Present Day

Vlad’s gut had told him he was close to finding something, but he hadn’t been expecting it to come from Toli’s father. The fact he’d known his mother made him a little light-headed and he struggled to form a coherent thought.

“I… How old was she?” he finally blurted out.

“When she had you?” Anatoly raised his eyebrows. “Thirty, I believe. Maybe twenty-nine. I’d have to check her files to see her date of birth.”

“So you…worked with her?” Vlad wasn’t really sure what else to say. So many things were spinning through his mind he was still struggling to form coherent words.

“Your mother’s name was Irina.” Anatoly smiled. “She was beautiful. Smart. Devoted to Mother Russia but always with a touch of humanity, compassion—not like many of our comrades, who killed not just for country, but for sport.”

“That’s good to know,” Vlad said dryly.

Anatoly glanced at him sharply. “You have no idea what you were spared by growing up the way you did. Why do you think you were allowed to play hockey? Where do you think equipment came from? How do you think you were noticed?”

“My mother?”

“Both your mother and I. She’s been dead a long time. I was with her when she passed, and the last thing she asked of me was to take care of you, make sure you got out of Russia, like I did with Toli and Sergei.”

“What do you mean?”

Anatoly didn’t speak for a while. Finally, as if he’d come to terms with what he was about to say, he said, “I was KGB all of my career. I knew I could never get out, but I didn’t want that life for Toli and Sergei, so I did everything in my power to get them noticed by the NHL. Instead of retiring at twenty-five years, I agreed to remain active in exchange for letting my boys go to the NHL. It’s a sacrifice I’d make again. I’d give my life for my boys. You understand?”

Vlad wasn’t sure what he was getting at, but nodded because he did understand the concept of loving your children. “The KGB wanted your sons to be agents, too?”

Anatoly shrugged. “They like to keep it in the family. That way, business and family is so intertwined you never get out and they’ve got you forever. I broke the cycle by getting them out. Irina knew that but she was young and single, so—”

Vlad made a face. “So she gave me up to keep me from being KGB?”

“For someone as deeply involved as she was, a child would only be a source of worry. Any time the KGB wanted to manipulate her, all they had to do was threaten you. You would always be a target, so she did what she thought best. Only two of us knew about you and she made sure you were cared for. When the abuse at the orphanage started to escalate she got you involved in hockey, praying you’d be good enough be sought after, chosen for the travel teams—anything to get you away from the orphanage as much as possible.”

“Was she the one who sent the winter coats for all the boys in my age group every winter?”

Anatoly nodded. “Until you were thirteen, which is when you moved to the dormitory with the other junior players. She died when you were fourteen. I don’t know if it makes you feel any better, but she watched you play many times, and there is a picture of the two of you.”

“There is?” Vlad’s head snapped up, his eyes wide. “When?”

“Just before she was killed. Your team had won a big championship and there were photos with fans afterwards. She was one of them.”

Vlad thought back. He remembered that game, the photos afterwards—it didn’t happen that often. “She was blonde,” he said slowly. “She had a very nice camera and asked the lady beside her to take the picture. She told me I was very handsome and to continue to be as kind to the world as I was talented on the ice.”

Anatoly smiled. “She was afraid you would think she was some sort of pervert.”

Vlad shook his head. “I remember wishing I had a mother like her.”

“You did.”

“How did she die?”

“Took a stray bullet in a fire fight. It was meant for me, but she moved in front of me. She bled out before I could get help.”

Vlad looked down. He didn’t feel anything—he’d never known anything about his parents—but it was sad knowing she’d been alive and he’d never meet her.

“Thank you for telling me about my mother. Do you know who my father was? Was it some KGB asshole that forced her to have sex?”

Anatoly shook his head. “He was KGB, but she was in love with him. He was married, unable to carry on an affair.”

“Though he obviously didn’t hesitate to get her pregnant,” Vlad grunted.

“Those days were difficult,” Anatoly said quietly. “Things happen when you’re deep undercover for months at a time. When it was over, he did what he thought was right, too. She was a grown woman who knew what she was getting into. He never lied to her about being married.”

“So where is he now? Is he still alive?”

“No. He was also killed, not long after you were born.”

“All this to find out they’re both dead.” It was incredibly anti-climactic, and disappointment washed over Vlad. He didn’t need parents at this stage in his life, but he’d wanted to find at least one of them, talk to them face-to-face. Now he was no better off than before, except he’d discovered his mother’s name and that she’d cared for him at least a little.

“More than many orphans discover.”

“I know.” Vlad looked away, inexplicably depressed and suddenly desperate to leave Russia.

“I’m sorry you’re disappointed,” Anatoly said after a moment. “I have a few pictures of her, if you’d like to have them?”

Vlad nodded. “Yes, thank you. That’s nice of you.”

“Come. Let’s go to my house and have something to eat. My wife, Anastasia, would love to meet you and hear stories about Toli and the new baby. Also, would you mind taking back some gifts? For the baby and for my little Raina?” Tessa had a daughter from her first marriage whom Anatoly had gotten attached to during their brief visit last year.

“Of course not.” Vlad was operating on automatic pilot now, following the older man to his car and getting in without saying a word.

What had he been expecting? To find his parents alive and well, living in Moscow and ready to welcome him with open arms? Realistically, he’d known that wasn’t going to happen, but apparently his heart had had other ideas. The disappointment was palpable, and he stared out the window feeling melancholier than ever. He’d sacrificed so much—Rachel and possibly his hockey career—to get answers and this was it? His parents had been spies having an affair and his unmarried mother chose to give him up to protect him from an unknown.

“You’re disappointed,” Anatoly said as they drove.

“This is like premature ejaculation,” Vlad muttered. “I got all worked up and then it was over in seconds and I don’t remember enjoying it.”

Anatoly snorted out a laugh. “Perhaps this is not the best analogy, and I hope premature ejaculation isn’t something you experience regularly.”

Vlad smiled half-heartedly. “Thankfully, no.”

“When we arrive, we will not speak of your parents in front of my wife, yes?”

“Oh no, of course not.”

Half an hour later, Vlad was being spoiled as if he was a long-lost child of Anastasia’s. She made pasta, chicken, and a salad, along with fresh bread and homemade vatrushkas, a pastry he remembered from his childhood. They’d been a treat at the orphanage but when he’d moved to the academy and was playing full-time, he requested them regularly. Though he stayed away from sweets during hockey season, he ate three of them before he remembered he was supposed to be in top form right now. With a sigh, he pushed the plate away.

“Thank you, everything was delicious, but I’m going to be too fat to skate if I don’t stop eating.”

Anastasia smiled. “Sometimes the meal is more important emotionally than physically.”

Vlad wanted to ask what she knew, but then remembered his wedding fiasco had been on all the entertainment news sites, so she undoubtedly was referring to that. “Yes, but hockey already started…”

“And yet you are here.” She cocked her head. “You must return to your team immediately, Vlad. Hiding here in Russia won’t help your situation with your movie star.”

“Rachel,” he said softly. “Her name is Rachel.”

“Yes.” She paused, waiting until he met her gaze. “You are still in love with her?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then you must go to her, before her ex-boyfriend takes her away from you.”

“Her ex-boyfriend?” Vlad frowned.

Anatoly muttered something under his breath but Anastasia ignored him, getting up from the table and returning a moment later with her laptop. She typed something and then handed it to him. Vlad stared at the screen, unsure what he was looking at. Then the faces sharpened and he recognized Rachel. With Jamie Fucking Teller. What in the ever-loving fuck was going on? Why was he driving her car? And where was Viggo? How the hell had this happened so fast?

“He is married, no?” Anatoly spoke up when Vlad continued staring at the laptop screen.

“That’s never stopped anyone.”

“This is why you must go home,” Anastasia said firmly. “Whatever brought you back to Russia can’t be worth it.”

He shook his head. “No, I guess it wasn’t.”

“Let’s go inside,” Anastasia suggested. “The dishes can wait.”

“I can help,” he said, quickly getting to his feet.

“It’s not necessary. Later, when Anatoly takes you back to your hotel, I’ll clean up. Come, tell me about Toli and Tessa and my grandchildren.”

Vlad talked about Anton, Toli’s son from a previous relationship, Raina, and the new baby. He did his best to be engaging but the only thing on his mind was Rachel and Jamie. It had only been two weeks. Could they have gotten together so quickly? It was hard for him to believe since Jamie and Viggo had only been married two months, but since Jamie was bisexual and had once been engaged to Rachel, nothing would surprise him.

“Vlad?” Anastasia had been talking and Vlad turned.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Would you like to see some photographs of Toli and Sergei when they were young?”

It was the last thing he wanted to do, but he nodded and smiled, wondering how much longer until he could get back to the hotel and call someone to find out what was going on with Rachel and Jamie.

Anastasia brought out a thick, old-fashioned photo album with a beautiful, engraved cover made of red leather. She sat beside him and showed him pictures of Toli and Sergei as babies, toddlers, and then little boys. By the time they were seven or eight, almost all the pictures revolved around hockey and he was about to groan with boredom when a familiar jersey in maroon and blue caught his attention. He paused, putting a finger on the picture.

“Is this Toli or Sergei? Did they play at the academy?”

Anastasia frowned, pausing to look down at it. “I don’t remember. When Anatoly comes back inside, we can ask him. He remembers the team names better than I do.” Anatoly had gone outside to have a cigarette since she didn’t let him smoke in the apartment.

They looked at more pictures and when Anatoly came back inside, Vlad flipped back to the page and asked him about the team.

Anatoly hesitated, shaking his head. “I don’t remember. There were many teams over the years… Probably Sergei.”

“They played at the academy? For Coach Novoseltsev?”

“No, they never played there. There are many jerseys with this coloring.”

Vlad frowned. “I played a lot of teams and don’t remember ever seeing those colors with the small lime green stripe at the bottom.”

Anatoly squinted. “I don’t think there’s a green stripe there.” He flipped the page and started pointing to other, similar jerseys, and Vlad watched him thoughtfully. Why would he change the subject like that? What difference would it make if Toli or Sergei had played at the academy? Coach Novoseltsev had been well-known when he was younger, taking many young players under his wing. He’d fallen on hard times now, but fifteen years ago he’d been at the top of his game.

Fifteen years ago. Vlad mentally did the math and realized Toli had already been in the NHL by then. Sergei was five years younger but even then, he would’ve already moved on to the juniors, beyond the academy’s age group. Coach Novoseltsev worked with boys from the ages of eight through fourteen. At that point, they moved up and on to other teams and clubs. Fifteen years ago, Toli was already in the U.S., and at seventeen, Sergei would have been too old. So who was in the picture and why were both Anastasia and Anatoly pretending not to know?

He desperately needed to go home. As soon as he got back to the hotel, he was going to leave Brock a message. He’d be at training camp, but he would call back so Vlad would leave the ringer on his phone on overnight. He owed Coach Vlacic’s team one more practice, but as soon as he was done tomorrow, he would make the reservation to fly home. He’d found out as much as there was to find out in Russia; everything else that was important was back in the U.S.