagan’s shoulders slump. “I know. I know I do. But I’m done running away. Now, I’m running toward something.”

I look up, still wary but hopeful.

“I had an interview today. This morning. The company I was supposed to interview with before everything happened with Sodorov. And guess what?”

“What?”

“I got the job!”

I force a smile, but I’m quite sure it doesn’t register as authentic. Because I am happy for her, but I’m also disappointed. Disappointed that she hasn’t yet realized that all these barriers she’s putting up between us are a construct. They’re excuses to avoid getting closer.

“That’s great,” I say flatly. “Congratulations. Now you can start to move on with your life. Use that college degree and do what you’ve always wanted to do.”

There’s an awkward moment between us. Me, checking my phone.

Her shoulders hunching forward, a strange, shy look on her face.

“I know it’s late,” she says with a dip of her head, her long dark lashes starkly contrasting against her cheekbones.

Her beauty is perfection to me. I could look at her for hours and never be bored.

“Yeah. I’m whipped. We had a game tonight.”

“I know. I watched it from my apartment. You scored twice. I watched your game at New York from Columbus, too. My mom, as it turns out, was a fan of your dad back in the day. Who knew? She totally schooled me with her knowledge of hockey.”

I let out a huff of a laugh. “That’s cool.” And it is cool that she’s having fun learning about hockey, but I do not want to talk about my dad right now.

Reagan opens her mouth, but nothing comes out at first. She licks her lips and looks around the room, then seems to focus again. “There’s something else I learned when I was in Columbus.”

“Okay.”

“I…um…well, I think—I know…I love you.”

I feel my face open up in surprise as my heart goes on a roller coaster ride. “But you just gave me seventeen reasons this can’t work.”

She laughs. “I did not give you seventeen reasons. I just said I—Never mind. Look, I’m a dummy.

I was a shell of myself the past couple of years, but you helped me fill in the lines again.

When I’m with you, I feel like I can be a person again.

A real person, with interests and goals.

I’ve laughed again, smiled again. And you don’t diminish me.

You encourage me to be strong. You remind me that I’m strong. ”

“I sound kind of awesome when you put it like that.” I can’t help the grin I feel on my face.

“Cocky bastard.” She does a sexy eye roll that slaps my little brain down below wide awake. “But yes, Mr. Hockey, you are a kinda awesome superhero dude. Who, despite my best efforts to resist, for your own good, mind you, I’ve fallen in love with. In case you missed it the first time around.”

I step forward, pulling her to me, filling the space between us.

My hands cup her cheeks as I lean in for the briefest of kisses.

“I didn’t miss it the first time around, but I really liked hearing it come out of your pretty mouth twice.

” Holding her face to mine, I whisper against her sweet cherry lips, “Mr. Hockey fell in love with you a while ago.”

She bites back a smile. “I knew it.”

“Now who’s cocky?” I ask, but it’s kind of cut off as she jumps me, wrapping her arms around my neck while my hands grip under her ass to hold her off the ground. She feels so fuckin’ good against me again. She buries her head against my neck but then pulls away to look me in the eye.

“I’m so sorry for being stupid, but mostly for hurting you.”

“I forgive you. And I’m sorry for trying to fix your problems all the time.”

“That’s not something to apologize for. I know you just want to help. And I know you think I’m capable and smart because you’ve told me so.”

“I do think you’re capable and smart. And really fucking gorgeous.”

She blushes and I’m fully hard in an instant. I want to see if that blush spreads anywhere else on her gorgeous body. She wiggles against me and grins when she finds my erection saluting her right between her legs. “At least one part of you is completely happy to see me.”

I set her down, reaching for her hand, ready to guide her to the bedroom. “All parts of me are happy to see you. But you know, we can still take this slow, if that’s what you want. We can still love each other without a label or whatever.”

She smacks me on the shoulder with her free hand. “No way, buddy. I read up on the Hockey WAGS website. There’s a whole club and I want in.”

Laughing, I lead my girlfriend to the bedroom.

“We have other business to attend to before there will be any joining of weird clubs, babe.”