Present Day

Finding Grisha wasn’t complicated, but Vlad realized just how sheltered he’d been his entire life. Because of hockey, he hadn’t roamed the streets of Moscow at night looking for trouble as a teenager, and once he’d gotten to the U.S., he’d had money and hockey to keep his focus. He’d never wandered around dangerous neighborhoods.

It was early, not even seven in the morning, because Natalya had told him that was the best time to find Grisha at the café he and his wife owned. It was quiet then, and it would be easier to talk to him alone. If he waited until later in the day, she’d said he would most likely blow him off. She’d told him to use her maiden name—Natalya Ivanova—to get a foot in the door, but that she hadn’t spoken to him in more than two years.

Stepping inside the pleasant café, there was a middle-aged woman wiping down tables and she glanced up with a smile.

“Good morning. What can I get you?”

“I’d love a cappuccino and I’d like to see Grisha, please.”

The woman’s face tightened but she nodded, motioning for him to sit as he disappeared into the back. Vlad chose a table by the door even though it was kind of silly. If someone here was going to try to hurt him, he probably wouldn’t make it down the street anyway.

He longed to call Toli, ask him about this neighborhood, if he’d ever heard of this Grisha guy, give him some advice. He didn’t want to involve anyone else, though. He had to handle this on his own, especially since Toli hadn’t had a good experience during his trip to Russia last year. It was the loneliest he’d been since before meeting Rachel, and he missed her even more.

It was only nine o’clock in the evening in Los Angeles so she was probably up. Impulsively, he texted her.

Thinking of you, honey. Did you receive the package I sent?

The ridiculous flowers or the big box on my porch that’s too big for me to carry?

He swallowed, hating the tone of her responses but he was solely responsible for her attitude.

Can you ask one of your friends to help?

Whatever it is, I don’t want it.

I’m so sorry I’ve hurt you. Please give me just a little more time to figure out what’s going on. I may have some information about my mother. I think her name was Irina.

Okay.

Can you try to understand how important this is?

I know it is, and if you find your mother, I’ll be genuinely happy for you, but I asked you not to text me anymore. Don’t force me to block your number.

Please don’t do that. I love you. I know you’re angry with me, but I’m going to fix this. I promise.

I don’t have time for this, Vlad. I’m sorry. Good-bye.

He sighed, jumping when someone put a hand on his shoulder.

“Vladimir Kolnikov.”

Vlad’s eyes shot up to the older man staring down at him intently. “Yes. Hello.” He got to his feet and held out his hand.

“I watch your hockey career and am humbled by your presence in my little shop.” The man shook his proffered hand.

Vlad wanted to roll his eyes, but distinct awareness of his surroundings kept him from giving in to the urge. “Thank you. I, we…” He took a breath. “We have a mutual friend. Natalya Ivanov. She told me I could find you here.”

The woman he’d ordered cappuccino from came over and put the beverage down on the table, along with a cup of tea for Grisha, and promptly disappeared into the back.

“Natalya.” Grisha sank into the chair across from Vlad, his face inscrutable. “I have not spoken with her in a few years. How is she?”

“Married. A mother. She seems happy.”

“Good. She was a nice girl.”

“Is that why you chose her for me?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t be coy. I know she worked for you, in whatever capacity that entailed. I don’t care if you were a pimp or a gangster or anything else. I only want to know why you chose someone special for me—and please don’t insult my intelligence by pretending you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

Grisha muttered something under his breath that Vlad didn’t catch but then let out a chuckle. “You boys are going to be the death of me.”

“Us boys?”

“Hockey players. You make it big and then come back demanding answers to questions you shouldn’t be asking. Can’t you just enjoy the life you’ve been afforded?”

“What’s wrong with knowing your roots? Your heritage.”

“You know your heritage.”

“For all I know, my parents were Hungarian gypsies who gave birth while migrating through Russia… I’d like to know.”

“To what end? If that’s the case, you’ll never find them.”

“That’s not the case. I know a woman named Irina sent money to the rink by the church on Ulitsa Roskovoy, specifically so that I could play.” Naming the street where the rink was located must have been on point because Vlad saw the nerve in Grisha’s cheek twitch with annoyance. Boldly, he continued. “I also know you took special care with Natalya and asked her what she thought of me. She was technically a prostitute but slept exclusively with me for that year. Who paid for her and why?”

Grisha was shaking his head. “You’re stubborn, but I cannot help you.”

“Cannot or will not?” Vlad was getting close, so he refused to back down now.

“It doesn’t matter. You should go now and don’t come back. Coffee is on the house.”

“And if I don’t leave, then what?” Vlad met his gaze directly, pushing down the nervousness in his gut and focusing on his end game.

Grisha laughed. “You’ve been in America too long, young Vladimir. That’s not how things work here.”

“Why? Because you’ll hurt me? Threaten me? Kill me?” Vlad kept his voice low as he got to his feet. “Fine, I’ll go. But I won’t stop asking questions and dropping your name in relation to prostitutes. I’m sure everyone you know will love it when that rumor spreads around town. You think I’m a pain in the ass now? Just wait.” He threw some money on the table and stalked out the door, digging his keys out of his pocket as he headed towards his rental car. He’d lost his temper, which probably wasn’t smart, but he was tired of the evasion and all the veiled threats. Why couldn’t they just tell him the truth? If his parents were bad people, so be it; at least he would know.

The one idea bouncing around in his head now was that his parents were alive and didn’t want to be found. While one part of him hoped they were, another was skeptical because he didn’t know if he had it in his heart to forgive them for abandoning him. Even if they’d secretly watched over him and sent money for him to have enough food and to play hockey, what kind of people let their kids grow up in an orphanage and merely watched from afar? Maybe he would never find out, but he wasn’t ready to give up yet.

He got back to the hotel and took a long, hot shower, opting to get room service and relax. He ordered dinner and flipped on the TV, watching mindlessly until the buzzing of his phone alerted him to a text.

He was surprised to see a message from Brock.

What the fuck were you doing in Russia? Are you back yet?

Vlad had to respond, but the enormity of missing the start of training camp was a bit overwhelming. He didn’t even have a good excuse.

No. Something came up. I have to call Coach in a few hours.

Something came up? Dude, you could be cut from the roster if you’re not at camp!

I know, but this is important. I can’t really talk about it now, but I’ll fill you in soon. How’s Rachel?

It seemed Brock’s reply took a long time. As if he was trying to formulate an answer instead of just telling him what was going on.

She’s been better.

What does that mean?

You need to get your ass home to find out.

What aren’t you telling me? Is she okay?

No. She’s not. But I made her a promise on my unborn child that I wouldn’t tell you what was going on because she’s royally pissed at you.

You can’t tell me something is wrong and not tell me what it is.

I can. I just did.

So your loyalty is to her now? I thought we were friends?

We are, but you fucked up and won’t even tell me why.

It’s complicated.

Tell me anyway.

I will. Soon. But not like this. Won’t you please tell me about Rachel?

I can’t, man. I just can’t. It was a promise. But I can tell you she needs you.

Fuck!!! I can’t leave—I would if I could but I can’t. Do you think I would miss camp if it wasn’t important?

I think you’re throwing away everything good in your life…your career, your friends, and the woman who loves you. If you don’t come home now, you’re not going to have anything to come home to.

I’m doing the best I can. Listen, I have to go, but tell Rachel I love her and I’m coming home as soon as I possibly can. I don’t care how mad she is, tell her I love her.

Text her. She’s mad, but she needs to see those words.

I will.

Vlad thought about what to write for a long time, but decided to keep it simple:

I love you. I’m sure you’re still angry with me, but don’t give up on us. Without you, nothing I’m doing has any meaning. Please know I do it for you, for us, for our future children. I meant it when I said I’d spend the rest of my life making up for what I did on our wedding day.

Her response broke his heart a little:

Please stop texting me. You did us both a favor. We rushed into marriage and you probably saved us a very expensive divorce a few years down the road. Be well. Be happy. I hope you find what you’re looking for in Russia, because it’s no longer here with me.