“Happy to help,” she replies in typical, no-nonsense, tell-it-like-it-is Pam fashion.
I set aside the camera and watch for a while, enjoying my Russian coffee and the view of Viktor on the ice. Pam’s face is so serene as she watches Georg. I’m fascinated by how much love she shows in her facial expressions alone.
“So it must be good to be back with Georg,” I comment.
“It’s amazing. The apartment is, like, the size of my bathroom at home, but still…I was not looking forward to spending the summer without him.”
“I hear you,” I agree.
“And how are things with Viktor?”
“Good.”
“Well that’s vague.” She rolls her eyes at me.
“I mean, what else do you want me to tell you?” I shoot back.
“The guy pulled serious strings to get you here. I’m thinking it must be better than just plain ole good. If you flew halfway around the world for ‘good’ then I think your standards are too low.”
I take a deep breath and then let it out, a little bit of a laugh escaping with it. “Well, the sex is amazing. We, umm, snuck in here one night and we might have done it on the bleachers.”
“That’s exciting. I’m impressed.”
I shake my head. “He’s amazing in bed.”
“And?”
“And he’s really pretty sweet. He’s very good to me.”
“Do you love him?” Pam asks softly.
“I don’t know. Maybe? He said something the other night…about being in love with an American girl. It freaked me out a little to be honest.”
“He did?” Pam’s eyes are as wide as saucers.
“He didn’t say ‘I love you’ or anything, but he said he’d never imagined he’d be here in Russia, in love with an American girl.”
“And what was your response?”
“It was while we were out at dinner and he caught me off guard. I wasn’t expecting him to just come out with the L-word, but really, it’s pretty much how he says everything. Being direct is not something Viktor struggles with. I wasn’t sure how to respond. So, I told him he was sweet and then we were interrupted by the waiter arriving with our order…and then we ate our food.”
Pam laughs out loud then covers her mouth with one hand. “You totally left him hanging?”
“I guess,” I say with a shrug. “We went out and had a great time after that. We had scorching hot sex when we got home. Everything’s been really wonderful since I’ve been here.”
“Well, you can’t just leave a thing like that out there. I mean, have you even talked about what this thing is between the two of you?”
“Nope.” I shake my head. “It’s always been about sexual attraction. We’re super compatible that way. We talk and stuff, but we’re still getting to know each other. And I don’t equate sex with love. I think we need more time.”
“Do you think he equates sex with love?” Pam asks.
“Are you being Dr. Phil today, or what?”
“I’m just curious. Like I said, a guy doesn’t bring a girl around the world just for a quick screw.”
I give Pam the you’re starting to be obnoxious look, hoping she’ll take the hint and stop interrogating me. “I don’t think either of us think of it as a quickie thing. But we also haven’t defined it. He’s not been in a relationship in a long time, and I’m still kind of messed up about Stephen, so…”
“Well, there are a million reasons I came up with for why Georg and I couldn’t work. And the same for Holly and Evan. When it’s meant to be, we have to let it be.”
I sit and think about this for a minute. I mean, who am I to know what’s meant to be? Viktor is not someone I would ever have seen myself with. He had such a dark reputation when he came to the Crush. He seemed so serious, so stoic. Even violent and occasionally dangerous. But I’ve seen a softer side of him, a side that laughs and smiles. A side that cares about others and shows a great deal of generosity. I’ll never forget how he arranged for Saul to help me if anyone threatened me while he was away. And I wonder if the real Viktor just got sidetracked by coaches and athletics and competition. I wonder if he shut down his heart after it got broken, and if maybe I’m just the lucky one helping him to get it started up again.
And what about me? I live in fear every day. Every. Day. I try to project confidence, self-assurance, independence. But I worry about my safety. I worry about money. I have a hard time accepting love or kindness without expecting to be let down. And these feelings are so tied up with Stephen and my father…
How can I just let that go? How do I release myself from those burdens that have been a part of my life for years?
How can I ever really open myself up to anyone, Viktor or otherwise?
As I’m mulling all this over, a group of shady-looking men dressed in slick suits catch my eye at the far end of the rink. Could they be here about some government photo restrictions?
One of them looks vaguely familiar and…oh—
As we make eye contact, I see his mouth curl into a half-smile that chills me to the bone. That cold fear fills my veins, all too familiar from the days when gangsters showed up at our apartment, ready to hurt people in order to collect on gambling debts.
They survey the practice for a while and then leave. No harm. No interaction. But for a hideous five minutes, my heart nearly beat itself out of my chest. Shock-still the whole time, I just stare at the ice, trying not to pay any attention to them. Only when they leave do I take a steadying breath.
I make some excuse about needing to get back to my laptop to edit the images and get them posted. Pam gives me a side hug and goes back to watching her husband with rapt attention. As I scurry toward the door, trying to get a better look at the guy I thought I recognized, I’m stopped by a random employee, who tells me in broken English that someone left “this” for me.
In his hand is a thumb drive.
I hold it like it might explode, between two fingertips, held away from my body as if it might contaminate me. Dread sits like a rock in the pit of my stomach. Is this what I’ve been expecting since Stephen’s death? Another threat, a blackmail attempt…whatever it is, it can’t be good. No way. I’ve worked two jobs, lived very frugally, just because I thought this day would come. Just because I knew that some day, Stephen’s debts, my father’s debts, would get handed down to me.
I make the short walk back to the apartment and I don’t think I take one breath all the way. My heart feels like it might beat itself right out of my chest and my hands shake as I unlock the door.
I sit, my hand hovering over the laptop for a long time before I finally talk myself into opening it, into sliding the innocuous little piece of technology into the slot.
There is only one file on the drive. A video.
The tears start the minute I press “play.”
Stephen’s face, grainy but recognizable, in our old apartment, in front of his laptop. He looks over his shoulder a few times. He takes a deep breath.
I forget sometimes. So wrapped up in fear and anger at being abandoned, I forget how much I miss him sometimes. He had bright blue eyes and jet-black hair. He was gorgeous in that way that made women take second and third looks. But he was with me, and I only had to share him with his addictions. He was my best friend, the man I wanted to do life with. Until he was gone.
His life was so wasted. It makes me sick with sadness to think of him now, seeing his face in a way I haven’t in a couple of years now. When he speaks, my heart just breaks all over again.
“Scar,” he says. “I don’t…I don’t know how much time I have. I hate what I’ve put you through. Hate that you’ve suffered because of me. But I need you to know some things. I know you love your dad. I love him too, like my own father. And I know what you’ve sacrificed in your life. For him. Because of him. For me. Because of me.”
He trails off, taking another deep breath in, then letting it out with a puff of his cheeks. He runs a hand through his curly
hair.
“I didn’t mean for all of this to happen. He needed help. Needed help with his debts and his legal issues and he didn’t want to hurt you. And I didn’t want to hurt you. But we both did anyway. But he’s not dead, Scar. Your dad…he’s…I paid his debts. It’s why I got so far in. Because I took the fall for his debts, so you two could leave it behind for good.”
I hear banging on the door behind him. His eyes go wide as he turns and yells something in Russian. He spoke Russian? What the fuck? I want so badly to reach through the screen, to help him, to save him. I know what’s coming. I know where this is headed. I was in the hospital and he was about to die. And the last thing he did was try to speak to me.
I’m sobbing messily, loudly, as he leans closer to the screen. He turns and yells again in Russian. His speech is faster as he finishes.
“Your dad is in Russia. He told me he’d have to leave for a while, to protect you. Scar…I love you, so much. I’m so sorry, baby.”
He takes one last longing-filled glance at the screen. It’s like he can see me now, through time and space and death and life.
And then his laptop lid shuts, and the screen goes black.
Twenty-Three
Viktor
DREAMS AND REVELATIONS
I walk into the apartment and find Scarlett nearly catatonic at the kitchen table, her laptop open in front of her, her face streaked with tears.
“Scarlett?”
She turns and it’s impossible for me to read the emotions I see on her face. Fear, certainly. Panic. Sickness. Sadness. It is overwhelming.
“Red Rocket?” I ask, my voice hitching upward awkwardly.
“My…this guy…he left a thumb drive. And Stephen…” Scarlett’s eyes flicker back and forth like she’s trying to process. She lets out a breath.
“Is this about you taking photos? Take your time,” I say, kneeling in front of her. “Just tell me from the beginning.”
She shakes her head no and thinks for a minute, her hand going to her chest like she might be trying to claw her heart out. Or hold it inside. I’m not sure which.
Scarlett explains again about her ex-fiancé who died suspiciously. She tells me how she’s never really thought he killed himself, not willingly. She talks about her father, who wasn’t the most law-abiding American citizen, who also had a gambling addiction, and who has been missing and presumed dead for years.
“Someone’s been watching me,” she says, her hands shaking. I take them in mine and nod for her to continue. “For a long time. I kind of knew it, suspected it. I worried they’d come for his debts, you know? And every day that they didn’t sort of let me believe falsely that all of this was over. That I might be able to move on.”
“And you cannot?” I ask.
“My dad’s not dead, Viktor.” She lets out a nearly hysterical laugh. “He’s here in Russia. And some guy found me in the arena today and handed me this thumb drive with a video of Stephen. His last words were to me before they came for him. He paid off my dad’s debts, and sent him packing. And Stephen died paying for that.”
We talk for a long time, moving to the couch, where I pull her close, my arm around her shoulder, her head on my chest. She tells me that she just knew that Stephen hadn’t killed himself. What she didn’t know was that much of his descent into addiction was caused by his attempt to get her father out of debt, free from the threat of violence.
“I’ve been so angry at him for so long,” Scarlett says through her tears. “My dad. Mad at him for abandoning me. And Stephen?”
“I am sorry you have been so hurt by these people you have loved,” I say. It is all I can think to say.
“It makes it really hard for me, you know?” she asks. “I’ve just…I’ve been trying to be on my own, you know? I just…”
I stroke her long, red hair. On a whim, I lean in and kiss her temple. “You do not have to be alone, Red Rocket,” I say. “I am here now.”
“I can’t promise I’ll be any good for you,” she says, tears falling again. “What if I’m ruined?”
“Ruined?” I ask. “This confuses me. Why should you feel ruined?”
“For love,” she says, almost a whisper.
I am shocked to hear this, though I realize quickly I should not be. I, too, have closed off my heart. To avoid the hurt again, perhaps. To allow myself to not be distracted from my athletic goals, definitely.
“I don’t believe that you are ruined,” I say. “Though I understand why you worry about this. I understand, because I worry, too, that I will not be good for you. It is worth trying, though. You are worth the trying. And I will wait for you for as long as you need.”
She’s quiet for a long time, so long that I start to wonder if I have said something wrong. Just as I start to ask her for her thoughts, she says, “You know, Viktor, you can be a little bit swoony sometimes.”
“Swoony? What is this?”
She laughs lightly. “Sexy, sweet, making my stomach have the butterflies.”
“Oh,” I say.
Scarlett turns to look at me, her mouth set in a lopsided grin. Her eyes still look sad, but she’s so beautiful. Butterflies in the stomach, I think I understand.
She traces her fingertip over my lips. “That frown. So cute.”
I pull her closer, my lips touching hers. It’s not a kiss for sex—no, it is something different. I do not know how to put words to it, but it feels like a promise of something more.
We pull away and I have an idea.
“Scarlett, would you allow me to do some research? Perhaps we can find your father?”
“Your shady suit guys?” she asks.
“I know people, yes.”
“I would…yes, I would like that, I think.”
“Yes. Okay.” I get up, reluctant to let her go, but I want to find Scarlett’s father. It feels urgent and important.
I call Vlad and ask him to make some calls. He owes me a favor and says he’ll get to work on this right away.
Scarlett and I spend a quiet night eating takeout food in front of the small television. She insists on having me translate instead of putting up English captions. The shows are dumb, not entertaining, but it feels like the right kind of night for us. There is a normalcy to it that I had not realized I wanted so badly. I see now that I could have this with her. We could be part of each other’s lives like this. If she wanted it, too.
I excuse myself to the restroom at some point, realizing with some chagrin that I never really cleaned up after practice. I take a quick shower and allow myself to think while the hot water sluices over my sore muscles. I feel myself softening, with Scarlett in my life. In fact, moving to Las Vegas has made me softer. Not as an athlete, not as a player. But as a man. I am more aware of human emotion, more aware of the value of friendships. I had not really contemplated these things, this evolution, but I see it very clearly now.
I am a big man, but I feel very humbled and very small when I think of the ways I have been changed this year. I suddenly miss my strange friendship with loudmouthed Tyler. And I am all the more in love with Scarlett. More than yesterday, and likely less than tomorrow.
When I emerge from the bathroom, wet and wrapped only in a towel, Scarlett is asleep in the bed we now share. I watch her sleep for a moment, her mouth slightly open. I crawl into bed next to her, naked, and even in sleep she is drawn to me. She turns to face me; her arm draping over my midsection. She stirs slightly, her hand finding my cock, which hardens instantly at her touch.
I pull her closer, settling her body on top of mine, my hands in her hair as I kiss her lightly. Groggy, her eyes open and she gives me a heart-stopping, sleepy smile.
“I thought I was dreaming you,” she says.
“It is you that is a dream.”
Her pelvis rubs against my bare cock now, the softness of her silk panties an agonizing tease. I want her. Always, I want her, so I slip the soft material to the side and she slides easily on top of me, a soft moan escaping her lips a
s she takes my cock inside her.
We make love in this dream-like state, her half-asleep, me wired to every touch, every moan, every clench from her. After we are finished and in that post-orgasm state of bliss, she falls asleep again, this time with her limbs twisting with mine, her head on my chest.
I kiss her forehead as I feel my own eyes get heavy and I’m nearly asleep myself when I hear her speak very quietly into the night.
“I know now. I’m sorry I didn’t say it before.”
“Say what?” My heart starts beating faster as I wait for her to answer me.
“I know now that I fell in love with you, too. That I love you…”
I smile into the darkness.
Twenty-Four
Scarlett
SURPRISES IN SOCHI
Two weeks later.
Viktor has a day off and we’re supposed to take a day trip to Sochi to see where he played in the Olympics. I’m dumbfounded when he tells me we’ll have to take a plane. Even though Moscow and Sochi are both Russian cities, they’re over a thousand miles apart. To drive there would take us something like twenty hours.
“Russia is really big,” I state as I look at the map while we await clearance to board the private jet Viktor has arranged for the day.
“Is big, yes,” he answers, checking his phone.
“Why are you so distracted?” I ask.
“I am arranging a meeting in Sochi,” he says, that familiar frown on his face lit up by the screen of his phone.
“Oh, something I should cover for Crush social media?”
“No,” he says quickly.
I’m taken aback by his abrupt tone. What could he be setting up, then? More time with the shady-suit guys who make him pee into a cup once a week? Oh, goody. Just the way I want to spend a tourist day with my boyfriend.
By the time we board the jet, I’m too annoyed to be impressed. We climb on and I toss my stuff into an empty seat, then flop down, putting on my seatbelt and staring out the window.
Red Rocket: A Hockey Love Story Page 17
