Page 76 of A Vegas Crush Collection #3

Mikhail

Another month later.

This was not a championship year for the Las Vegas Crush. We lost the seventh game in a tied final series to Columbus, of all teams. Columbus, a team that hasn’t won a Cup in, like, forever.

There was a silver lining though. I flew Reagan out to Columbus for games three and four and got to meet her mom, Audrey, and visit her childhood home. I can see where Reagan gets her feistiness from and have a pretty good idea how she might look in another thirty years or so. Still hot.

Two seconds after we were introduced, Audrey pulled me in for a bear hug and whispered in my ear, “Thank you for saving my baby. I can never repay you for that, but I’m going to try my best, son.

” She called me son and welcomed me as an honored member of the family.

It was nice to be appreciated for something other than hockey or my namesake for once.

But on my merits as a decent human. First time for everything, I guess.

Either way, Audrey Marlowe and a guest will have standing tickets every time the Crush come to Columbus to play hockey.

Now we’re all hanging by the pool at a private resort, the owner, Max Terry, blocked off for us to celebrate the end of the season.

I’m stretched out on a lounge chair, Reagan between my legs looking sexy-as-fuck in a turquoise bikini.

Aiden sits next to us, chattering about his plan to go teach kids how to play hockey in New England for the summer.

“I’m going to get a weird, Reagan-shaped tan line, babe.”

“Too bad. Don’t be vain,” she replies.

“With hair like that? There’s no other way to be,” Aiden jokes.

“He does have very pretty hair,” Reagan says.

I roll my eyes and flip Aiden the bird.

It’s been fun introducing Reagan to my world.

She was shy at first, but her personality has been coming out more and more as she gets comfortable meeting my teammates and their significant others.

She’s already been chatting with Tyler’s fiancée, Zoya, about their wedding plans.

She’s on her way now, and I’m so proud of her.

Scarlett and Viktor wander over and I take the opportunity to introduce her because I know Scarlett has been on maternity leave with her second kid and wasn’t traveling with the team during the playoffs. “Scarlett, this is Reagan, my girlfriend.”

“Hiya, Reagan,” Scarlett says. “Where did you come from?”

“She spotted me at the boxing gym and thought I was stalking her,” I explain.

“I punched him in the jaw once,” Reagan adds proudly.

Viktor grins. “He probably deserved it.”

“What do you do for a living, Reagan?” Scarlett asks.

“I’m a wedding planner at Silver & Golden Events. But only for the past couple of months. I used to croupier at Tangiers.”

“Oh yes, the Tangiers.” Scarlett is nodding. “I worked there for a bit a few years back myself. Did double duty in the Crush PR department while I was busting my ass serving drinks at the casino before I met Viktor.”

I can feel Reagan relax when she realizes there is someone else here who changed their career path. I know a little about Scarlett’s story and I think she and Reagan would connect.

Max Terry gets up and taps a half-empty glass of some kind of fruity-looking drink.

Coach Brown and the GM, Grant, join him.

They all take a minute to talk, each of them saying how unique a season this was and how proud they are of our ability to work through discomfort.

It’s taken a couple of years to successfully build a full roster of players who all feel connected to the mission.

“And damn,” Max Terry says, snapping his fingers. “We came so close again this year.”

As Coach Brown is talking about the growth he’s seen this year, my phone rings. I sigh and roll my eyes.

“Your dad?” Reagan whispers, missing nothing in my body language.

I nod and crawl out from behind her, walking off to take the call.

“Yeah,” I answer once I’m out of range of the party.

“Congratulations on a nothing of a season,” he says. “You all wasted so much time dicking around with line changes and new formations this year that you forgot who you were. You let it all slip away…”

I pinch the bridge of my nose between my fingertips, closing my eyes. More insults. More ranting.

Enough.

All I feel is fury.

“Stop. I’m so done with this.”

“Done with what?” my father asks. “Hockey?”

I scoff. “No. I love hockey. You haven’t beaten that out of me with your constant negativity, at least.”

“My negativity?” Like he’s unsure what I mean. “I believe I’ve only been providing feedback to make your play better. I just want you to be your best.”

“You don’t give two shits about me, Dad. You’re worried about not having your legacy tarnished. I’ve never been good enough. Never been enough, period. And I never will be. I see that now.”

“Son, you’re letting your emotions cloud your judgment right now. Tread carefully. Think about what you’re saying before you open your mouth again.”

“Why? Because you don’t like to hear the truth?

Sorry, I’m done keeping my mouth shut just to preserve the peace.

I’ve tried living in the shadow of The Great Zelenka, but now I’m done with that, too.

I’m just going to live my own life. Make my own way.

And I’m going to play my own game. If I want your advice, I’ll ask for it.

Otherwise, please just keep your opinions to yourself. ”

Then I hang up on him.

I have never done that. I’ve never told him off like that, either. Never have I ever gotten in the last word on one of his ranting calls.

Shaking, I head to the restroom and wash my face, staring in the mirror, seeing so much of my father’s face there, sans the neck tats. I cock my fist, ready to smash the image but gather my wits before doing something very, very stupid.

“He does not control you,” I tell myself in the mirror. I’ve spent years reminding myself of this. I was thrilled to move out West, just to get farther away from him. Today, though, it actually feels true as I say it.

I spend the rest of the party with a dull roar in my ears, halfway present and halfway still in the conversation as I process what I just did.

You simply do not talk back to Jozem Zelenka.

You just don’t. If I were a kid, it would’ve meant extra drills on the ice, or heading to bed without dinner, even if I’d just burned off a day’s worth of calories at practice.

I learned not to argue because not arguing meant survival.

It meant that there would be a tentative peace.

But have I done the right thing? It felt right. Triumphant in the moment. But what does it mean for my family?

In the car on the way home, I stare out the window, holding Reagan’s hand on the leather seat of the town car Max Terry ordered to shuttle us.

“What’s wrong?” Reagan asks. “You seem agitated.”

I lift a shoulder. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Was it the call from your dad?”

I pull my hand away. “I’m fine.”

“You seem fine,” she murmurs.

I don’t know how much time passes, but she gets my attention when she puts the privacy glass up between us and the driver. She crawls on the floor in front of me, unzips my shorts, frees my cock.

She strokes and licks, watching for my reaction. I’m pretty sure I just scowl, but she’s undeterred. “I’m trying to distract you, dummy. Let it go. Just focus on me.”

I can do that.

I focus on her mouth around my cock, red lips parting to take me in. I watch as her cheeks turn pink under my scrutiny. I see her eyes go dark with lust as she finds her rhythm, feels me harden fully.

Reagan is just so gorgeous. Her skin is porcelain, her eyes dark as stone.

Her hair is a slick bob to her sharp chin.

She’s small, with beautifully proportioned breasts and narrow hips.

I worried, the first time we were together, that I might break her.

But now I see her strength. I see how powerful she really is.

Not just physically—though her workouts have certainly resulted in some lean muscle—but mentally, emotionally.

She has complete control over me. Especially now, as she takes my cock deep into her throat, moaning as she fucks me expertly with her mouth.

I put a hand on the back of her head, guiding her to go faster, to take me deeper. One hand at the base of my dick, she digs the nails of her free hand into my thigh. My hips arch up and I come wickedly hard. She licks some more, swallows it down, takes her time finishing.

Laying my head back on the seat, I close my eyes as she zips me back up and crawls into my lap, her arms around my shoulders, her face buried at my neck. What did I ever do to deserve this warrior princess?

We stay like that the rest of the way home. We don’t talk, and I don’t feel any less angry, but I love her for making me feel good and forget for a little while. I plan on returning the favor at my first opportunity.

As soon as we get home and step inside the apartment, I have her sundress over her head and her bikini top on the floor.

I tear the suit bottoms from her body. Moments later, I’m naked, and she’s on the kitchen table.

My cock is in her, no preamble. I fuck her, hard, and she begs me, “More. Deeper. Please, please, please.”

When I feel close to coming again, I pull out, pulling her roughly to the edge of the table, shoving my tongue in her cunt, adding my fingers as she writhes, her hands digging into my hair. I don’t let her come though, and she cries out in frustration at me when she’s close and I pull away.

I pick her up and take her to the couch, pushing her over the arm so her ass is exposed. I finger her from behind as I kiss her neck and take her mouth with my tongue. She moans and cries out for me, begging me to fill her, to fuck her. It drives me wild, my cock so hard I think it might break.

My hands on her hips, I give her what she’s asking for. I fill her. I fuck her. I own her beautiful body until she’s coming around my cock, her pussy contracting, squeezing, begging me to come along with her for the ride.

And I do.

I come brutally hard, pumping myself through an intense orgasm that has me growling and gritting my teeth as I unload every last drop inside her.

There are no words as I pick her up and take her into the bathroom to clean up. No words as Reagan takes my hand and leads us to the bedroom. No words as we curl up together, skin against skin, our hearts still beating wildly.

“I love you,” I finally say in the dark quiet.

“I know. And I love you, too.”

But what happened?

She doesn’t even have to ask the question out loud for me to know. It lingers between us, pressing into the dark quiet of the room.

I have to swallow a few times before I can form the words.

For so many years, I’ve lived in my silence.

I haven’t had anyone to offload my frustrations with, so I’m used to internally processing with no outlet to articulate my anger.

Instead, I’ve been such an asshole to so many for so long.

But now, I’m no longer alone. This woman loves me.

She’s selfless and kind. And it’s okay for me to share my burdens with her.

“I hung up on my dad today. I told him I was done with his criticism. I told The Great Zelenka I needed to make my own way as a player. As a man.”

She doesn’t speak for a long time, but when she does, it’s exactly what I need to hear. “I’m proud of you. I know that can’t have been easy.”

“He called it a nothing of a season. Only negative things to say. I guess I finally had enough.”

“Well, twenty-six years of it is probably more than enough,” she says with a soothing caress of her fingers through my hair.

“Let’s say twenty-three years.” I try to lighten the mood. “I started playing when I was three.”

She huffs angrily. “Who shits on a three-year-old for not being good enough at hockey?”

“My father had very specific expectations of me. You know what his new thing is? He thinks I’m worthless because I haven’t played on an Olympic team. I mean, fuck. I can’t fucking win with this guy.”

“I’m so sorry, but I think you did the right thing today. I’m sure you just lost your cool, but this was a long time coming. He needed to hear you find your voice.”

I don’t say anything in response, but I think about her words. Eventually, Reagan’s breathing evens, and I realize she’s fallen asleep. I should sleep, too, but my mind won’t shut down.

He needed to hear you find your voice.

That really sticks with me, but it mixes in with my worries about how my mother will react. Does she know I stood up to him? Will she take his side and ask me to apologize?

It’s a long time, and a lot of anxiety, before I finally fall asleep. And the only thing that gets me there is the woman beside me in our bed.

Who loves me for no other reason than for me.