46. Pass Him the Puck
PASS HIM THE PUCK
PARKER
The game turns violent very early on. Pittsy is on their worst behavior for game seven, especially because they think they actually have a shot at winning on our home turf.
Not a single one go us has gone unscathed since hitting the ice.
Livingston is down a tooth, while Rogers has sat his happy ass in the sin bin for a majority of the night.
And somehow, everybody is fucking bleeding for some reason.
There’s these nasty blood streaks on the ice from the most recent fight.
Third period comes quickly, and everything gets more sluggish as exhaustion starts to creep in. A sudden shock of adrenaline, though, spikes through me the moment Rogers jumps a pass at center and sends it up the boards. It slips through clean, immediately on my stick with open ice in front of me.
My eyes immediately flicker to Vandy, who has held a steely concentration the entire night. It’s scarily out of character for him not to make a joke about an opponent’s mother, but he’s probably been on his best behavior, like, ever.
The entire arena gasps when I pass him the puck. He barely corrals it clean, but it’s enough. The shot cuts through traffic and the net snaps back before anyone fully reacts.
For a second nobody moves. Vandy just stares at the net like his body hasn't caught up yet. The moment recognition sinks into him, he snaps his head in my direction with a scared-deer look on his face.
I point at him before anyone else can reach him. “That’s you!” I shout, grabbing his helmet. “That’s you, kid! You’re a fucking legend!”
When the horn comes, it takes a second for it to register. There’s a brief moment where everything is silent and no one dares to move.
And then everything comes crashing back at once.
The entire team crowds the ice. Players’ children are being thrown over the boards. Strobe lights are flashing team colors like crazy…
I find Anders in an instant, standing with my parents with his arms around my mom, hugging in excitement.
I made an assist to the winning goal, and yet—Anders is the only thing I can focus on.
I go over the boards without thinking and pull him into me. His feet leave the ice for a second and he laughs like he didn’t expect to be lifted like that. “Everyone will see—”
I bury my face into the slope of his neck and let out the deepest sigh of relief. “I fucking love you.”
Fuck the cameras. Fuck the reporters. I don’t care how this looks one bit. I have everything I need right here in my arms. Everything else is an afterthought.
My entire body is shaking in pure shock and disbelief.
“I’m so proud of you,” Anders says against my shoulder. “I love you, Pet’ka.”
“Mmmm. Baby,” I hum.
“Petchka!” My mom is already shaking her head at me when I turn.
She knows exactly what she’s looking at, even if she pretends she doesn’t.
“You lost the puck at the end,” she mutters in Russian first, like she can’t help herself.
Then she looks at Anders, then back at me.
“You did very well,” she adds, which from her is practically a standing ovation.
Jeremy claps me on the back. “I’m so proud of you, son,” he says. “Incredible pass out there. Almost thought you were gonna screw it up for a minute.”
“He almost did,” Anders laughs.
My mom studies us for a moment before giving me a terrifying look of recognition. “You take care of him,” she murmurs to me, quieter now. “Like life, Petchka.” But she says it in English.
“Like life,” I promise, pulling Anders back in for another hug. “Thank you, Mama.” It’s a simple response, but something unspoken lingers beneath the surface.
“You love him?” She asks Anders, almost in a way that feels like a continuation of a conversation they were previously having. Like Anders had somehow slipped it to my mom that we’re partners in the middle of this packed arena.
Anders nods insistently. “So much, Yevushka. He’s everything.”
“Good.” She nods once. “Nothing else matters.”
And then she turns to me and speaks in Russian, “You have to marry him.”
“I will,” I tell her in English. “When he’s ready.”