Page 77 of A Vegas Crush Collection #3

going for the knockout

Reagan

I adjust the straps on my dress and tap my fingers nervously on my thigh beneath the table. I picked a nice, but not too expensive, restaurant with outdoor seating. The sun is beating down in a way that makes me wonder if I’ll regret choosing to sit out on the patio.

I see Mikhail’s parents walking down the sidewalk and stand up to wave at them.

They make their way through the gate and offer me polite hellos before taking their seats.

I could throw up, I’m so nervous. I wanted to speak with them alone, without Mikhail, and here we are.

But in no way did I ever expect them to fly to Vegas to meet me in person.

“How are you, dear?” Maria asks after we’ve ordered drinks and food.

“I’m okay. And you?”

She gives me a sad smile. “We’re okay, too.”

When I called to talk to them, Maria mentioned she knew Mikhail and Jozem had argued. She was the one who suggested a trip to Vegas, an in-person attempt to smooth things over. I can see that this rift causes her pain. Jozem, on the other hand, sits stoically, looking at his phone.

“So, Reagan,” Maria says, “When we last met, it was a little chaotic. With the games and our daughters, we didn’t get to learn much about you. I remember you went to UNLV. Are you from Las Vegas?”

I shake my head. “No, I’m from Columbus, Ohio.”

“What made you decide to go so far west for school?”

“I wanted to do wedding and event planning. They have a good program here, and I figured there would be plenty of jobs in the Las Vegas area.”

“And you do work in that field now, as I recall?”

“I do. I had a hard time finding something at first. I had some debt to pay down and the jobs in my field weren’t paying as much as my job at the casino, so I just stayed put. But now I’m working for an awesome company. I’m learning a lot.”

“That’s lovely. It’s always nice when you find your passion. Mikhail caught the hockey bug early. He’s always been very focused. His sisters wanted nothing to do with the sport. Are you a fan?”

“I confess, I had never watched a single game before I met Mikhail.”

“Sometimes it seems Mikhail has not watched a hockey game in his life, either,” Jozem mutters.

I glare at him. This is the exact reason I decided to talk to them—this callous, demeaning dismissal of Mikhail’s career and accomplishments. Oh my God, what is his problem?

“Let’s let the young lady talk, shall we?” Maria says to her husband.

Jozem stares at me, an expression of distrust on his face. “So you did not know who he was when you met?” His expression is hard. He’s handsome like Mikhail, but he lacks the warmth his son has in abundance.

“Jozem,” Maria says, a touch of scolding in her tone.

He means, I realize, to ask if I am a gold digger who went after his son for his money and fame. I’m so shocked that I can hardly formulate a thought in response. However, this opens up the opportunity for me to say what I came here to say, so I steel myself and look him in the eye.

“I did not know who he was when I met him. I wasn’t familiar with hockey any more than knowing it was a game played on the ice before we met. I mostly just worked and went home. I’d just started working out at the gym. Those were my three places. Work, home, gym.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself, dear,” Maria says softly.

I shake my head. “No, I’m not. I mean, I’m explaining myself for a reason.

When I met Mikhail, I was not in a good place.

I had a lot of debt from trying to help my mother, who has a mental illness.

I grew up without my father for most of my life, and with my mother’s challenges, I had to make things happen for myself if I wanted them to happen at all.

I worked to get scholarships for school.

I worked several jobs to assure my mom’s needs were taken care of.

And I suffered for it. I made some unwise decisions and I paid for them, nearly with my life. ”

I am not going into that detail with them here, but I still have nightmares.

Sometimes even feel Peter’s hands squeezing around my neck.

But Mikhail is there to hold me and remind me how blessed I am now, which helps the bad memories to fade.

I’m reminded every day of my superhero and what he did to wipe away my debt to Sodorov to give me a fresh start.

To get me disconnected from that world once and for all.

Not because he loved me, but at first because he wanted to help a friend.

I don’t think it’s possible to even express to his parents how much in awe of their son I truly am.

How he not only saved my life, but he made it possible for me to live.

Maria looks over at me with sympathy and concern, while Jozem tilts his head at me, his harsh mask of politeness in sharp contrast to his wife. I take a sip of water first and then a deep breath to prepare myself for what I must say.

“But then I met Mikhail, and he was my friend when I really needed one. He helped me in so many ways. He helped me to believe I could see the sun again.”

“What is your point?” Jozem asks, his voice making me jump.

“My point is, Mikhail grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth. He was born a crown prince of hockey, right? The Great Zelenka’s only son.

But he didn’t have to take that path. He could have rebelled.

He could have done anything with his life, but he chose to follow in your footsteps.

The problem with following in someone’s footsteps, though, is that you never get the chance to make your own path. ”

“My son has the makings to be better than I ever was.” Jozem’s voice is steady and his eyes cold. “He just needs to listen to me so that he can achieve higher.”

“He needs to listen to himself.” I’m surprised at how assertive I sound, but when I look over at Maria, her eyes are wet with tears.

She dabs them with her napkin before reaching to take my hand.

She doesn’t say anything, but the way she looks at her husband tells me she doesn’t have to say anything. It gives me more courage.

Jozem lifts his chin, defiant, arrogant, but I continue.

“I’ve heard the things you’ve said to him.

I can’t imagine spending twenty or more years taking that kind of abuse from a person who is supposed to support and love me.

And he never said anything, until just recently.

He did every drill, went to every practice, listened to every rant. And he just took it.”

Maria says, “Maybe that’s enough for today.” It comes out small. I know she just wants this conflict to end. My guess is it’s because she thinks no one ever wins an argument with Jozem Zelenka. Well, I’m not giving up.

“You know,” I say after taking another sip of water and another deep breath, “my mother couldn’t hurt me the way you hurt him.

Not even when she was at her most lost, her most manic.

And you’re his father, so I assume you only want the best for him.

You’ve just said as much. So, I can’t understand why you don’t get that he’s not a machine.

He’s not some robot that you can program to do what you want him to do.

It’s too much, and he’s a human with other interests.

He likes superheroes, he takes cooking classes and he boxes in the gym.

And he takes the game seriously. He’s not out partying and whatever.

He’s really focused on his fitness and his nutrition.

He got a starting position at nineteen, his first year in the pros.

And he’s retained it all this time. He told me it was the reason he chose to wear the number nineteen in his first NHL game.

I bet you didn’t even know that. Mikhail is proud of his accomplishment.

What, about any of it, doesn’t make you proud as well? ”

Jozem doesn’t speak. Our food comes, and I can barely eat, my anxiety kicking in. What if I’ve done more harm than good? What if I’ve made his parents hate me?

Maria cries silently through the whole meal. We just sit there, eating. I can’t taste my food. I’ve said my piece, and I’ve probably made a mess of things, but you know what? Mikhail would do this for me. He would stand up for me.

Once we’ve finished, Jozem pushes away his plate and looks around for the server.

I intercept the bill, though. “I won’t allow you to pay.

” I meet Jozem’s gaze as steadily as I can.

“I had hoped that we could talk, that you would see reason. And I’ve offended you, so I apologize, but I love your son and I was hopeful today that maybe you would hear me and understand the thing he needs most is a father who supports him, not a critical, merciless coach.

He has a coach. He needs his dad. A dad who doesn’t make him feel like he’s nothing more than a projection of his father’s great legacy.

Mikhail will build his own legacy without the benefit of yours, if he must. It’ll be on you if you’re not there to be a part of his journey. ”

Something flickers across Jozem’s face. It nearly looks like regret. “Thank you for the meal.” He pushes his seat out and stands. “Maria.”

Maria and I both stand. She pulls me in for a hug. As we part, I look at them both and say, “Thank you for listening.”

I take a cab back home, but wish I’d been able to walk the miles instead, because I need to drain away all the tension inside me from facing off with The Great Zelenka by way of a long, hard workout. Boy, do I need it badly.

I hope Mikhail isn’t home so I can change out of these clothes and get to the gym before telling him what I’ve done.

But it’s not to be when I find him right in the doorway as I’m unlocking the door. He looks me up and down. “You look amazing,” he says, holding the door open for me.

“Thanks.” I step inside. “I was, um, out to brunch with your parents.”

His mouth drops open. “I’m sorry, did you say you were out with my parents? As in, Maria and Jozem Zelenka are here in Vegas?”

Smiling ruefully, I give a nod. Mikhail’s eyebrows draw high onto his forehead. “Why?”

“Well…um, I may have called them and asked them to talk.”

“About…”

“I maybe, might’ve told your dad he’s too hard on you and that you’re not a robot and that he needs to stop being a critical coach and just be a dad. Let you make your own legacy and not have to carry his.” I wince, expecting him to be mad.

But again, and not for the first time, Mikhail surprises me and does something totally unexpected.

He barks out a laugh. Not mad at all, but looking rather…happy? “Holy shit, you are incredible. And brave. I can’t believe you took him on like that. Alone.”

“Your mom was there. I wasn’t alone.”

He makes a face. “She probably cried the whole time.”

“She did. She held my hand, though. And she hugged me.”

“My mother used to try to argue with him, but I think she gave up on that when she realized she’d never win.”

“Well, what’s done is done.” I sigh heavily. “They probably hate me now.”

Mikhail pulls me into a hug, resting his chin on top of my head.

“Well, first of all, my mother doesn’t hate anybody.

But second of all, thank you. No one has ever done that for me before.

Coaches, friends, other parents…they all saw him do what he does, and no one ever told him to back off or go easy on me.

And here you are, a tiny prizefighter going in for the knockout to be my champion. ”

“I confess I never would have had that kind of courage before the thing with Sodorov. Before I met you.”

He backs away only slightly, not letting go. I look up at him, and heat blooms low in my belly. What a beautiful man. I still can’t believe he’s mine sometimes. And the look in his eyes…I know I did the right thing. I’d do it again. For him, I’d do just about anything.

I stand on my tiptoes to kiss him, and it’s sweet at first, soft. Quickly, though, I feel him stirring beneath his basketball shorts, and I reach down, rubbing up and down over his cock through the fabric.

He cups my ass and picks me up, pulling us together as my legs wrap around his hips.

The hardness of him hitting me right where I need him to be, creating the most delicious friction against my clit.

He bites at my jaw, and I moan, desire overtaking all other thoughts of past mistakes with crime bosses, tyrant fathers, crying mothers, or anything else at all except for my Mikhail.

But a terse knock at the door brings us crashing back to reality.