Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Viktor
Game one.
Double overtime.
I’ve never played this hard, made so many saves or been as focused as I’ve been tonight.
And still, we haven’t won.
My team is playing hard. I can’t fault them, but the team from Anchorage, the Alaska Blizzard, is tough as hell.
And I know this intimately because that’s where I came from.
I was their backup goalie for years, waiting for Aaron Ferrar to retire.
He’s a force to be reckoned with, but I’m younger, stronger, and determined to win my first championship.
Too bad my personal life is a dumpster fire right now.
As we wait for the TV timeout to run out, I look up into the stands.
I know where the wives and girlfriends are sitting, so Holly is in the mix somewhere, but I don’t see her.
She didn’t come down to the glass during the warmup, and we barely spoke this morning.
I was in a hurry, she was being polite, and I don’t know what’s happening between us.
What I hate more is that I didn’t hesitate to make love to her last night—and she let me—but it was different than the other times. The physical part was still amazing, but she wasn’t there with me emotionally. She was only focused on our bodies, not our hearts. Not like last time.
And I hate it for both of us.
I shouldn’t be thinking about her, but the wedding ring on my left hand almost feels like it’s itching. Reminding me that it’s there. That’s how in tune I’ve become to wearing it. To what it represents. I don’t love how this feels, this constant concern about the woman in my life. My wife.
From the first time I said those two simple words—my wife—there was something different about them.
Something that changed the way I view everything about myself and the world within the confines of our relationship.
She brings something to my life that lights it up. That’s the only way to describe it.
When we’re together I feel like I can be myself. There are still a few issues, like the language barrier, but she’s never once made me feel weird about my English or gotten impatient because I stumble over sentences. She just smiles and waits, or comes up with the word for me.
Touching her is incredible. I can’t remember ever being with a woman who made me feel important.
Not elite-hockey-player important, just Viktor important.
Important to her. And no matter what happens going forward, I know it’s not about the money.
That’s what brought us together but the relationship we’ve built is beyond that.
My father thinks she’s perfect and Aunt Irina says we look cute together. Holly is even starting to win over my mother, which I couldn’t have predicted in a million years.
I’m worried about her.
I can’t remember the last time my mother worried about me, much less the American woman I secretly married.
And now I’m struggling to come up with a way to make her love me. Want to stay with me. Mostly, I want to make her happy and I don’t think I’m doing a very good job.
I thought falling in love would be dark. Heavy. Like a weight to carry. Instead, it’s the opposite.
Light and soft and tender.
More like a comfortable summer breeze than storm clouds.
Until now.
Now it’s weighing on me at a time when the only thing on my mind should be hockey. Winning four games. Doing something I’ve never done professionally and something no other team has ever done period.
I see the light indicating it’s time to go and I watch our first line get into position in Alaska’s zone.
Bodi is taking the faceoff, with West on the left and Felix on the right.
Ashton and Cash are on defense. Bodi wins the faceoff and West one times it at the net but it bounces off the post. Ashton grabs the rebound, shoots and misses.
Felix is ready, taking the pass and passing back to West, who hit the post again.
The crowd is on fire, on their feet, cheering us on.
I watch as the Blizzard takes possession of the puck and head in my direction.
I crouch down, following the play, and my gut tells me Miikka Laasonen is going to pass to Logan Pelletier.
Sure enough, he does, and they pass it back and forth in the hopes of confusing me.
But I watched them do this exact play hundreds of times over the years.
There’s no doubt what they’re going to do—and I’m ready. Miikka takes the shot and it goes right into my glove. The play stops, and they line up for another faceoff.
This time Miikka takes the faceoff and he wins it back to his defenseman, who’s on the blue line. He passes it across the ice to the other D-man and everyone is now pushing toward the net, locked onto me.
I’m able to see around some of the bodies and watch their guy fake a shot before passing it back across to the other defenseman, who’s to my left.
Now everyone on both teams is in front of the net and I can’t see a God damn thing.
I try to stand tall and look over the top of their heads because there’s no way I can see through the tangle of legs and skates further down.
I see the defenseman’s stick come up for a slap shot and I’m wondering if it’s another fake or an actual shot. Since I can’t see it, I have to listen. I hear the solid clap of the stick on the ice and know it’s time to drop, hoping the puck either hits somebody in front or hits me.
As I drop, straining to find any glimpse of the puck, I feel a solid bump on the flat of my blocker and realize—holy shit, that just hit me. I track it back right onto Miikka’s stick and—
Fuck.
He’s got the whole net open and now all I can do is dive and pray.
And then I hear that motherfucking buzzer.
Game one is done.