Getting It Back

By Elizabeth Harmon

In this second-chances romance, a former top men's figure skating champion is willing to risk everything for a comeback—except a new start with his long-lost loveAn unexpected phone call from the man who broke her heart offers Amy Shepherd an opportunity to return to the work she loves, training elite figure skaters. Except it's just one figure skater: him. Can she finally forgive and forget?Figure skater Mikhail "Misha" Zaikov once had it all: medals, money and the adoration of millions. But a devastating injury put an end to his career and his romance, leaving him with nothing but regret over what could have been. His last chance to rejoin the world's top skaters is now. And there's only one person who can help him: her.On Russia's unyielding ice, Misha must reclaim what he's lost while facing off against a talented young rival and risking further injury. But Amy soon discovers Misha's much bigger challenges lurk off the ice. And she's determined to keep Misha whole and healthy, even if doing so ends his shot at the gold.Don't miss any of Elizabeth Harmon's Red Hot Russians. Pairing Off and Turning It On are available now!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Carina Press
• Release date: Apr 4, 2016
• ISBN: 9781459290419

Book preview

Chapter One

The call in the middle of the night jolted Amy awake.

She grabbed the buzzing phone from her nightstand, and when she looked at the display, it took a moment for her sleep-muddled mind to grasp the name. Then she sat up. Her palms felt prickly and her heart began to pound. Was she dreaming? She had to be. She hadn’t heard from Mikhail Zaikov in twenty-two months.

Before she could answer, the ringing stopped. The glowing face of her alarm clock showed that it was a little after three thirty on Sunday...no, Monday morning. The first week of spring break. Fully awake now, she switched on the lamp and stared down at the phone. The blinking red light signaled a message. This was no dream. Misha had called her.

Why?

By mistake, of course. Butt-dials happened all the time. He must be somewhere, doing what one did at three thirty in the morning, and had bumped his phone, causing it to accidently dial her number. A miracle he still had it, really. She would have thought he’d deleted it long ago. Her curiosity was piqued, but at the foot of her bed, her sleeping cat Milo stirred, a reminder that curiosity was bad for felines, and in this case, for females, too. Misha’s message would probably turn out to be noise and voices from some faraway nightclub, or worse, a bedroom. She reached for the light when the phone buzzed again. A text, this time.

She laughed harshly, thinking of the last text he’d sent. The one that came on the morning of her college graduation and said he was taking a job in Chicago, and leaving town pronto. Goodbye, good luck, thanks for the good times. The text that confirmed while she’d been serious about Misha, he didn’t feel the same. But the need to know why he was texting in the middle of the night was too strong. She opened the message.

Bk pain vry bad. Cant move. Alone.

The stark black words on the screen brought such an onslaught of heartache and tenderness that she wished she hadn’t looked. She was finally at the point where she could look back on their time together and remember something besides the final hurt. And now, this. She typed a response—the one he deserved. Then she read it, deleted it and tried again. Instead of hostility, she settled for her default, problem-solving mode.

Where R U?

His reply came seconds later. Motel. Watkins IL.

Still in Illinois. A long way from where she was now, in Shackleton, Ohio, and a very long way from where they’d lived back when things were good. She’d never heard of Watkins, and what he was doing there, she hadn’t a clue. Nor did it have any bearing on her life now. She didn’t need the frustration, or whatever else, seeing him would bring. But she stared down at the message again, unable to ignore a heart-wrenching truth.

Even after what happened between them, he’d reached out to her because there was no one else. Alone. Misha was alone in some small town and though he’d broken her heart, now he was the one hurting.

Serves him right.

Yet the thought of him suffering in some lonely middle-of-nowhere motel tugged at the part of her which refused to kill spiders and always cheered for the villain’s redemption. Misha was no villain. There was goodness in him, and at one time, she’d loved him and dreamt of their future together. She knew all about his physical pain, which could be debilitating, and as an athletic trainer, her job was to help and heal.

So help and heal she would, and in the process, she hoped to heal herself as well. Misha was part of her past, but the hurt and anger over how he’d left lingered still. Though she liked to think that she’d moved on, she’d never had a chance to tell him how much his leaving had hurt. She needed closure, and once she had it, then she could officially turn the page on Mikhail Zaikov.

Pushing away her blankets, Amy swung her bare feet to the bedroom floor and typed a reply she knew was the right one.

By early afternoon, Amy found herself on a two-lane highway, headed for Watkins. The town was about 150 miles south of Chicago, Misha’s destination when he’d abruptly left Newark on her graduation day from the University of Delaware.

Wind whipped across the road and shook the small car she’d rented after landing in Chicago. Her old Toyota was fine for getting around Shackleton, but the last thing she wanted was to break down in the middle of nowhere. Flat open fields, turned for spring planting, stretched out on both sides of the road. The vast emptiness was broken only by farms, spread wide apart.

How had Misha, who had once been one of the world’s top male figure skaters, ended up here?

They’d met when he came from Russia to rehab after spinal surgery at the university’s renowned figure skating training center. She’d been a college senior majoring in athletic training and had worked with him as part of her clinical rotation. Though he’d hoped to return to competition, as the months and pain dragged on, he’d become discouraged. The surgery had compromised his flexibility, and younger skaters were landing jumps his injured body could no longer withstand. When a coaching opportunity arose in Chicago, he took it and left, hours before meeting her family for the first time. She’d returned to her parents’ home in Wisconsin. Eager to move on with her life, she’d accepted a position as an athletic trainer at a high school in eastern Ohio, rather than pursue her one-time dream of working with elite figure skaters.

The sky had the fearsome look of heavy rain on the way. Good news for the farmers maybe, but not so good for a woman on the road alone. A tornado could come roaring through and blow her straight to Oz. If a twister was on the way, she wanted to know, so she turned on the radio. There were snatches of music and voices, until the strongest signal came in, a country station where Toby Keith sang about life 1,452 beers ago. Outside of a farm town that looked as if it could have been the setting for Toby’s song, a green highway sign informed her that Watkins was five miles ahead.

A quick online search had helped her find Watkins’s single motel, which she’d called early this morning. The gruff woman who answered confirmed that Misha had checked in late last night and offered to put her through to his room. Not wanting to disturb him, nor ready to speak to him yet, Amy declined and quickly hung up.

She passed an enormous grain elevator, and then a long, low building with a gravel parking lot. The neon sign in front read Country Bob’s Roadhouse. Just inside Watkins, over the railroad tracks, was a big box discount store surrounded by fast food places but there was no sign of the motel. The highway turned into Main Street and passed through an eerie, empty downtown. Beyond that was a steepled white church, an impressive brick mansion that now housed a funeral parlor and a strip of newer, though dilapidated, ranch houses. Just past an abandoned used car lot with a hand-painted For Sale staked in front was a lighted yellow and black sign for the Town’s Edge Motel.

Her stomach fluttered with eagerness and dread, as the strange journey suddenly became real. The L-shaped, single story building surrounded an empty swimming pool, enclosed by a chain link fence. Most of the cars in the lot were old, though a sleek black Lexus was parked in front of room number three. To the right was the office. A neon sign flashed VACANCY. Amy parked and went inside.

The office smelled like fried food, and behind the counter, a woman was eating microwaved chicken tenders while she watched TV. She looked up as Amy came in. Help you?

Yes, I’m Amy Shepherd. I may have spoken to you this morning on the phone. I’m a friend of one of your guests, Mikhail Zaikov.

The woman set aside her meal and stood, wiping her hands on her jeans. That was me. I tried to tell him you was comin’ when I went to clean his room, but he was passed out, facedown on the bed. Must be some drunk he’s coming off.

Misha, drunk? During their time together, he rarely drank at all, but who could say if that was still true? She tightened her sweaty grip on her shoulder bag. He has a back injury. He might not be able to get up.

The motel manager replied with a knowing laugh. Yeah, my ex had an injury like that, too.

Can you take me to his room?

With a labored sigh, the woman grabbed a bundle of keys from beneath the front desk and Amy followed her outside, down the row of faded pea-green metal doors. She stopped and knocked on the one closest to the Lexus. Hey, mister, wake up! Your girlfriend’s here.

Amy winced at the word. She hadn’t been Misha’s girlfriend for a long time—maybe not ever. A cold stiff wind blew from the north, and she tugged her down vest closer for warmth as she waited for Misha to answer.

When he didn’t, the woman pounded again. Still no answer. The manager grunted and looked over her shoulder with a smirk. Back injury, you was sayin’?

Please unlock the door. I’ve come a long way and need to see that he’s all right.

She sighed again, but fumbled a key into the door and pushed it open. The room was dark, but Amy could see a man lying still on the bed. Heart pounding, she stepped inside. Misha?

Amy?

The sound of his voice when he said her name took her back to happier times, and she rushed forward. Turning on a lamp, she crouched beside the bed. Misha’s eyes were closed, but the corner of his mouth lifted with the boyish smile that used to bring a little thrill whenever she saw it. I can’t believe you’re really here.

Of course I am, she answered, in a brisk, professional tone that she hoped disguised the tightness in her throat. Gently, she placed her hand on his shoulder and felt the warmth of his body through his thin shirt. Does your back still hurt?

Very much. Hard to move.

Spasms?

Yes.

He’d had them once before in Delaware, after overdoing it on the ice. She wondered if that was what had happened this time, though Watkins didn’t seem like the kind of town that would have an ice rink. Or much in the way of medical care. She turned to the manager, who stood at the door, watching with a curious expression. Where’s the closest doctor?

‘Bout thirty minutes away, over to the big hospital in Kankakee. Don’t know if you’d call that close.

Amy didn’t. Athletic trainers worked under a doctor’s direction, but short of an ambulance, she didn’t have a way to get him to one. Certainly not by driving him over bumpy roads, in the cramped seat of her rental car. Beneath her hand he shifted and his breath caught with pain. Please, no doctor. No hospital.

Only if we absolutely have to, she said, then turned back to the manager. Can I reach you in the office if we need anything?

Yeah, sure, she said grudgingly. If I ain’t around, one of my kids will be. She closed the door, leaving them.

Amy tossed her coat on a chair and tied her hair back with a band she found in her jeans pocket. The chill in the room would make his muscles tighten involuntarily, so she went to the dented, wall-mounted space heater and adjusted the temperature. The unit rattled loudly to life. She pushed up the sleeves of her sweater, shifting into professional mode. When did it start?

Last night, when driving. Pain started in my butt and thighs. I thought if I could pull off and rest, it would stop. So I pulled off here. Then spasms started.

Is it the lower part of your back?

Yes, where they did surgery.

Carefully, she lifted his shirt to expose his back. At the base of his spine was a scar from the surgery that had fused two discs in the lumbar region, to repair the damage done by years of grueling training and falls. She brushed her fingers lightly across his skin. Misha winced. Hurts when you touch.

Which suggested it was swollen and tender. Amy took her hand away. He was likely suffering from strained muscles, which had been made worse from sitting in one position while driving. Have you taken anything? She was fairly certain of the answer. He’d been as wary of medications as he’d been about alcohol.

His eyes were open now, the brilliant blue she remembered. Just over the counter and nothing since morning. Don’t want drugs, just you. Please do your magic touch to take pain away.

Magic touch had been his name for a therapeutic massage technique she’d used during his training sessions. Gently, she rubbed his shoulder. I will. But first, I want you to take some more pain reliever, and I’m going to ice your back to relieve the swelling. Then I’ll give you a massage, which should help relax your muscles, so you can move a little. If you feel up to it, I’ll help you do some gentle stretches. Think you can give that a try?

"Da, he said, closing his eyes again. Pills are by sink."

She brought him a glass of water and three ibuprofen, then took the plastic ice bucket down to the machine near the office and filled it. The liner would make a passable ice pack. Returning, she draped a thin bath towel across his lower back and set the ice on it. His sharp inhale and Russian curse between gritted teeth brought another memory. He’d never liked ice.

She kicked off her boots and knelt beside the bed to begin her massage, starting with his scalp, and working her way down. His throaty purr wasn’t unlike Milo’s when she stroked him behind his ears. Misha’s breathing grew steady, and she wondered if he might have fallen asleep. That was fine, especially if the pain had kept him from doing so. Forcing her mind into a clinical detachment, in which she saw him only as a patient, and not as a man she’d once hoped to marry, she kneaded his muscular arms and shoulders, then moved lower, to his buttocks and upper thighs.

Dark brown drapes covered the windows, but rain pattered on the glass and from beneath the door, she felt a draft on her stocking feet. As she gazed around at the room’s smudged walls and colorless industrial carpeting, it was comforting to know this had only been an emergency stop on Misha’s journey. Still, something about finding him here was indescribably sad. She remembered the talented, handsome Russian skater who’d thrilled her in two Winter Games, and the sweet, fun-loving man she’d fallen hard for during those happy final months of college.

She’d brought him into her circle of friends and helped him feel at home in a strange country. She taught him all about American football, shared her favorite old movies and TV shows. He’d surprised her with flowers, helped her ace a Russian-language class, brought pizza when she had to stay up late studying. He’d kissed her for the first time on a snowy January night outside a campus coffee shop, a moment she loved going back to, even now. Yes, she’d been wounded when he left. But had harboring anger and hurt feelings made her feel any better?

Amy?

I’m here. Am I hurting you?

"Nyet, he said, softly. All is good now."

Once the pain reliever had had time to work, she helped him sit on the edge of the bed.

Ready to try some moves on the floor?

He nodded, and she took his arm, guiding him down onto the blanket she’d folded into a mat. Laying him on his back, she stretched his arms over his head, then she helped him lift his knees to his chest and back down. After he’d finished these repetitions, she stopped him. That’s enough for now, I don’t want you to overdo it. How do you feel?

Not great, but better than yesterday, he managed a slight smile. Hungry.

Definitely an improvement. It sounds like the rain has stopped, so why don’t I run across to the diner and bring something back for both of us?

The gratitude in his eyes almost undid her. That will be good. I haven’t had anything to eat since last night.

She helped him back onto the bed, arranging the meager pillows to provide as much support as she could. He shifted, trying to get comfortable and winced slightly. Not ready to move like that yet, or to even think of driving, he said, shaking his head.

As I said, don’t push yourself. I’ll help you with some more stretches in the morning, and if it’s not better, I can drive you to the hospital in Kankakee.

He paused, giving her a long look. You are staying, then?

Amy realized he didn’t know how far she’d actually traveled. He probably assumed that she was back living in her hometown in Wisconsin. She gave a brisk nod, and grabbed her jacket and purse from the chair. I’ll go check into a room. The sign said they have vacancy. Hungry for anything in particular?

Whatever you bring is fine.

Outside, the rain had stopped, but there was a thin sheen of ice on the pavement. Amy went first to the motel office, where a husky boy in a high school football T-shirt booked her into the room next to Misha’s. How long you stayin’? he asked, as he swiped her credit card.

Just tonight, she answered, hoping that by morning, Misha would be on the road to recovery, and she would be on the road home.

The warm lights of the diner glowed in the gloom, and she dashed across the highway, as the wind blew her hair across her face. The welcoming smells of coffee and bacon reminded her that she’d not eaten either, other than the granola bar which had passed for breakfast on her morning flight. A girl in her late teens took a menu from a stack beside the cash register. Table for one?

No thanks, I need my order to go. She sat at the counter and placed an order for two bowls of chicken soup and cups of hot green tea. As she waited for her food, she took out her phone and called a doctor she often consulted with in Shackleton. Amy explained the treatments she given Misha and her diagnosis of back muscle strain. Dr. Alan Richards confirmed her instincts not to move him unless the pain grew markedly worse or he developed additional symptoms, such as a fever, which could indicate meningitis.

You might also try getting him into the shower, he suggested.

Umm...yeah. I’ll definitely consider it, she said, though she could think of nothing more awkward.

Alan chuckled. Not comfortable with that idea?

She blushed. Though he was only a few years older than she was, and they’d socialized occasionally as colleagues, she didn’t want the doctor to think she was being unprofessional. Misha isn’t simply a patient. He’s an old...ex...boyfriend. It didn’t end well.

I understand, he said, kindly. But the fact you’re there at all shows you’re not holding that against him and forgiveness can be a pretty powerful healer.

Her cheeks burned and she bit her lip. If only it were that simple. I’ll keep that in mind. At the end of the counter, a large man in a stained white shirt was bagging up her order. Listen Alan, I need to go now. My carryout is almost ready. I’ll give you a call tomorrow and let you know how he’s doing.

Please do. And be sure to remind him to see his own doctor as soon as he can.

She wasn’t sure Misha had a doctor but promised Alan she would ask, then took the bag and hurried back to the motel as more rain fell. She let herself into Misha’s room and placed the bag and drink caddy on the desk. She shook raindrops from her coat and ran her fingers through her windblown hair. Watching, Misha furrowed his brow. You should not be running out into rain. Not because of me.

She held up one hand, stopping him, as he began to shift one foot to the floor. Stay right where you are and don’t even think of undoing my genius care.

Certainly not. I am lucky to be under the care of the amazing Amy Shepherd. He offered a smile that still carried a bit of his old charm, but there were lines around his eyes and the pain was visible on his features. What’s for dinner?

She brought the bag to the bed and placed it between them, then handed him one of the foam bowls. Soup, what else? You ate more of it than anyone I ever met. And hot tea. She passed him the cup.

He set it on the nightstand. You remembered.

That and so much more. She opened her own soup and dumped in a packet of crackers, then reached into the bag for the one she brought for him. I brought crackers for you too.

No need, he said, after he took a taste. Soup tastes good without, and I know you like them.It seemed he remembered something about her too.

I forgot the sour cream, though.

That’s okay. Next time, he said.

Mentioning that she planned to leave in the morning and wouldn’t be making more food runs felt callous. And, at the moment, unnecessary. She stirred the second packet of crackers into her soup. Outside, thunder rumbled.

Misha took a spoonful of soup. Did you get your room?

She nodded. Yes. I’m in room four, right next door.

Close.

I thought it was best, in case the pain got worse. They ate in silence, then she added, While I was waiting at the diner, I called a doctor that I often consult with in treating my own clients. He agreed that the spasms were probably from muscle strain, and that driving might have triggered it. He said for you to be sure and see your own doctor as soon as you can.

He gave a small one-shouldered shrug. I don’t exactly have one anymore, but when I get to where I’m going, I’ll see what I can do. But I am grateful to you and to your friend for advice. Do you still work as athletic trainer with figure skaters?

That had been her plan senior year, but in the aftermath of their breakup, plans had changed. The world of elite figure skating was a small one. Chances were good that eventually, their paths would cross. Skating was also a challenge to break into professionally. The thought of months with nothing to do but send out resumes and stew in her sadness made her take the first job she was offered.

Here it was! The chance to tell him all of it. To make sure he knew that not only had he broken her heart, he’d wrecked her career. Closure could be hers at last.

She looked up from her bowl and their eyes locked. Angry words danced on the tip of her tongue and still, she kept her lips clamped shut. Different words sprang to mind...something about kicking a man when he was down. Finally, she responded. No. That didn’t really work out. I live in Ohio now, and work as an athletic trainer at a high school.

The comment was met with silence, and he looked away. His chin dipped toward his chest, and his Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed, though he hadn’t taken another bite of soup. Though she hadn’t said a word, he’d gotten the message. Ohio to Watkins is long way.

Yes. We’re on spring break this week, she said, then asked quietly, How do you like your coaching job in Chicago?

He thinned his lips. That didn’t work out either.

Once again, Amy’s chest felt weighed down by the sad reality of what they’d once been...and what they were now. The turns of fate and bad decisions had led them both to places much different from what they’d once hoped for when they were together, and the future seemed full of possibility. Maybe the closure she needed wouldn’t come from an angry confrontation, but from looking beyond her own sadness, and exchanging bitterness for compassion. I’m sorry to hear that, she answered, meaning it. You said you were driving someplace when the pain started. Where were you going?

Was headed for St. Louis. Friend of a friend had turned me onto job there.

Coaching?

No. Selling cars. Was supposed to have had interview today, but obviously did not make it.

Hopefully you’ll be up and around in a day or two.

He shook his head, his face grim with resolve. Tomorrow. I need to be back on road.

Misha, I meant what I said about letting your body heal. Don’t push yourself.

I’ll be fine, he said. Some things didn’t change.

He tilted his head and gave her a curious look. Your life in Ohio...is it a good one that makes you happy?

The question was surprising, yet she was touched by it. If he’d wanted to make small talk, he could have brought up the storm blowing outside, or made a comment about how the soup had more salt than chicken. But instead, he’d wanted to know if she was happy. And when she stopped to think about it...she was.

Yes, she said. I like the school where I work. I like the kids. I’m also the dance team coach, so that’s fun. I’m even still involved with skating.

Really? For the first time, Misha voice’s sounded bright and optimistic. How?

I teach a children’s basic skills class at our local rink. No future stars or anything. At least not yet. But I love it. Shackleton’s a good town. I have a nice apartment. Friends. A cat.

Boyfriend?

She and Oliver had been dating since January, but she didn’t really consider him a boyfriend. Misha didn’t need to know that, though. Kind of. She wondered if there was anyone special in his life, and wasn’t sure how she would feel if there was. You?

His shoulders gave a little hitch, as he chuckled to himself. No. Definitely not.

Well, now that that was settled...she scraped the last spoonfuls of soup from the foam bowl. Misha seemed just as intent on his. When it was finished she looked up, and the longing in his gaze made her heart pound. Quickly, she gathered up the dinner trash and stuffed it into the bag. Well, it’s late. I should be getting to my room. I was up early this morning.

Yes, I know, he said apologetically. And I don’t have words to begin to thank—

It’s what I do, she said quickly. Help people who are hurting. Before I go, do you need anything from your car? A suitcase?

Amy, it’s okay. You’ve done enough.

Really, I don’t mind. Tell me what you need and I’ll bring it. Your car is the black Lexus parked right by the door?

He nodded, and handed her a set of keys from the nightstand. Dark blue suitcase, and zippered bag with my suit. Both are in trunk.

She put the hood of her jacket up, but the rain, though still falling, wasn’t as heavy as before. Still, lightning flickered in the dark sky, illuminating the contents of the trunk, which was packed full. The suit bag was right on top, the blue suitcase wedged beneath. As she tugged it free, she saw his red-and-white Team Russia skate bag, crushed in between a couple of cardboard boxes. He’d once been so meticulous about caring for his skates. Now they were stuffed in the trunk, like a spare tire and extra cans of motor oil. Saddened, she slammed the lid shut and hurried back inside. She hung the suit bag in the closet and opened the suitcase on a folding luggage rack.

Can you bring T-shirt and sleep pants?

Sure. She pushed aside neatly folded jeans and shirts and found what he’d asked for. At the bed she paused, then asked, Do you need help?

With the shirt. He unbuttoned the blue-and-white-striped one he was wearing, and she eased it off his shoulders. His upper body was lean, but powerfully muscled, and she bit her lip at the sight of him. Memories, so many memories. Like when she’d placed a kiss over the small tattoo of the Games’ linked rings on his chest, or the Cyrillic words inked on the inside of his right arm.

"What do those mean?"

"Strength. Faith. Love. Everything that I need." He threaded his fingers through her hair and gazed into her eyes. "Especially love."

She blinked rapidly to clear her vision, and held the T-shirt so he could put his arms through the sleeves. Then he brought his hands to his belt buckle and looked back up. It’s okay. I can manage the rest.

She didn’t argue. Instead she moved toward the door, then turned back to where he sat on the bed, still, watching her. If you need anything...or if the pain comes back, call. I’m right next door.

I will. Good night, Amy. Sleep well.

She stepped out into the cold night, closing the door behind her. Sleep well, he’d said.

Fat chance of that.

Chapter Two

The day Misha arrived at the University of Delaware’s training center for the first time, the pretty red-haired student caught his eye.

She’d worn a fitted blue T-shirt and khaki shorts that displayed shapely legs, still with a trace of a summer tan. Her hair was in a single braid, worn off to the side. Pert breasts. Nice ass. Everything a guy could want, but it wasn’t just her looks that grabbed his attention. It was also the way she carried herself, moving through the room with