Moscow held nothing but bad memories. Growing up in an orphanage, he’d always been cold and hungry. His earliest memories were of being yelled at, his ear pulled painfully, his head being shaved in summer because all the children had lice. Then he found hockey. He had no idea who’d first put a stick in his hand, but he’d been young. The kids in the orphanage had always played a version of hockey outdoors in the winter, using wooden sticks and whatever was handy, but when he’d been introduced to genuine ice hockey, his whole life had changed. He went to a local rink and skated as many hours as he was allowed. He’d go to regular school for five hours in the morning and then to the rink until they kicked them out at night.

By the time he was fifteen, he was playing for the Russia men’s national under-eighteen team and didn’t even finish high school. With his focus on hockey, he never really had time to think about anything else. Other kids he’d played with had families who offered support and since he didn’t, somewhere along the way it had become clear to him that the only way to make it on his own would be through hockey. When the NHL came knocking, he hadn’t even hesitated.

Arriving at the hotel, he paid the driver, got his bag and checked in. Within twenty minutes he was in the shower, washing off the grime of a twenty-hour trip. He slid into bed and closed his eyes, his body exhausted but his brain refusing to quiet. He kept picturing Rachel’s face in between memories of growing up in Moscow and finally sat up in frustration. He reached for his phone and pulled up Rachel’s name. How angry was she? He needed to know, because Toli was right; without her, what was the point of revisiting his painful past? He sent her a text because he was afraid she wouldn’t answer if he called.

Hello, love. Are you still in Vegas or have you gone back to L.A.?

I’ve gone home. I have no reason to be in Vegas anymore.

Oh yeah, she was mad.

I know you’re angry…I wish I’d done things differently. I panicked. I hope you understand and can give me a little time to sort this out. Are you okay?

Am I okay? Seriously??? No, I’m not. You hurt me. You broke my heart. You ruined what was supposed to be the best day of our lives. And on top of all that, you embarrassed me publicly. If you want me to say you’re forgiven, you’ve got another think coming.

The nightmares and anxiety escalated—I need time to find answers. Please give me a few weeks, honey. That’s all I’m asking for.

A few weeks for what? So you can come home, shower me with excuses and then what? We plan another wedding for next summer? Start dating again? Go to hell, Vlad. You could have handled this a dozen different ways and you chose the one that hurt me the most. I don’t have anything else to say. Please don’t text me again because I won’t respond. I hope your decision was worth it.

Vlad put his phone down and lay back, hands behind his head. He didn’t know what he would do if he lost her, but he knew Rachel, and she’d forgive him once she thought about things and wasn’t so angry. She loved him and she had to know he loved her. She might not have faith in him right now, but deep down she had to know nothing had changed in his heart.

He turned over and grabbed the small pad and pen next to the bed and made a note to remind himself to send her flowers tomorrow. He’d send them to the set, where he hoped they would make her smile. It might not mean much to her with the way she felt right now, but she’d know he was thinking of her. In the meantime, he had to rest. He had a lot to do and he was on his own. Although he spoke the language and had money, he had no true friends, no one he could call in an emergency other than Toli’s father, and frankly, from everything he’d heard, the man scared the crap out of him. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be any emergencies and things would sort themselves out relatively quickly.

In the morning, he got online and ordered the flowers for Rachel. He’d rented a car and set out to find his old coach. He was rested but still a bundle of nerves as he navigated somewhat unfamiliar streets. He hadn’t driven in Russia before, not learning to drive until he’d moved to the U.S., but many things were familiar. He’d grown up in a bad part of Moscow, and that’s the area he was in now. Pulling up to the old rink, dread filled him and he sat in the car for a while, staring at the ugly, weathered building. Had it been this old and rundown when he’d played here? He didn’t remember it that way, but he’d been young.

He got out of his car and walked inside, looking around curiously. Nothing had changed, except it was even uglier inside than it was outside. The carpeted lobby smelled moldy and the front desk was chipped and falling apart. The young man sitting behind it was equally miserable looking, and he glanced up with a bored look.

“I’m looking for Ilya Novoseltsev,” Vlad said.

“He’s not here,” the young man went back to his phone.

“When will he be back?” Vlad persisted.

“Maybe tonight. Maybe tomorrow. I don’t know.”

“Do you know who I am?” Vlad nearly cringed at the words coming out of his mouth, but he didn’t have time for this.

“I don’t care, either.”

Vlad slammed his hand down on the desk. “My name is Vladimir Kolnikov. Tell me how to find Coach Novoseltsev.”

The guy behind the desk looked up slowly, his eyes wide. “It’s really you? Vladimir Kolnikov? You’re a legend here…”

Vlad resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes, it’s really me, and I need to see Coach Novoseltsev.”

“He, er, well, he’s hungover, probably napping in his office.”

“I know where it is.” Vlad headed in that direction, a scowl creasing his features.

He found his way as if he’d been here just yesterday, walking down a dingy hallway covered with plaques and trophies from years past. His name was probably on a good portion of them, but he wasn’t here to get nostalgic. He needed information and he hoped his first real coach would be able to provide it.

He knocked quietly and slowly turned the knob, peeking in. As the man in the front had suggested, his old coach was snoring softly in his chair, head thrown back. It had been less than a decade since Vlad had seen him, but he’d aged a lot more than ten years. His salt and pepper hair was now pure white and he’d put on weight, leaving Vlad staring at him for a moment. Finally, he loudly cleared his throat and the older man jumped.

“Eh! Who are you? What are you doing in my office?” He smoothed back his hair and pulled down his sweater.

Vlad held out his hand. “Do you remember me, Coach?”

The man’s eyes narrowed and then a smile lit his face. “Vlad. Yes, yes, of course, I remember. What are you doing here? You look good.” He got to his feet and drew Vlad into a hug.

Vlad clapped him on the back, nodding. “I’m in town for a week and thought we could catch up. Let’s go get something to eat—my treat.”

His old coach hesitated but eventually nodded. “Yes, good, okay. Let me get my things.”

“I’ve got a car,” Vlad said easily. “I’ll drive.”

“Yes, this is better. I have a bit of a headache.”

“No problem.”

Ilya guided him to a restaurant a few kilometers away and they sat at a table by the door. Vlad was glad to see a good selection on the menu and ordered quickly, while the older man seemed to waffle. Finally, the waitress brought coffee for them and Vlad forced himself to make small talk instead of getting right to the point.

“So how have you been? How’s the hockey program?”

Ilya shrugged. “Is not like when you were here… Those were the best days. Now, there is no money. No grants, no donations, nothing. Soon, we will close.”

Vlad frowned. “Why? You had one of the elite schools ten years ago.”

“Now there are many schools and after you left, the money soon dried up.”

“What does that mean?” Vlad cocked his head.

Ilya shrugged. “Nothing. Much has changed since you left, that’s all.”

“Coach, I came to Russia looking for answers. How did you discover me?”

“This was simple—you played at the rink by your school and someone told me there was a boy with magical hands and brilliant moves. I went to see and there you were. I asked about you, found out you were from the orphanage, so I didn’t pursue it. Boys like you couldn’t afford equipment and I was barely getting by.”

“And then?”

“One day a woman came to me with money, said she would pay me to coach you. She gave me enough money to update the ice, buy equipment for a team of ten-year-olds, and travel expenses so we could play the other teams. You were here for three years and in that time the money came regularly, by private messenger, and the only stipulation was that you were to be taken care of…” He paused. “You did not know this?”

Vlad shook his head. “No. You say it was a woman?”

“Yes. About thirty-five, attractive, a redhead, tall…”

“What was her name?”

“I had only a first name—Irina.”

“Do you have a way to reach her?”

He shook his head. “No. It’s been about nine years since I heard from her last. My business stayed steady for about two years after you left, but then it began to die down without the money coming in. We started to lose, so less kids wanted to join the program. Now, there were but two boys signed up for fall… I’ll have to cancel the season. Probably we will close at the end of winter.”

For some reason, the news disappointed Vlad and he made another impulsive decision. “How much would you need to get the program going?” he asked. “I could donate equipment, money… I’m sure Toli Petrov would be willing to help as well.”

“This isn’t necessary,” his coach responded. “I’m not as healthy as I used to be and—”

“You’re what, fifty?” Vlad arched a brow. “Don’t be an ass. You have plenty of coaching left in you.”

They were quiet as the waitress brought their meals. Vlad ate heartily, and after a few minutes Ilya did, too. Neither of them spoke for a while, and it wasn’t until Vlad pushed his plate back and wiped his mouth that Ilya said, “You should not dig too deep, my young friend. Sometimes the past is best left alone.”

Vlad scowled. “Why? Why shouldn’t I know where I came from—who paid for me to play hockey? Who that woman is?”

“You’re sheltered,” the older man said quietly. “You were in the cocoon of hockey and then you went to America. You don’t know how Russia works, do you? For this woman to work so hard to be anonymous, there had to be reason. Important, dangerous reasons. Leave this alone. Go home to America.”

Vlad shook his head. “I have a right to know where I came from, but you don’t have to help me. I’ll find out another way.”

Ilya pursed his lips. “I have told you all I know. But if you insist on digging more, find Coach Vlacic. He will have more answers.”

Vlad paid the bill and drove the older man back to the rink. He pulled up to the front and held out his hand. “Thank you.”

“Thank you. For lunch. For coming to see me.”

“You’re welcome. And I meant what I said—if I can help, I will.”

Ilya smoothed his hands down his face, nodding. “Maybe 300,000 rubles, this would fix everything, help me to start a new team.”

Vlad did a quick mental calculation; that was around five thousand dollars, maybe a little more. Less than the painting he’d just bought in New York. It wasn’t a big deal for him to spare that much for the man who’d helped make him the player he was today. He didn’t even have to ask to know Toli would donate money or equipment as well.

“I’ll stop by with money in a couple of days,” he said. “I don’t have that much cash on me, but I can get it.”

Ilya nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”

“You’re not going to piss it away on vodka, are you?” Vlad called after him as he made his way towards the entrance.

Ilya laughed without turning around. “Just one bottle, tonight. Then I have to be sober to start coaching hockey.” With that, he disappeared inside.