Chapter 71
Nikolai
“What do you think about the pink?” I ask Tempest, who wags her tail with barely contained energy. I took her for a run earlier,
but she’s already itching to go out again. I set aside my paintbrush, checking my watch. “No time for another run, little
lady. I’m sorry.”
Tempest cocks her head to the side, one dark, sleek ear flopping inside out. I could swear that she lets out a disappointed,
if understanding, whine. When I adopted her, the woman at the shelter told me that she’d be clingy. I think between the two
of us, I’m the clingy one. Whenever I’m home—or at least in the downtown apartment I bought my first week in San Jose that
I’m trying to convince myself feels like home—I can’t shut up. Maybe it’s the therapy, but all I do is talk to Tempest, even
if she can’t reply. She’s getting the hang of commands in Russian and English, and has figured out quickly that when the harness
comes out, I’m about to take her to the trail that runs parallel to the Guadalupe River. She’s a German shorthaired pointer;
she loves running even more than me.
And she listens.
Either I talk to her, or I battle the urge to call Isabelle.
“I know,” I say sympathetically. “And I have a road trip tomorrow. I’m sorry.”
She nudges my hand with her nose, accidentally smearing pink paint all over it. I sigh, wiping it away.
I didn’t set out to paint the bathroom blush pink, or decorate the kitchen with yellow accents, or keep a vase of fresh-cut flowers on the coffee table, but once I put a photograph of Isabelle on my nightstand, it’s like the floodgates opened, and now I can’t stop. I have shoes for her, still in their boxes, and dresses line the half of the walk-in closet I’m not using, and I know she’d approve of the pink candy dish on the marble-topped island. I even have a koala stuffed animal on my dresser.
It’s not a substitute for her. Nothing is. No matter how many citrus candles I light, or cozy blankets I put in the living
room, or pieces of jewelry I collect, it’s not the same as having her around. It’s not a home.
All the same, the reminders help. One day, she’s going to share that closet. She’ll appreciate the walls in the bathroom.
We’ll take Tempest on walks and dance in the kitchen and join a gym with a pool we can swim in together. She’ll put stuffed
animals on the bed, and leave her beauty products on the bathroom counter even though that means I keep knocking them over,
and ask me to zip up her dresses before we go out. We’ll make love on every surface in this apartment, and fight in it, too,
and it will be okay because I’ll have learned to manage myself.
The thought of that future steadies me. Grounds me. I’m going to therapy twice a week, and adjusting to my anxiety medication,
and playing my ass off every shift I have on the ice. I’m finishing my classes virtually, and even though I’m keeping my distance
from Isabelle, I’m thinking about her all the time. Everything I’m doing is for the future we deserve to have together.
I just wish it didn’t hurt so much in the meantime.
I wrap up the painting for now, slipping my leather bracelet back onto my wrist, and get ready to head to the practice facility.
With the regular season ending after these last couple of games and the postseason looming, I need all the practice I can
get.
My phone starts to ring as soon as I shut the door to my car. I glance at the number on the touchscreen, expecting it to be Mom. Things are still stiff between us, but they’re slowly loosening up. She came to my game the other day, with Grandfather, of all people—he still doesn’t approve of my choice, but he understands why I made it—and has kept me in the loop regarding Isabelle and the wedding.
Instead, it’s a number I don’t recognize. My stomach clenches, panic overtaking me in an instant. After my first game on the
Sharks, Dad tried calling from a different number, since I finally blocked his, and I’m still jumpy.
It takes a few tries, but I manage a deep breath. If it’s my father, I will calmly hang up the phone and block the number.
Dr. Reyes reminds me every session that I can and should continue to reinforce that boundary. It probably isn’t him, but just
in case, I have a plan.
I loosen my grip on the steering wheel and remind myself that the car is in park. I let myself notice the lingering new-car
smell, and the way the sun is hitting the windshield, and the feel of the leather seat. The spike of nausea fades. My head
feels clearer. It’s not a perfect system yet, and I’m still panicking more than I’d like, but at least I’m really learning
how to handle it now.
I answer the call.
“Nikolai? It’s James. Izzy’s brother.”
I blink with surprise, even though he can’t see me. I’m not sure who I expected, but Isabelle’s eldest brother wasn’t at the
top of the list.
“I remember,” I say dryly. “You threw me into a snowbank.”
“It all worked out in the end, yeah?” he says, amusement in his tone.
“If by worked out, you mean a friendship with your brother that involves way too many movie references I don’t understand, then yes.” The panic might be at bay, but that doesn’t mean I’m not still on edge. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. Sorry to call out of the blue. Is this a good time?”
“I’m just heading to a training session, but yeah, I can talk.”
“Cool. How are things going with the new team?”
I pull out of the parking space, considering my answer. I don’t know him too well, but I have the sense that he wouldn’t ask
if he didn’t want the truth. “It’s great, but exhausting.”
“Yeah, my rookie season was—sorry.” I smile as I hear a baby’s shriek. “Charlie has been so fussy lately. Daddy’s here, I’ve
got you.”
“She must be so much bigger now.”
“Oh, wait until you see her. She can roll now, which has turned her into a little menace.” Charlie shrieks over the line again.
“Sorry, chickpea, it’s just the truth. Anyway, my rookie season was rough, and I didn’t come into it a month before the playoffs.”
“Maybe we’ll get knocked out in the first round and I’ll wish I’d been at McKee for the Frozen Four win.”
“Pretty spectacular, huh?”
McKee’s victory came thanks to a last-second goal from Mickey, with an assist from Cooper, and yeah, it was fucking incredible.
I watched it on television and FaceTimed everyone after, but it wasn’t the same.
“I’m proud of the guys,” I say, slowing the car at a red light. “But I’m assuming that’s not what you called to talk about.”
“No.” He pauses for a moment. “The wedding is soon.”
“Right.”
“Are we going to see you there?”
The thought of returning to New York kicks my heart into high gear. Of course I want to be there, but Isabelle told me to
come back only once, the right way. I intend to honor that.
“I admire what you’re doing,” he adds. “I don’t know all the details, and I’m not asking for them, but I know the gist of it. My sister has always deserved someone like you. Someone with integrity.”
I clear my throat. “That means a lot.”
I didn’t need the distance to decide whether Isabelle is it for me, but I feel it even more deeply now. She’s the first thing
I think about in the morning and the last thing I think about at night. I dream about her twice as often as I have nightmares.
I’m sure she’s been busy with her own life, the wedding and school and volleyball—with limits and my mother’s continued support—but
I hope that I cross her mind just as often.
“And I just want you to know that Bex and I want all our family, present and future, at our wedding.”
Months ago, I promised Isabelle I’d be her plus-one. I’ve made other promises since, weightier ones, but I haven’t forgotten
it. I’ve kept an eye on the potential playoff schedule.
I wonder which bridesmaid dress she settled on.
I wonder what she’d look like in white.
“You’re future family, right?” James says.
Before Isabelle, I’d have said I had no plans to get married. Watching my parents’ marriage crash and burn was more than enough.
I didn’t need to experience it myself, especially when I didn’t trust myself not to fall into the same traps.
One day, though, I’d like Isabelle to wear my ring. One day, I want to be the one standing at the end of the aisle, watching
her walk to me. Dr. Reyes has encouraged me to think that far ahead, even if they’re just daydreams. The more often I think
about it, the more possible it feels.
“Yeah.” I busy myself with switching lanes. “I mean, if she’ll have me.”
“She misses you. She says she’s fine, but I know it’s eating her up.”
I wince, even though he can’t see me. “Me too.”
He hums thoughtfully. Charlie whines, getting fussy again. He whispers something to her, too quiet for me to catch.
Maybe one day, Isabelle and I will even discuss children.
“Whatever you need to do, keep doing it. But Nik—we’ll save a spot in the wedding party for you.”