30. YOM
YOM
Yom’s mind was preoccupied as he put on his skates. But not because of the male he’d immolated just a few hours ago. He’d spared not a single thought for that unworthy ublyudok since walking away to leave Stepan to backfill the grave once Hanson stopped screaming.
His mind was occupied with thoughts of Lydia. She’d technically been no different since the Valentine’s Day hiccup.
Technically.
She’d thanked him for his belated gifts. And she continued to not pull away when he took hold of her hand.
Their dinners were filled with a cheery recounting of her days, which involved classes, student work, volunteer hours, and lots of checking in on her friends, Trish and Merry.
She’d helped him study for his Statistics midterm and even teased him when he passed. “It was the teddy bear that totally made the difference, wasn’t it?”
The answer to that question was partially.
He’d ended up taking the small stuffed animal with him to the test and setting it beside the computer he’d been assigned for the midterm exam. This, of course, he knew, didn’t truly matter. His path was already carved in the wake of his Uncle Nikolai—who’d happily helped him knock out Hanson and his father, then string them both up in chains while chatting with him about what position he’d play when he joined the Indiana Polar.
Yom’s already-decided life path involved seven to ten years of play—the average career span for a professional hockey player. Then, since Uncle Nikolai’s youngest son had gone into ice dancing, and his oldest son, Pavel, had already stated he had no interest in running a team, Yom would take over his uncle’s position whenever he was ready to quit skating.
Nyet , his grade in Statistics did not matter. But the bear served as a reminder of how happy Lydia would be if he put in maximum effort.
Indeed, her face had lit up when Yom announced to her a much higher than passing grade in the 80s. But once again, he’d held his tongue. Otherwise, he would have told her, It wasn’t the teddy bear. It was you who made the difference.
So no, she hadn’t necessarily changed since February 15th.
However, a week later, he’d received a handwritten note from someone named Val, thanking him for his generous donation of the giant teddy bear—along with a picture of several dogs snuggling up to his gift in what looked like a large communal pen.
Yom’s jaw tensed as he read the card. He knew Lydia loved animals—too much, in his opinion, given how her desire to help P.M. had led to her putting herself in danger. But the donation of his gift felt like an ominous sign.
Had she not truly liked it? Was she only pretending when she smiled and laughed during their time together? The idea knotted in his chest.
Over the next few days, he started noticing other changes. She’d stopped asking him personal questions. Da , it saved him the effort of avoiding answers, but was it a sign that she had given up on trying to know him?
She’d also stopped chattering when they watched Attack on Titan , or holding off on episodes when he had a game, or explaining what had happened in the ones he’d missed. And while she never avoided his handhold, she no longer tucked her arm through his or huddled close to him when they walked through the cold.
He liked when she did that.
Why had she stopped?
Was it a sign that his plan was failing?
By the time the last game of the season came around, he’d begun to regret not adding her mandatory attendance to the Anything List.
He didn’t need anyone at his games. He’d maintained that from the start. Not having to deal with his father’s constant and harsh criticisms had been one of the many boons of moving over 5,000 miles away from Moscow to attend school in the USA.
As for friends, it was better not to form attachments outside of his brother and the uncles that had offered him and Cheslav the opportunity to come to the U.S. to play hockey. Friends were ephemeral. They abandoned you, the same as mothers.
He’d had no reason to let anyone else into his inner circle... until Lydia. Who had yet to attend one of his games for reasons outside of acquiring freedom for a dog. Lydia, who had been compliant to every rule on his Anything List—but also distant as of late.
The sharp crack of the head coach’s whistle yanked Yom out of his pensive thoughts. “Alright, Yolks, let’s break some eggs!”
Break some eggs, they did. Their last game of the season was against the Springfield Marauders, a team that hadn’t even qualified for the Big Ten tournament, which determined who would advance to the USCA playoffs.
The upcoming weeks would involve much harder play against the top schools from all over the regions. That was why Yom only put in a modicum of effort. Not because Lydia wasn’t in the stands, he told himself.
But that excuse felt hollow, and her absence gnawed at him while he played.
As it turned out, even his smallest effort was enough to garner the team a near shutout, with the final game buzzer honking underneath a scoreboard of 5-1 in favor of the Yolks.
They’d played a perfect season! If they won the national championship, they’d be the first USCA Division 1 male team to do so since Manhattan University clinched the title after a close-out 1974-75 season. Yom should have been elated, like the rest of his teammates.
Instead, his stomach clenched as he braced himself for all the other players’ families, buddies, and girlfriends to run out onto the ice.
Something in Yom’s chest cracked.
As inured as he’d become to this tradition after four years, he found himself on edge tonight. He could already feel Lar’s pitying stare on him.
No doubt there’d be another invitation to go out to dinner with the team captain’s family, even though Yom had yet to say yes in four seasons of playing on the same team.
Tonight, for whatever reason, Yom couldn’t abide the thought of lurking on the sidelines, waiting to be called over for the team picture while everyone else kissed and hugged. As the audience began to flood onto the ice, he started toward the rink’s entrance closest to the locker room.
If he was fast about it, maybe he could be back in his tracksuit and out the door before the rest of the team came in to change. He already knew they’d try to guilt him into throwing another party at his lake house.
As if he hadn’t only done that to keep Hanson away from...
“Lydia.” The name slipped from Yom’s mind to his tongue when he saw her at the rink’s entrance, carefully stepping onto the ice.
She is here!
Yom skidded to a dead stop. His first instinct was to look over both shoulders to make sure she hadn’t set up a honey trap for another abusive dog breeder.
But no, she continued toward him, gingerly plucking her way across the ice in her yellow coat before she came to a stop in front of him.
“Hi.”
“What are you doing here?” Once again, the question came out harsher than intended. As his questions often did with her.
Not for the first time since handing Lydia the Anything List, Yom wished he’d bothered to learn social graces.
“Oh, I...” She looked to both sides while fretting her lip. “Um, I’ve noticed you never invite me—or any of your friends and family—to these things. But Trish was telling me it was your last game of the year—of a perfect season. And I was just feeling so proud of you, I couldn’t help myself. So... here I am.”
Yom stared down at her, his breathing becoming rapid even though gameplay was over.
And Lydia visibly cringed. “I hope that’s o?—”
That was as far as she got before Yom threw down his hockey stick, grabbed her around the waist, and crashed his lips down on hers.
No, it wasn’t in the new plan. He knew this could change everything—knew it could ruin what he’d been carefully building toward with her. But in that moment, none of it mattered.
As Pavel had been proposing for nearly the entire month of February, Fuck the plan .
Yom could no longer hold himself back from claiming the sweet mouth of his Library Girl.
“Mmmm!” Lydia made the cutest little shocked sound before she bunched her fingers into the front of his uniform and let herself go pliant in his arms. The way she melted against him—it undid something deep inside, loosening the knot that had been in his chest ever since he found out she’d re-gifted his Valentine’s Day bear.
They kissed.
And kissed.
And kissed some more—until Coach yelled, “C’mon Rustanov, that’s enough. Stop mauling your girlfriend and get over here for the team photo.”
Even then, Yom didn’t want to let her go.
Lydia had to pull away from him and say, “That sounds important. You should get over there, and I should go.”
“You do not have to go. I will make sure this does not take long.”
“No, actually, I do have to—oh, wow, okay, bye!” She laughed when two other Yolks grabbed Yom around both arms and drag-skated him away—most likely at their coach’s behest.
The picture did get taken, but while everyone else smiled, Yom gave the camera his stoniest face.
By the time the photographer had finished capturing the moment for a too-long twenty minutes from several different angles, Lydia was gone.
Yom rushed back to the locker room as soon as the burdensome task was done. He skipped his usual post-game shower and ignored his teammates’ demands that he at least come celebrate with them at the off-campus bar they usually went to save for the two times Yom had volunteered his house.
They probably figured if Yom would break down and party with them one night, it would be this one.
Pumped up on their own adrenaline, they could not sense that Yom’s heart was racing for an entirely different reason.
Without bothering to answer them, he dressed and sped back to his house.
Throwing the truck in park, he raced up the stairs to Lydia’s bedroom. Only to stop short. He’d gotten used to coming home to the sight of the soft light from her room spilling into the dark hallway.
He had only knocked on her door once, though. On what turned out to be Valentine’s Day. It had been almost two weeks, but the memory of forgetting this most important American relationship holiday still made his stomach twist with guilt.
This time, he did not pound on her door but gave it a light knock. “Lydia, it is me, Yom.”
Who else would it be? He cringed as soon as he said that.
An unfamiliar feeling of awkwardness passed through him, and he remembered how he could barely speak words to her that night in Berlin.
But this was not Berlin.
Yom pressed on with, “I… I am happy you are coming to my game. That makes me—you are making me very… happy.”
Yom’s heartbeat had moved from his chest to his ears at this point. The new plan had been wise. The plan had been the safest way to ensure he would not be damaged by these feelings he could not help having for Lydia again.
But she had come to his game.
And now…
Now, he took another deep breath and said, “I will add new item twenty-three to the Anything List. You will share my bed.”
No answer.
Yom swallowed. “There will be no making you have sex with me. You will—I would like you to sleep beside me. But no sex is okay, of course. I would never…”
Yom trailed off, too embarrassed for himself to go on.
But Lydia—who could be a chatterbox—still did not say anything.
Yom’s brows drew together, and his chest tightened with unease.
Was she asleep?
He tipped down the handle as quietly as possible to open the door. He needed to check on her, but he had no wish to wake her if she’d fallen asleep earlier than usual.
However, all his wishes not to disturb her fell away when he found nearly every light in the room blazing and her laundry basket tipped over on her bed.
His heart seized. Had something happened to her?
Dark, terrible possibilities ran through his head as he pulled out his phone to call Rina, cursing himself for only putting a guard on Lydia when she was at school.
But then, he saw the voice text notification on his phone’s front screen. It was from Lydia. And it looked as if she’d left it just a few minutes after their kiss.
Glowering, he tapped on it and put the phone on speaker.
“Hey, Yom, it’s Lydia! Duh, of course, it’s me—sorry. Congratulations again, by the way. You were so amazing tonight. Seriously. But I meant to tell you I have a thing this weekend, and I won’t be back until late Sunday night. So, have a great weekend. And I’ll see you Monday morning.”
A thing .
A thing that would apparently take all weekend.
Yom’s frown deepened. And this time, he cursed himself for not putting spyware on her phone.
Lydia was in the wind, and he had no idea where she’d gone.