Epilogue 2
“Oh! I’m not an expert, but—”
“It’s a mocktail,” Ellie explains. “You might think that the stereotypical pregnancy cravings would be enough for this baby, but no. Instead of wanting chocolate or pickles, all she’s wanted is gin.”
“That’s my girl!” Ellie’s Nonna fist-bumps the air in solidarity with the apparently aspiring lush baby, but her gaze remains steadfast on the ice. Warm-ups are well underway, and with her binoculars, I’m sure she’s seeing plenty.
Ellie’s mom, Giulia, returns from the bathroom, wiping her eyes. The Santori family has been through a lot recently, but the baby on the way has brightened everyone’s spirits.
This is Thatcher’s first game with Thunder Bay, and the only one I’ll be able to catch for a while.
My visit back to the States is short and packed with the tedium of handling as much New York business as possible while I’m here.
Digging up the weeds in Russia has been, and will continue to be, a challenge, and I’m relying heavily on Misha and Teddy to take care of Thatcher in my absence.
After the pre-game video, featuring frothy waves projected onto the ice and culminating in a maelstrom at the center, the team’s music starts as a spotlight shines for the announcement of the starting line.
“Number 34, Nikkkkkkiiiiiii Sannnntorrrriiiiiiiiiiiii!” The crowd chants Nikkie’s name as Ellie wipes her eyes, pulling Nonna and Giulia in for a tight hug. Her dad, Dante, is watching from a seat in the rafters tonight, leaving the box to us for a girls’ night.
“Number 12, Theodore Taranov!” If anyone associated with the team asked any questions about Teddy’s name change, they must have already been forgotten.
“Your captain, number 8, Gabriele Sannnntorrrriiiiiiiiiiiii!” Even though I only spent a limited amount of time with Gabri, the eldest Santori, it’s clear that the past few months have taken a toll.
I can assume, from experience, that he’s been stepping up more to help Dante with the business.
Managing that as well as a hockey career would be enough to make anyone scowl.
The spotlight transforms into a warmer golden hue as a new projection appears on the ice.
Another wave, this time brighter, with a rising sun in the sky behind.
Teddy told me the team was planning something special for Thatcher’s first game, especially since he’s already stolen the hearts of all the guys.
Not that I’m surprised. That’s what my solnyshko does.
My Rising Tide jersey proudly displays “Prescott” across the back, and after teasing him that I’d never wear a man’s name, I can’t wait to show him later.
If he’s very good, and I’m hoping he is, he might get to be fucked by me tonight, wearing the jersey and nothing else.
“And now, by popular demand, new to the Rising Tide, is number 19…Thatcherrrrr Taranovvvvvv!”
The roar of the crowd and the gasps of Nonna and Giulia are drowned out by Ellie, squealing and hurrying to pull me into a tight hug.
“Teddy told me, and it was the worst secret to keep. Well, not the worst, but still. He and Thatcher were both so excited! And I’m supposed to give you this, but he said to only read it when he’s not on the ice.
I think it’s the name change paperwork. He said, and I quote, ‘Tell her when I’m out there, I better have her full attention, or I’ll be very sad, and I’ll do the puppy dog eyes. ’”
It’s hard to keep the tears from falling, but I manage it until the anthem is over and the men skate out for puck drop.
On his last warm-up skate around the ice, Thatcher speeds past our box and points at me.
If he were anyone else, I’d doubt that he knew exactly where I was, but Thatcher can feel me from a mile away.
My tears spill over as he points at me, then to the back of his jersey, and finally to his heart before locking in for the puck drop. Ellie’s wink as she pulls me down to the seat next to hers is fortifying, and I’ve just composed myself when Thatcher breaks away.
He was deep in his own zone and intercepted the puck with a head of steam.
Defenders try to get an angle on him, but every stick falls short in the face of his speed.
By the time he reaches the blue line, he’s slicing through as if the puck is attached to his stick, control and precision in every inch of his movement.
Only the goalie remains, and with a split-second freeze, the puck soars into the back of the net.
God, he’s glorious. Watching him skate at the compound, I assumed he was showing off and putting in maximum effort to impress me.
It’s clear now that it was only a tease.
This little shit was being modest and not showing off at all.
He celebrates with the team before skating across the ice to Teddy, who’s come out farther from the crease than usual.
The crowd roars as he picks Thatcher up and spins him around in a circle before headbutting him and sending him to the bench.
By the time the third period starts, I’m exhausted.
With every moment, I’m more invested in Thatcher’s skating and his stats.
My skill in noticing when he starts to tire at the end of a shift is improving, along with the little ways he gets sloppy when he’s frustrated.
The most amazing part of watching him, though, is the sense that he’s a little boy flying around on the ice with his friends.
His joy is infectious, and when Teddy’s grandma Muriel arrives, cursing about her taxi getting into a fender bender, she fits right in.
After the Rising Tide secures the win, we all file down to the lounge near the locker room to wait for the team.
“You know, I consider Thatcher to be my son just as much as I do Teddy,” Muriel says quietly, standing with me to the side as the Santori family makes their rounds.
“That boy is so special, with so much love to give, and it’s absolutely killed me all these years to see everyone take advantage of him. ”
“He’s wonderful,” I agree. “He’s shown me so much—”
“And his parents! Those fuckers don’t know how lucky they are to have a child with such a joyful spirit, I’ll tell you that. How he managed to come out of that situation with such a good head on his shoulders, I have no idea.”
“Yes, I have quite a few things I’d like to tell them if I ever—”
“He’s not a pyro, you know! No matter how many fires he’s started, they’ve all been accidents! I don’t care what the firemen say. They’re biased—”
“Wait, how many fires?”
“Whoa, Grandma Dubs! Sounds like you found the champagne fountain in the suite.”
Thatcher picks Muriel up and squeezes her in a tight hug, but his eyes are loaded, and only for me. As soon as she pinches his cheeks and tells him how proud of him she is, she moves to join the Santoris and leaves us alone.
“I hope you’re not mad that I—ooomph!”
The force of my embrace nearly takes both of us to the ground, but Thatcher recovers just in time to hold my thighs as I wrap my legs around his waist and thrust my tongue into his mouth.
There will never be a way to tell him what tonight truly meant to me, but as soon as I can get him home and get these damn pants off…
“So you’re not mad?” His laugh is watery as I pull back to press my forehead to his.
“I’m so not mad. I can’t believe you pulled this off under my nose, though. Even from Russia, there’s not much that you do that I’m not aware of—Misha. That little shit. The two of you conspiring against me is a sign of the end times. You can’t make a habit of it.”
Swaying us back and forth, no sign of my weight being a problem for him to hold for as long as I want him to, he throws his head back in a bellowing laugh.
“We’ll try to limit our collaborations for the good of humanity.
But Teddy was also involved. “So please feel free to direct some of your wrath to him.” He’s using the soft voice that I know is only for me.
It means he’s saying exactly what he thinks, even if he was taught his whole life that what he thought didn’t matter. Like what he did didn’t matter.
“I’m overjoyed. It’s impossible to process right now that you did this for me, but I’m so proud to see my last name on your back while you annihilate another team. It really does something for me, actually.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Mm-hmm. Although now that you mention it, I might be just a little mad.”
He picks up on my teasing and takes us out of the lounge, finding an alcove with a wall to press me up against. “Why are you a little mad, my love?”
“Well, see…I had plans to reward you that included me wearing nothing but this jersey with your name across it. But since you changed your name, my jersey’s obsolete.”
His eyes darken, promising that the adrenaline after a win will be something special, and I can’t wait to reap the benefits.
“I’m sorry about that. Is there any way I can make it up to you?”
“Hmm, what a good boy, ready to make amends. I’d like the jersey off your back. Perhaps a clean one, not the one from the game tonight. But I want to wear our name across my back while I fuck you. Does that sound like something you’d be interested in?”
The promise in his eyes is deep and true as he answers immediately.
“Yes, Ma’am.”