Rule #3: Never Fake Marry the Coach’s Son (Hockey Rules #3)

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

O skar

Dmitri says goodbye to his teammates, then we pack up his things together. Finally, he takes me to my parents’ house. He wants me to spend the night there.

Now it’s time to say goodbye.

I wrap my arms around Dmitri. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too.” His eyes shine with tears, and his grip is firm. I lay my head against his shoulder, my heart beating wildly. I inhale his scent and try to memorize it. I want to memorize everything. I don’t want him to become just a memory, but it’s time.

A ping sounds on Dmitri’s phone, then, a honk.

I pull away from Dmitri. “That must be your Uber.”

He nods regretfully. “I’ll contact you once I arrive.”

“You better.”

His eyes are solemn, but he nods.

We both know things will be different. Our relationship is new, and we’ll be communicating over vastly different time zones. Things won’t be the same.

Pappa clears his throat, then gives Dmitri a hug. Dmitri’s eyes shut.

“You take care of yourself,” Pappa says, separating.

“Yes, Coach.”

Pappa nods, but Dmitri grimaces. Maybe he remembers that Pappa is no longer his coach, Dmitri is no longer a Blizzard.

“You better go,” I say.

Dmitri’s eyes glisten, then he yanks me toward him and kisses me.

Air brushes around us. I think Pappa opened the door.

We separate, then Dmitri gives a curt nod, and hurries to the Uber.

Pappa and I wave as the car moves away, then it rounds the corner. I blink, then I feel Pappa’s arms around me. He tugs me toward him, closing the door.

“It wasn’t meant to be,” Pappa says, and he reaches out and pats me on the back.

Two taps, then he leans back assessing me. “You’ll be fine.”

I stare at him.

Pappa isn’t one to get emotional, and this probably counts as a speech or something that involves words like “love” and “feelings,” the kind that other fathers sometimes tell their pretend sons in movies.

“He wasn’t serious,” Pappa says. “He’s nice, I guess.”

“He loved you,” I say.

I squeeze my eyes together and pinch my forehead against the coming migraine, as if my head is wailing.

“Loves you,” I correct myself, because Dmitri might not be in the country, but he isn’t dead or anything.

“He’s an f-boy,” Pappa says. “That’s what they call them.”

He grins, as if proud of knowing young person lingo or something.

“I’ll get you a beer,” Pappa says. “Maybe something good is on TV.”

I nod slowly.

This feels wrong.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

People are forgetting about Dmitri so easily, just like he worried.

“There’s no solution, Oskar. You did what you could do.”

I frown.

“There’s always a way.”

“He’s a Russian citizen. He has to go back. He doesn’t have citizenship of other countries.”

“I know that. I wanted to give him US citizenship.”

“It was always going to be a long shot after what his agent did.”

Pappa opens the beer bottle and hands it to me. The click goes off in my mind.

“I-I have to go, Pappa.”

Pappa frowns. “It’s over, Oskar. You want one final kiss from him or something? His plane leaves tonight.”

“I know.” I rise, my heart beating.

It occurs to me, that I might make an absolute fool of myself. I don’t know that Dmitri wants this. That he really wants me.

The old me wouldn’t have tried.

All those years I was madly in love with Dmitri I never once told him. I never once imagined that he could want me in that way. I always assumed that he would be a painful crush, and never fought for us.

I never thought that maybe he would be willing for more, that maybe there was a reason he always liked hanging out with me, or that he would fall asleep snuggling me after long days at hockey practice.

I never thought to have the conversation with him: maybe we could be more.

Because God, what if he’d been dating far earlier? What if we could have shown US immigration that? What if none of the bad articles about us had ever appeared?

I can’t change the past, but perhaps I don’t need to settle for a future I don’t want, that fills me with despair.

I’m not the same person anymore that I once was.

I’m going to fight for Dmitri, fight for us. I’m going to give him options and not assume.

I grab my things, then rush upstairs, because there’s something in my documents I need.

“Oskar!” Pappa shouts after me. “You’re not going to do anything silly?”

“No. Not silly at all.” My heart swells. I’m going to be brave.

All my life I’ve told myself that I’m shy. I’ve let other people be brave for me.

If I don’t offer him this option, I’ll always wonder. And maybe...my heart expands. Maybe it will work.