Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
Viktor
I’m definitely distracted.
We take a loss for game four and this time it’s my fault.
I want to pretend I’m some kind of machine who can put everything out of my mind and just focus on hockey but it appears that I’m only human.
And the scope of what Holly is going through is weighing on me.
Kelly has been keeping me updated and I’m equal parts pissed off and heartbroken.
I don’t know much about the birds, but even my father got emotional when I told him what happened. If I didn’t know better, I would say his eyes got misty when I told him about the male peacock being killed.
“We must help,” he says emphatically. “Your friends, the team, they can send money.”
I nod, surprised that this has impacted him so much. I was already planning to ask my teammates to make donations to the sanctuary, but I want to run it past Coach Teller first, just in case it’s inappropriate.
“Of course,” he says when I bring it up the next day. “Whatever you need. Also, if you’re worried about her safety in the aftermath, I think I can help with that as well.”
“Yes?” I look up in surprise.
“My son’s mother is remarried to a man named Darryl, and he used to own one of the most elite security and bodyguard companies in the country.
He sold it when we all decided to move to Atlanta so we wouldn’t have to separate the kids, but he still does consulting.
I’ll bet he would be willing to help out for a while, until the police find who did this. ”
“I will pay,” I say quickly.
He shakes his head. “No, this is a gift from me, so to speak. For someone to do something like that to a non-profit animal sanctuary, that’s bullshit. Let me give him a call and then you can give me Holly’s information so he can reach out to her.”
“Thank you,” I say solemnly. “And I am sorry for last night’s game.”
“You didn’t lose it by yourself,” he says. “But we’ll rally next game. I have faith in you guys. You didn’t think a tough team like Alaska was just going to fold, did you?”
I chuckle, though I’m not nearly as optimistic as he is. “No.”
“Trust me,” he says quietly. “I’ll handle the team—and you just have to let me help out with your wife. Okay?”
I nod again, though I’m sure he can tell my heart isn’t in it.
“Let me ask you a question,” he says after a moment. “What does being on a team mean to you?”
I frown. The nuances of these types of questions sometimes get lost in translation, so to speak. I’ve gotten a lot better with basic English words but idioms and slang still confuse me. “I don’t…understand,” I admit.
“The Thunder is currently a team. Yes, we’ve all played elsewhere. Most of us know we could get traded or fired at any given time, but right now, in this era of the championship, we are a team. A unit. What does that mean to you?”
“Everything,” I reply honestly. “Of course, not more than my family or something serious like health, but in this moment, the team is everything.”
He nods. “Right. Do you support your teammates?”
“Of course.”
“Do you support me?”
“Yes.” I have a feeling I know where this is going.
“So trust me, and the rest of the team, to have your back while your wife is going through something at home. I can’t fix it, and I know it’s going to be hard as hell for you to focus, but I’m able to take one small thing off your plate—her safety. Does that help?”
A rush of gratitude fills me and for the first time in my career, I feel like I’m part of something that goes beyond hockey. That’s what brought us together but this inaugural season has been so much more.
Camaraderie. Friendship. A sense of belonging. In spite of the language barrier.
And I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel good.
Like I’m finally right where I belong, both personally and professionally.
“This is not small,” I murmur.
“Well, in the grand scheme of a hockey championship, it is. But I’m in a position to help and you are my team. My hockey family.”
“Thank you,” I mumble, trying to keep my voice steady because for some reason, I’m a little choked up.
I don’t get choked up.
Usually.
“Now get some rest, okay?”
“Thanks again, Coach.” I head up to my room even though I know it’s going to be a bitch getting any sleep tonight. I’m still feeling frustrated about the game, worried about Holly, unsure about our future—too many negative emotions to allow myself to relax.
Impulsively, I reach for my phone and call Holly, even though it’s almost midnight in Atlanta.
“H-hello?” She sounds like I woke her and I grimace.
“I’m sorry,” I say gruffly. “I didn’t meant to wake you but I wanted to see how you are.”
“Okay, I guess.” She sounds exhausted.
“How are you really?” I ask gently. “Tell me the truth.”
“I’m sad,” she admits slowly. “And tired. And so angry that this happened.”
“I am angry also.”
“I appreciate that.”
“I will be home soon,” I say gently. “A few more days. Then I will help. Everyone will help. I spoke to the team—anything you need.”
“What?” She sounds so surprised it almost hurts my feelings. But she needs me to be stronger than my feelings at the moment.
“Yes, they will all come to help. Clean up, donations, whatever is necessary. Once the season is done. Also, I have hired security.”
“Wh-what?” She sounds confused now.
“Is long story—I will tell you when I see you. But my coach has friend who is security guard. He will call you tomorrow to make sure no one returns.”
“Viktor…you don’t have to do all that.”
“Yes, I do. I do not have to have love to still care. To worry. To want to help.”
There’s a long silence.
So long, in fact, that I worry that we were disconnected.
But when I look at the screen of my phone, I see the timer still going.
“Holly?”
“Yes. I’m here.” Her voice is quiet. Almost…defeated.
“I will be home in two days.”
“Just worry about hockey,” she says softly. “You guys deserve to win this. What’s done is done at the sanctuary. A few more days won’t change anything. This wasn’t your fault. And I’ll be okay.”
I’m suddenly at a loss for words, and for the first time in our relationship, I hate the language barrier. If she spoke Russian, I could say so many things. I could express what’s in my heart without stumbling over the words.
I could just blurt out the words “I love you” but the timing isn’t right.
I want to say those words to her when I can look into her eyes and feel her reaction.
Doing it on the phone with so much physical and emotional distance between us feels…
reactionary. She might even think I’m only saying it because I feel bad about what happened to the birds.
“I worry,” I say finally.
“Like I said, I’ll be okay. We’ve had a lot of support. Even Kelly stayed to help. She bought dinner for everyone.”
I already knew this since Kelly has kept me apprised, but I don’t want her to feel like Kelly’s keeping tabs on her for me.
“She was very emotional about the situation.”
“It was a very emotional day.”
“Then I will let you sleep.”
“Good night, Viktor.” She disconnects before I can say anything else.
And I wind up staring at the phone for a long time, trying to read between the invisible phone lines. She definitely isn’t herself and that worries me more than anything. She’s strong and resilient, but her tone of voice wasn’t one of strength or resilience. It sounded more like…acceptance.
I’m just not sure what she’s come to accept that makes her sound so sad.
Maybe it’s time to take a page out of West’s romance book and send her flowers. I don’t think jewelry is helpful at this point, and I don’t have anything even remotely similar to the bear to try this time.
Food.
I can send food, directly to the sanctuary so that she can share it with her employees and the volunteers. Some kind of breakfast basket. I don’t know how to find exactly what I’m looking for, so I reach out to West and ask him to see if Serena can help.
I need to take twenty-four hours to fully focus on hockey.
Then we head home and, no matter what happens tomorrow night with game five, I need to take the next twenty-four hours to focus on my wife.