Epilogue
NICKY, FOUR MONTHS LATER
“…expect traffic to continue building around the arena as we get closer to puck drop. The Midnight’s home opener is drawing huge crowds as goalie Nikita Baladin is slated to return to his net for the first time since his terrifying, life-threatening injury back in January.
” The radio announcer’s voice comes through the car speakers.
“I’ve never watched hockey, but I remember when it happened and tuned in to Beyond the Boards, that NHL documentary,” the announcer’s co-host comments. “His whole journey has been nothing short of miraculous. So, I know I’m not alone when I say we’re all rooting for him and the team tonight.”
“That documentary was insane,” the announcer responds. “All the stuff before his injury was crazy. I had no idea these guys put that much time in at practice. And the schedule? It’s making me rethink how much other professional sports complain. Three games in a week, plus travel? Insane.”
I finally manage to park my SUV and switch off the chatter. I let the engine idle, sitting in the cool air conditioning for a few minutes. My phone buzzes from its spot in the cup holder, and I smile as I pick it up.
Solnyshka
Nat helped me update my jersey.
A picture comes through of a Midnight jersey. It has my number twenty-eight on the back, but says, “Mrs. Baladin.” I smile before typing out a reply.
It is a little different than that first jersey you wore. Nat’s got good taste.
Solnyshka
Impeccable.
You sure you want everyone knowing?
Bea and I got married a six weeks ago. A small civil service surrounded by our friends in our backyard as the late-summer sun set.
I love calling her my wife, and didn’t hesitate when Bea insisted it happen as soon as possible.
Natalia came home from her first week of school in tears after a new kid had claimed Bea wasn’t really her mother.
“I want to adopt Natalia,” Bea said after we’d gotten Nat to bed, an effort that took both of us. “I don’t want there to be any more questions. She’s mine, and I’m hers, right?”
“Absolutely,” I assured her. “You know what would help make the process easier? If we were married.”
Bea barely let the abruptness of my statement register before she wrapped her arms around my waist and laid her head on my chest. I soothed a hand down her curls, keeping her close.
“It’s not the only reason I want to marry you.” I hoped she could hear the sincerity in my voice and read between the lines. “It will just make all of those reasons easier. But know more than anything, I want to marry you because I want you. I want this for our family.”
“I know.” She presses a kiss to my chest. Bea tilted her head until she could look up at me. “But I love that the practical can also be romantic. Especially if it means all of us will be loved forever.”
Solnyshka
Everyone we care about already knows. It’s not like it will change the narrative of the headlines about the game tonight. The public is far more focused on you.
Thanks for that reminder.
Another message doesn’t come, but the phone buzzes as a FaceTime request comes through. I swipe, the tension I had been fighting bleeding out when Bea’s beautiful face fills the screen.
“Hello, solnyshka.”
“Are you okay?” Her face scrunches adorably, as though examining me through the screen. “You’re still in the car.”
“I was parking and then texting you. Just haven’t gotten out yet,” I say, touched by her concern. “But I’m fine. I saw Adam yesterday, and I feel good. Ready to play.”
“I love you,” Bea tells me, and in the background, Natalia echoes the sentiment. Bea turns her head over her shoulder for a moment and then smiles at me. “She’s dressing Floppy in the mini jersey Allison made.”
I let out a low laugh. Allison’s custom clothing line for female fans has taken off this past year.
Since leaving her position with The Midnight, Bea has been freelancing with Allison’s company to push the brand beyond hockey fans.
As a perk, Natalia’s favorite stuffy has been the recipient of several test products.
“I love you, too.” We stare at each other for a moment more before Bea rolls her eyes and gives a throaty chuckle.
“All right.” She waves her hand in a shooing motion in front of the camera. “Get out of here. I already have texts from Gus and Charlie, wondering where you are. We’ll see you in a little bit.”
The locker room is exactly the same as it has always been, but the atmosphere feels more like a playoff game than the first home game of the season.
There’s a healthy buzz of excitement and anticipation in the air, but also a reservedness I’m trying not to feel responsible for.
Most of the staff and team are back to normal, but there are a few giving me lingering looks or hovering.
I brush it off as well-intentioned concern.
I worked hard through the off-season and training camp to be ready for this.
I sat out all of the pre-season games and the opener two nights ago to be prepared.
The front office was more than happy with the plan Cal and I had decided was best for me.
It gave them a chance to build up the moment more, especially after Beyond the Boards premiered the day before the season started.
It’s been difficult to avoid the chatter about how the documentary has been received, but I’m used to blocking things out.
Most of the team agrees with my feelings: I’m not ready to watch it. Living it once was hard enough, and I’m definitely not in a place to do it again. I’ve had nothing but support from the guys, but I also have walked the tightrope of awareness of what it means for the organization as a whole.
My injury—my story—sells tickets. And by the sounds filtering in from the arena before we go out for warm-ups, The Midnight is about to have a very busy season.
Gus comes in from one of the other rooms, a twisted look on his usually happy face. He plops onto his chair and puffs out an exhale that turns into a sigh. I look to our captain for an explanation, but Crosby just sits next to his best friend and waits.
“When Maeve said she had gotten an internship, she failed to tell me it was with our strength and conditioning staff. She’s over in the training room right now, inventorying supplies,” Gus finally explains when Leo, Charlie, and Obie huddle around our friend.
There’s a distinct petulance in his tone, like a little kid not getting his way.
It’s hard to feel empathetic when he crosses his arms and huffs before continuing, “I want to be supportive—I am supportive—but I can’t help but feel like she’s invading my space again. I don’t like it.”
No one says anything for a minute. Then Obie pats Gus’ shoulder twice.
“There, there,” he almost coos, but he’s looking at all of us with uncertainty.
No one seems to have a better idea of how to deal with it, but it seems to do the trick.
Gus blinks up at Obie and cracks a smile, and it’s as though the weird atmosphere in the room finally cracks.
Everyone starts to relax, and small laughs bubble out, returning to their pre-game prep.
I hold my new mask in my hands, turning it over a few times to check none of the details I asked to be included were missed. I can’t wait to wear it.
“Nicky.” Crosby draws my attention then, and I set my mask aside.
My captain gestures around the room, and the team begins to sift through their lockers and personal belongings.
Coach steps in, Robbie and the rest of the staff filing in behind him.
Apprehension prickles up the back of my neck, and I work to push it down as Crosby gives me a lopsided smile.
“We’re really proud of you. It’s been nothing short of an honor to watch you work your way back and be a part of that journey. ”
“Thanks, I couldn’t have done it without you,” I say honestly, emotion catching in the back of my throat.
The guys have been with me through workouts and skates.
Or sometimes just as silent support on the hard days when I struggled to put my gear on because my anxiety was riding me.
I let my eyes roam over every person in the room, grateful beyond measure for all of them.
“We wanted to get you something to mark your return,” Crosby continues.
I open my mouth in protest, but he holds up a hand, silencing me.
In his grasp is an index-card-sized piece of paper.
He hands it over, giving me a moment to read what’s written.
The words swim the longer I look at them, and my nose stings as I fight back tears.
It’s an American Red Cross certificate of completion. Crosby is CPR certified.
Before I can say anything, Crosby steps away for Charlie to take his place. Charlie hands me the same card with his name on it.
Then Gus.
Obie.
Leo.
All of my teammates bring me their cards before the training staff and coaches follow suit, Robbie and Coach coming last. Their cards are different; an additional line crediting them with AED certification.
I give up fighting the tears, their salty streaks drying on my cheeks as I stare in wonder at the team’s gift. It’s the promise of life. Of possibility, and it’s nearly too much.
“Rise,” Coach begins, gripping my shoulder. “It’s what we say in this team. What our fans chant at games. A belief born out of myth and legend to honor the name of the team. But now it means even more.”
“Midnight, rise!” Crosby yells.
“Rise!”
The word echoes through the room, my teammates’ faces streaked with their own tears or locked in solemn pledge. I grip the cards and look up at Coach.
“Rise,” I tell him, feeling the buoyancy of hope it brings. Coach nods once in affirmation at that and turns his attention to the locker room door.
“One last surprise for Nicky tonight. A special guest to give us the lineup.” Coach waves a hand, and my daughter streaks into the room, Bea following behind.
Her eyes are red, her complexion blotchy, and I know she watched the entire scene.
She mouths, “I love you,” when she looks at me, and I mouth it back.
Natalia has climbed up into Coach’s arms, settled on his hip, and is waving at all of her favorite people. Bea weaves her way to stand beside me, her hand slipping into mine and holding tight.
“Starting off for us tonight is Crosby,” Natalia starts, her voice light and confident. Crosby claps in acknowledgment, and she beams.
“Next to him, Leo…” Natalia pauses for Leo to clap and salute at her. “Then Bonesy!” She doesn’t keep the elevated joy from how she calls his name. Charlie claps and blows her a kiss, making Nat giggle.
Coach readjusts her, and she calls out Obie and Gus. Then she twists to look at me. I squeeze Bea’s hand, grounding myself like I can keep my composure after barely getting it back.
“And in the net, my daddy, Nikita Baladin!”
The room explodes in applause, and I catch Natalia when she launches from Coach’s hold into mine. I snuggle her close, Bea leaning over us to lavish more love on her.
It feels good.
The arena is deafening as I skate to my net, but I don’t let it bother me. I ditch my stick, catcher, and blocker on top of the netting. I focus on the stands behind the glass, searching the sea of Midnight merch until I find who I’m looking for.
A few rows up from the glass, Bea holds our daughter on her hip. In their twin twenty-eight jerseys, Natalia waves a similarly dressed Floppy at me with a toothy grin. Her other arm is looped around Bea’s neck, and my wife puckers her crimson-painted lips to blow me a kiss.
The crowd around them twists as I give them singular attention and skate closer to the glass.
I wave at Natalia before removing my mask.
I track Bea’s eyes as they follow the new, custom mask I hold up for her inspection.
They well with tears as she examines it.
She didn’t see it during their earlier appearance in the locker room.
This is my surprise for her, the woman who turned my world upside down.
The sides have puzzle pieces that trail around the curve to the large airbrushed puzzle picture of an anatomical heart.
A heart that beats stronger than ever.
THE END