I Left My Heart in Moscow but My Love Waits in Pittsburgh

“Neither do I,” His voice was silk. I could imagine his facial expression, soft and vulnerable like his voice was now.

“I-” I started but I stopped myself before I get the rest out. I still love you, I wanted to say. I wanted to say it so desperately that it hurt. I was falling back into his gravity. I was getting sucked in by his charm. I was running back to him after he made me feel like a fool. He tore my heart into pieces, he made me leave my family, he made me fall in love with him. Despite all these things, I wanted so badly for him to love me, for him to be with me.

I wanted to tell other people about the true nature of our relationship, not just that we were together and that I left and I followed him here. I yearned to tell others about how we loved each other, how we cared for each other, how we lived for each other.

But they wouldn't understand. No one but Evgeni and I would, or could, understand.

“You what?” He asked, his voice innocent as if he didn't just break my heart, as if he didn't have a girlfriend.

“I can't do this.” I said with a finality that I fooled myself into believing.

“Can't do what?” He sounded oblivious, like he didn't know what he was doing, the kind of effect he had on me.

“You know what,” I was gaining my confidence and it showed in my voice.

“I don't, so please tell me,” He was playing with me. The condescending tone thick in his voice.

“You're trying to make me come back to you,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Of course, I am. I still love you, I still need you,”

My heart stopped. He said the words I so needed to hear that I had begging to hear. Those words “I still love you” practically validated my coming to Pittsburgh. I wanted to say them back, profess my love to him over and over. But I held myself back, my brain was taking over my heart for the first time. “What about Oksana?”

“Oksana? She doesn't understand me like you do, she doesn't love me like you do,”

“Then leave her,” I didn't want to be a mistress. I wasn't going to be the other woman. I deserved more than that. I needed more than that.

“I can't leave her. She gave everything for me. She came to America-”

I cut him off, “I gave everything to you! I came to America for you! I gave up all that I had for you!” I was screaming at this point. I didn't care who heard me, but the anger that I didn't know existed was bubbling to the surface.

“I see that now, I see that now,” Evgeni tried to soothe me.

“Why couldn't you see it earlier? Why couldn't you see it in Russia? Why did you have to be with her? Why did you say those things to me in the club?” I was crying now. The tears were streaming down my cheeks and onto the pillows. It was all too painful for me to keep inside.

“I missed you too much then. I loved you too much. Oksana is just a substitute for you. I was scared when you came here. I didn't know how to react. I was scared that Oksana might find out and how she'll react. All the feelings I had for you when you came rushing back to me, but I can't leave Oksana. I had to say those things, because I love you.”

“How can I believe you? When you said everything we had was just a lie. Are you lying to me now? Or were you lying to me back in the club?” I was hysterical. I knew Anna and Alicia could probably hear me, probably Mrs. Lachowski upstairs could hear me.

“I would never lie to you, moia dorogaia,” He cooed. “I said those things because I was foolish and I made a mistake.”

“I can't be with you,” I said it slowly, deliberately as if the words themselves were foreign on my tongue. I was unsure of how to say it but I was sure that I needed to say it. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to get the tears to stop.

“Why not Lana? I love you, you love me thats all we need,”

“I can't trust you, anymore.” My voice was threatening to waver.

“What does trust have to do with it?”

“Everything! How can I love you if I can't trust you with every part of me? How can I love you if I can't trust you to not break my heart again? How can I love you if I can't trust you to not run off with someone else?”

“You're acting like I cheated on you,” He sounded annoyed like he did nothing wrong.

“You did! We were still a couple when you met Oksana at that club, or at least I thought we were.”

“You're overreacting.”

“I'm not. I can't be with you, if I can't trust you. I still love you and I always will, but I can't be with you. I want to, I want to so badly. But, I just can't. I can't.” For the first time, I had been rational, looked at my relationship with Evgeni with a different perspective. It took everything I had to say those words. My heart pounded against my ribs and with every beat it ached.

It was over.



Anna and Alicia were watching re-runs of America's Next Top Model when loud yelling in Russian interrupted Tyra's crazy antics.

“God, what is it now?” Anna was irate as she turned up the volume on the TV.

“Come off it, she's having boy problems,” Alicia defended, popping popcorn in her mouth.

“It's so nice to know she isn't always Little-Miss-Perfect!” Anna laughed maniacally, “She really is so annoying. She comes here and pretends she's this meek, little, foreign girl whose so unsure of herself. Then in, what, two months she has everyone eating out of the palm of her hand. She's getting featured roles in the Showcase and probably going to be Clara for The Nutcracker! I was here for over 15 years and I had to wait for someone to get injured to be seen!

"She gets all these compliments: 'What a perfect turnout!', 'Oh you have such beautiful expression', 'Your port des bras is so lovely,' She only gets those compliments because she's legacy. If she was a daughter of coal miner, no one would give her a second look. Seriously, she can barely do contemporary! All she is classical and she's traditional and old fashioned. And all this boy drama! Really? It's such a load of BS! She has two hot guys, three if you count Alejandro, just falling over themselves to be with her. Just choose one already!” Anna was fuming. She was a volatile mixture of jealousy and rage.

“How can you say those things? She's your friend?”

“Oh she ain't no friend of mine!”

“How can you mock her situation like that? You know what it's like to be in love with someone you're not supposed to. Or should I remind you about Mr. Gallagher?”

“You have no right! You know nothing- nothing!- about Jack and I!” Anna was hurt that Alicia, her best friend, would defend Svetlana.

“What don't I know? That he was your patron and you were his mistress? He had a family, children. How does it feel to be a home wrecker? What else don't I know? Am I missing anything? Perhaps, that when you were found out, he left Pittsburgh and stopped donating to PBT?”

“He loved me and I loved him. You wouldn't know anything about being loved in return!”

“That's low even for you,” Alicia retreated to her room leaving Anna to think about what she said about Adam and her. Adam was Alicia's best friend since they were babies, really. Adam was in ballet from the day he could walk. It was Adam who told Alicia she should do ballet when she blew out her knee. It was Adam who helped her catch up to her peers. It was Adam Alicia loved. It was Sylvia that Adam loved. It was Adam who was world famous for his relationship- on-stage and off- with Sylvia. Sylvia was Adam's partner in the New York City Ballet, both of them were stars in their own right but together they were magnetic. Alicia still pines after Adam, Anna doesn't understand it. They wouldn't understand, Alicia thought to herself as she thought of Adam: his dimpled smile, deep laugh, tanned skin and dark hair and eyes.

“Did I go to far?” Anna said to no one but herself, thinking about how she had thrown Adam at Alicia's face like that. “She deserved it. She brought Jack into this. She had no right. She doesn't understand us. They don't understand us. They wouldn't understand. No, I needed to win. I need to win,” She muttered to herself over and over again like a mad woman as she, too, retreated to her bedroom.



The only thing keeping Evgeni from throwing his cell phone against the wall was Oksana sleeping next to him. Evgeni slowly got out of bed, to pace. He needed to think.

She couldn't? What the hell was that supposed to mean? His hands balled into fists, he was clenching so hard that his finger nails left half-moons on his skin.

Why did he want her anyways? Was it because she was a ballerina? No, her ballet was never the reason for their attraction. Was it because she was beautiful? Yes. No. Yes and no. She was definitely pretty but that can't be the only reason. Oksana was quite sexy and there were plenty of other puck bunnies who were just as attractive, if not more. Was it because of her personality? Yes, she was so calm and sweet. She could soothe him by just touching his shoulder. He wanted her but these were just superficial. It wasn't getting to the core of the problem.

Perhaps he wanted her just because he wanted to share another night with her. Like the night before she left for Moscow. Yes. He did want another night of intimacy with her, another night of pure passion and pleasure. But he knew, if they did sleep together, it wouldn't be the same. What made that night special was that they were both showing each other how much they loved each other. It was more than just sex, it was making love. They were making love.

Evgeni thought back to when he first saw her at Flower's house. He thought he was hallucinating. There she was. Her hair was lighter, her eyes brighter, almost amber or topaz, she seemed different. She was different. She had this confidence in herself that she didn't have before. The way she stood up to Oksana, the Lana he knew in Russia would never have the guts to do that. She was so comfortable with herself and the men around her. She had Kris whispering in her ear, Max speaking to her in French and high-fiving her, Jordan with his arm wrapped around her, snuggling on the couch. Evgeni felt that familiar feeling again, that mixture of anger and, what was that last bit, jealousy?

Bingo! He was jealous. Why should I be jealous? He thought to himself. I was there first. I had her first. She loved me first. But if there's one thing hockey has taught him, it's not how you start but how you finish. Evgeni knew he messed things up with her and that he ruined it in one night. But it wasn't even entirely his fault, Evgeni tried to reason. When she left, he was a mess. He plunged himself into hockey and it paid off eventually. He was being drafted by the NHL. The night the Pens drafted him, he went out with his friends to party at a club, Pyramid. He didn't have the heart to celebrate, not without her. She was his biggest fan and supporter, outside of his parents. But then he saw Oksana. She was so different from Lana. Oksana was blonde, curvy, short, flirtatious and rambunctious. It was one vodka, two vodka, three vodka and next thing Evgeni knew, he was in the back of his car, with Oksana pinned beneath him, reaching for a condom in his wallet. If anyone should take the blame, it should be Svetlana. She left. She made him feel like crap, like he didn't deserve her.

Lies, he knew he was just feeding himself lies, but it made him feel better.

“Zhenechka, come back to bed,” Oksana murmured in Russian as she groped for him on his side of the bed. His Ksenya, Ksyusha, Oksanochka. She looked so young now without her makeup on, without her mask. She put makeup on like a mask everyday, to guard herself from the world, the world that looked down on her. He could never bring himself to leave Oksana. She gave up everything for him. She left her family, divorced her husband, left her home. When she came to America, she didn't know a word of English and the only person she knew in America was him. Now look at them now, a Calder Memorial Trophy winner and a WAG playing house together in America.

His teammates never liked his dear Oksanochka. Evgeni could not understand why. They wouldn't understand their relationship, her sacrifices, his love. They wouldn't understand.



Jordan laid on his bed, his cellphone carefully balancing on his chest. He had just finished his nightly talks with Sveta. He couldn't help but feel how distant she was, like she was hiding something. And her voice. It was hoarse like she had been crying. She could be so secretive sometimes.

I wish she would tell. I wish she knew that I would understand, Jordan thought to himself.

He grabbed his cellphone and thought about calling his Mom. Oh yeah, go call your Mommy, he thought mockingly. Jordan wanted to take it slow, he needed to take it slow, for both of their sakes. He saw potential in Sveta. She could be the one to bring home to his family.

He didn't want to make mistakes. What happened if they kissed, touched, rushed into it? What if he didn't call her back? Proved all her friends right. Heck, proved all his friends right. And all this, all they had, would end in just one night. It would be a mess. It would be awful. He didn't want to lose Sveta like that.

Screw it. Whether he was called a pussy or not, he was going to call his Mommy. She would know what to do.

Who cares if his friends made fun of him for calling his Mom?

They wouldn't understand.

They didn't need to understand.