Chapter 1
Chapter One
Nazarov heads to Chicago
-@RebelsInsider
Alexei
“Papa, sit over here.”
My father squinted at me. Sasha Nazarov needed a shave, which I would get to later, though I imagined the nurse I had hired could do it for me.
She would probably do a better job, too.
My hands might be worth a fortune and holding a razor to the jaw of my aging father should have been within my wheelhouse, but so much of this was outside the scope of normality that it seemed better to leave it to the experts.
When he didn’t respond, just stood at the entrance to the living room like a lost child, I led him to the comfortable armchair—I had already tried it, so I knew this much—and gently placed him in it.
“There, that’s better, isn’t it?”
He peered up at me, those eyes as ice blue as my own but rheumy and slightly unfocused. He was trying to figure it out.
Where am I? Who am I?
For the most part, I had stayed inside the recess of his memory that recalled he had a son.
A successful, productive son, who had won the Cup twice in his long career and had accumulated all the professional achievements due to a hockey player in North America.
And I still had more to do. I was thirty-six years old, but my goals were as limitless as ever.
A flash of her face reared up, setting my pulse skittering.
But first, I had to settle my father in our new home in the Chicago suburb of Riverbrook. Some people might think it cruel of me to move him from Seattle, where he had lived for the last twelve years. But I couldn’t stay there, which meant he had to come with me.
Getting the call that my dad had been found wandering the streets a few blocks from his home, confused and muddled, set me off in a panic.
I had already seen the signs—forgetfulness, delayed recall, minor confusion—but that call had focused my thinking and sent me on a journey to get him the best care.
Even with a nationwide search for resources, I knew all roads would eventually lead me to Chicago.
I needed to change my life, not only to accommodate my father’s Alzheimer’s diagnosis, but also my new objective. Hockey was the least of it.
I had three months before training camp started with my new team, the Chicago Rebels.
Three months to figure out a plan that honored my father’s wishes and assuaged my guilt.
We had taken a private jet from Seattle.
I didn’t spend my money indiscriminately, so this seemed like a good use for it.
He had held my hand all the way, his bafflement heartbreaking.
The TV was on mute, but the pre-game was starting for Game 6 of the Finals, Boston at Chicago.
My old friend Jason Isner was playing for the Chicago Rebels, and I was rooting for him as this was possibly his last shot at winning the whole thing.
While a part of me would have liked them to hold off on going all the way this year, I knew this was a good team for me to finish out my career.
And if it wasn’t, it wouldn’t matter. I had to be here because this was her home.
So she was currently not speaking to me, had even gone so far as to block my calls and texts. But the Chicago Rebels was a substantive part of her world, so she was going to have to talk to me sometime.
When I told her why, she would go ballistic.
I smiled. I was about to start the battle of my life.
“Sdelay gromche,” my father said. Turn it up.
It was good to see him interested, so I did as he asked. He slid a look at me, then the screen, followed by a vague wave at the TV.
“Not this year, Papa. I was injured.” Seattle didn’t make it past the first round this season. Neither did they mind getting rid of me to make room for younger talent, just as Chicago was pleased to get me for a steal.
“Maybe next year, sinok.”
Sinok meant “sonny,” the nickname he often called me, but the rest was said in English, which was a good sign.
The doctor had said that using his less dominant language could help build something called cognitive reserve and create a more resilient brain.
Neither should I be upset if it was more comforting for him to speak in Russian, but I should encourage English as much as possible to keep those synapses firing.
The nurse would communicate in English; if there came a time when he would only speak Russian, I would take care of hiring an interpreter.
Maya came into the living room. A nurse specializing in geriatric and dementia care, she came with an excellent resume and references. “Sasha, how are you settling in?”
I liked that she addressed my father directly instead of using me as the go-between.
My father looked up at her, then back at me.
“This is Maya, Papa. She’s helping us out. Remember I told you I switched teams? We moved to Chicago because you said the pizza was out of this world.”
The cloud over his eyes puffed away, leaving relief, if not exactly clarity.
“Where is the pizza then, Aloysha?” Aloysha was another nickname, the diminutive for Alexei. Only in the Russian language were the nicknames as long as the originals.
“We’ll order some in and watch the game.” I looked up at Maya. “If that’s okay.” It hadn’t occurred to me that his diet might need to change. Every decision would need to be run by his nurse.
“Of course.” She smiled indulgently, probably thinking that I would give up on him shortly and stash him somewhere as soon as we had a rough night.
She would come in Monday to Friday during the day, while I was responsible for nights and weekends.
Once the season started proper, I would hire an additional caretaker to cover my road trips.
I wouldn’t neglect the man who meant more to me than anyone.
I had fought to bring him here, first out of the clutches of the Russian state, then to the United States so he could live his life as a free man, and now to this city so I could supervise his care.
He was safe, and I would ensure his final years were as comfortable as possible.
“Just tell me what toppings you like,” I said to Maya, “and I’ll order an extra.”
She grinned. “Oh, I’m going to like you. Are you single?”
The quick change of subject surprised me, but I didn’t think she was asking for herself. She had to be in her fifties and probably had a single daughter. Before I could answer, my father spoke up.
“He refuses to settle down. Says he hasn’t met the right girl.”
“Actually, I have. She just doesn’t know it yet.”
Maya raised her eyebrows. “Sounds mysterious. And the girl is very lucky.”
She wouldn’t think so, but I would make it my job to convince her.