Final Score (Madison Howlers #5)

by Camellia Tate

  We moved into Emily’s cozy living room. Tanya joined us, eating leftover pasta out of a fresh bowl, her feet in Emily’s lap. I’d seen them together a hundred times. It never failed to make me smile. They radiated happiness - just like mom and dad used to do.

  It made me happy, too. I loved that I was close enough to my sister - and Tanya - that I got to witness sweet, domestic moments like these. For as long as I had that, I didn’t feel like I needed to worry about tracking down my own soulmate.

  I could be patient. Maybe he’d come along one day. Or maybe I’d meet someone else that I would fall in love with. Someone who’d understand how much I loved my work and not ask me to give any of it up.

  Until then, I was good. I had everything that I needed in life.

  Except, perhaps, a good place to buy solyanka.

  Chapter Three

  Thanks to Maria, I got to the rink on time. Or well, as on-time as I was ever going to be. But this time I had an excuse. Not that Coach cared. I got told to get ready for the pre-game conference and then we were off. The game went well enough that it made me wonder if maybe Maria was my lucky charm. We won six-two. The mood in the locker room afterward was electrifying.

  “So we’re going out for drinks, yeah?” Ricky asked, tossing his jersey towards his bag. “I’ll even get the first round,” he promised, to much cheering from the others.

  “Yeah, sounds good!” Henry agreed. A couple of the other guys nodded, too.

  Going for drinks after a win like this was something I was up for. Especially since it was a home game. The city always buzzed with energy when we came off a win. Or maybe it just seemed like that because of how much we loved winning.

  “I can’t,” Blake said. Ricky audibly gasped. I laughed at that. As someone who was a big fan of being dramatic, I could appreciate Ricky’s reaction. “I know, I know,” Blake waved his hand. “But Thea’s parents are in town so we’re going for dinner. She’s already pushed it as late as she could,” he explained.

  “Abandoning us for a girl?!” one of the rookies chirped. We all knew it wasn’t serious. No one minded that Blake had to go off to see his girlfriend. Especially since Blake wasn’t one of the guys who liked partying a lot. That’s what we had Connor and James for.

  “I’m hardly abandoning you,” Blake rolled his eyes.

  “It’s true,” Ricky nodded. “He’s hardly pulling a Popov.”

  That drew my attention. “What?” I said, feeling like I must’ve misheard my name being used. When Ricky didn’t clarify and the rest of the locker room got quieter, I looked around. “What does it mean? To pull a Popov?”

  It had been a long time since I felt like I didn’t understand an expression in English. And this one involved me. All of a sudden, I felt flooded with feelings that I hadn’t experienced in years. Confusion and uncertainty. Feelings I had done well in burying.

  Back when I first joined the team, my English had been far from perfect. I knew hockey, of course. I could always speak fluent hockey, but chirping in the locker room had been challenging. No one liked feeling left out. I had learned as quickly as I could, but there were times I had felt excluded because of the language barrier.

  Nowadays, I was a lot more confident in my language skills - and also accepted that it was okay to just ask if I didn’t get something. I was a lot less embarrassed about not knowing.

  But apparently, that didn’t apply to a phrase that involved me.

  Finally, James shrugged one shoulder. “It means to leave suddenly because your girl’s called you. No matter what you’re doing, no matter who you’re with,” he explained. My stomach dropped. That was...

  Fair.

  Devon slapped my back as he walked past. “Don’t worry, Cub, it’s been at least two months since you left in the middle of a game night,” he assured me. I didn’t feel all that reassured.

  “Yeah, we assumed you must be on an off with Kira?” Ricky said as the room returned to low-key chatter. There were still too many people concerned about my love life.

  I could hardly object to the description as being ‘on an off’ with Kira. The guys knew it as well, if not better than, I did.

  Kira and I started dating when I was barely out of being a rookie. At the time, I had been so sure that she was it for me. In some ways, I still was convinced of that. I loved Kira. But whenever we were together... well, neither of us was a very good person.

  So we broke up. And then we got back together. And yeah, I wasn’t dating Kira. Not right now. Hopefully not ever. But I always thought it was going to be ‘not ever again’. And then things just worked out differently.

  Still, it kind of sucked to know that there was a phrase fashioned after me that the team used to describe someone bailing on them.

  “We’re broken up,” I confirmed. “So I’ll do my best not to run off in the middle of anything,” I added, managing to sound a little bitter even to myself.

  James seemed to pick that up because he shook his head. “We just worry about you, Cub. Kira never has very good reasons to draw you away.” And I wanted to object to that, I did, but Kira’s emergencies were never... emergencies. It never stopped me from going.

  “Anyway,” Connor announced loudly, breaking the awkward silence. “The longer we stand here the more chance there is that Cub’s getting back together with his lioness, so maybe let's go out before that happens?”

  The joke seemed to lift the tension in the room. Even I laughed. Maybe I needed to work on being less predictable.

  “Alright, alright, but I need a shower first,” I said, pulling my shirt off over my head.

  “Yeah, you do,” one of the rookies shouted. Just like that, the locker room was back to its normal self.

  That victory kept us all in good spirits for days. We had another game on Friday night, which we also won, but not by as much as the previous game. It was turning out to be a pretty great season for the Howlers. And tonight was the night I was meeting up with Maria for some Russian food!

  I was looking forward to this. Russian food always made me feel great and I had seen how much the promise of tasty Russian cuisine had excited Maria. Besides, I wanted to get to know her better.

  Maria seemed like someone I could get on with. I wanted to find out more about her.

  While eating tasty syrniki and pelmeni. If you are going to make friends, over Russian cuisine is obviously the best choice.

  By the time I got there, Maria had already arrived. This was not surprising; my ability to get places on time was limited. “Sorry, I’m late,” I apologized to Maria the same way I apologized to anyone and everyone else I was ever meeting.

  Tonight, she wasn’t wearing the sweater with the narwhal on it. Instead, she had on a blouse made of some material so soft that I almost wanted to touch it. It would have looked formal on most women. Maria had done away with any air of formality with the addition of an enamel pin that read ‘I’m cool, honest’.

  She smiled at me, easily meeting my eyes “You didn’t burst another tire, did you?” she asked. “I suppose before I ask that, I should check that you were able to rescue your car from the side of the road! I didn’t think until after I got home that you’d just left it there.”

  “Oh, yeah, the car’s fine,” I assured her. A few of the guys had helped me with finding the right tire and getting the car sorted. It was like new. “I like your pin,” I told Maria, holding the door open to the restaurant.

  We’d hardly made it inside before Anya started calling my name. “Levushka! You’re here! We were just talking about how long it’s been since we’d last seen you,” she exclaimed in Russian. Her husband nodded from where he was sitting in the corner. Unlike his wife, Maxim was not much of a talker.

  “And you bring a friend! Welcome, welcome,” Anya greeted. The excitement from her almost made me laugh. This was precisely why I loved coming here. This and the great food.

  It wasn’t a big place but it was a busy one. Most of the tables were already taken. B
ut Anya quickly shooed Maxim out so we could have his space.

  “This is Maria,” I told Anya in English. “She’s American,” I added.

  “Well, I guess not everyone’s perfect,” Anya tutted. “Come, Masha, we’ll get some nice Russian food in you.” She seated us, finding two menus. “He translate for you,” she told Maria. “Pick nice thing. Tasty.”

  I definitely planned to do that!

  “Masha,” Maria repeated. “It’s been a long time since I heard that.” She smiled widely. I wasn’t surprised that she’d heard it before - it was a common diminutive for Maria. It was affectionate, something used to extend a welcome and friendship.

  As she settled into her chair, she glanced around the restaurant. “It’s smaller than I expected. I’m not surprised I haven’t heard of it.” It was true, Anya and Maxim couldn’t seat more than a handful of people at a time. Their customers were mostly Russian or at least partly Russian.

  “What’s your favorite thing on the menu?” she asked.

  I had been here enough times to have tried pretty much everything. And Anya often put some specials on, as well. Still, I looked down to read over it and consider what I liked the best. “Shchavel borscht,” I decided, leaning over the top of Maria’s menu so I could tap my finger against where it was written down. “Can you read Russian?” I asked, realizing that, despite her looking at the menu, I didn’t actually know if she could read it.

  “It’s a sorrel soup,” I added. Even if Maria could read the menu, there was no way she knew what shchavel meant. “My babushka used to make it for me when I stayed with her in summers. It’s my favorite soup.”

  “I’m very out of practice, but I can read it,” Maria confirmed. “Shchavel,” she repeated the word after me like I used to do when I was trying to commit an English word to memory. “I’ve had other kinds of borscht, but never that one. I’ll try it!” I was surprised. I’d expected her to choose the solyanka that she’d mentioned missing. She shook her head, apparently reading my expression. “I can come back next time for my favorite,” she told me. “Tonight, I want to try yours.” My stomach gave an unexpected flip.

  Putting the menu down, Maria drew her chair a little closer to mine, so we could talk without shouting across the whole table. “Do you have a big family in Russia?” she asked.

  “Extended family, yeah,” I nodded. “But I haven’t got any siblings, just a lot of cousins. Have you?” I asked. I had never minded growing up without siblings. I started playing hockey when I was five so the kids I played with kind of became my siblings. “It was just me, mama and papa growing up. Oh, and Cheburashka, our cat.”

  He’d sadly passed away soon after I moved to the US. I’d not had a pet since, but recently Devon was sending pictures to everyone of his new kitten. I kept thinking that maybe getting a cat might be okay.

  “I’ve only got one sister,” Maria answered. “Emily, who made me the sweater you liked so much.” She grinned and I remembered her telling me how her sister wanted her to wear more fun clothes when she wasn’t at work. Maria paused, then shook her head. “Mom lives nearby, too. We’re all very close.”

  I noted that Maria hadn’t mentioned her dad. Before I could ask, her expression softened. “My dad died when I was ten,” she explained. “It was unexpected, but he didn’t suffer.” The way she spoke, matter-of-fact but with a smile, wasn’t quite like anyone I’d known before. “I’m just glad I got ten good years with him. And that I was old enough to have memories. I can’t imagine what it must be like to lose a parent before you even know them.”

  “I’m sorry,” I offered genuinely. I was so close to my parents that I hated even thinking of losing one or both of them. It bothered me that I lived so far away from them, but at least I was able to afford to fly them out to the States frequently. Not to mention, I did talk on the phone with them a lot.

  Anya returned to take our orders. When Maria assured me it was fine for me to order for her, I got us a selection of things. I did order the shchavel for her, but I also ordered pelmeni and solyanka, something Maria could have if she decided she didn’t like the shchavel borscht. I’d eat it for her anyway, so that was fine.

  “You have made very good choices,” Anya praised. “And vodka?” she asked, making me laugh.

  “No, no vodka, but we will have some of that sweet tea you make.” I was driving, but I supposed that didn’t mean Maria couldn’t have any. “Vodka, Masha?” I offered.

  For a moment, she considered. Her manicured fingers tugged against the pin that I’d admired, then she nodded. “Yes, please,” she said to Anya, who favored her with a bright smile.

  And then a stream of fast-paced Russian that Maria clearly couldn’t follow.

  “I learned a long time ago,” Maria explained. “I’m not so good… today.”

  Anya nodded, promising to bring back vodka with our meals.

  “I feel like if I’m going to have Russian food, I should have vodka,” she said to me.

  Her words made me laugh. It was certainly something my dad would insist on. “Spoken like a true Russian,” I teased. Glancing back at where Anya had disappeared through the kitchen door, I smiled. “She was very excited you could speak Russian,” I told Maria. Anya had said she didn’t get a lot of people visiting who weren’t Russian but could speak at least a little bit of Russian.

  “I’m happy to practice with you, if you want,” I told Maria in Russian when I turned back. “I can tell your Russian’s rusty, but your pronunciation is pretty great,” I added in English. “Not as good as my English, of course, but it’s okay.” My tone was clearly teasing, as was the smile playing on my lips.

  Her cheeks flushed with pleasure at my praise. It brought out the sparkle in her eyes. “Thank you. My pronunciation got a lot better after my year in Moscow. I’m glad it hasn’t completely deteriorated in the years since then.” She grimaced, then added, “My vocabulary, on the other hand…”

  Maria took a long breath, then nodded. “It would be good to practice,” she agreed. “If you don’t mind. Talking will be… slow.”

  “I don't mind,” I promised, my words just as slow as hers had been. It wasn’t very often that I met people who were learning Russian. I didn’t think I’d be a very good teacher so I wouldn’t offer that, but I was very good at talking.

  Anya arrived with our drinks, setting the vodka down with a happy smile. “Our tastiest vodka,” she promised before getting my tea ready with a lot less care. It made me laugh. She was obviously more interested in impressing Maria. I must have come here too often.

  Leaving us with our drinks, Anya buzzed back off to the kitchen. “Did you make many friends while you were in Russia?” I asked curiously. I had no idea how easy or hard it might’ve been for an American to make friends in Russia. I hardly knew how hard it might’ve been to make friends here. Pretty much all my friendships were hockey-related.

  “Not very many real friends,” Maria answered. “I don’t know about you, but I found making friends in my early twenties difficult. I already had my friends from high school and college, and I hadn’t really learned yet how to make friends as an adult. Especially not an adult in a foreign country.”

  She shifted forward on her chair. “I don’t want to make it sound like I was lonely all the time,” she explained. “I had people that I hung around with. People my age who would take me out drinking or other visitors who wanted to see the sights like I did. There were always people around. I just wouldn’t call any of them close friends.”

  I could understand that. Bonding through hockey was easy, but I hadn’t always known how to go about getting close to people I didn’t see for training every day.

  “I had a Russian boyfriend for a while,” Maria added, flashing me a grin.

  “And he never got you to try shchavel borscht?” I exclaimed in mock-surprise. “Good riddance, I would say,” I teased. As if I had summoned it, the food arrived. The soups looked good and so did the pelmeni, lightly browned just how I
liked them. Anya left us with a generous amount of sour cream.

  Even though Maria had lived in Russia, she hadn’t had shchavel borscht before, so I felt it was fine for me to tell her that she could add sour cream to it. “If you want, but it’s not a must,” I assured. It looked delicious, at least to me. I wasn’t sure how Maria felt about a green soup with bits of boiled egg floating around in it.

  She leaned her face over the bowl, inhaling slowly. “It smells amazing,” she praised. “I always think it’s better to judge food by how it smells than how it looks.” It certainly did smell delicious. My stomach rumbled at the prospect of a good, hearty meal.

  Smiling at me, Maria lifted her glass of vodka. “To your health,” she toasted. Maria followed that by drinking half her glass of vodka. She took it well - better than a lot of Americans who’d tried to drink vodka with me.

  And like a good Russian, she chased the vodka down with a bite to eat, picking one of the pelmeni. “So, you said you visited your babushka in the summers,” Maria remembered. “Did she live far outside of Moscow?”

  “A couple of hours by car, so not too far, but still a trip’s worth.” It had been out in the countryside. I had loved that. Spending a couple of weeks each summer just running around unsupervised had been pretty excellent. I could never stay longer than that because of training. They were always memories I cherished.

  Adding a generous spoonful of sour cream to my solyanka, I stirred it in. “It was always like a little vacation,” I explained. “I got to go to other towns and stuff for hockey but sooner or later most hockey rinks start looking the same.” I loved hockey, sure, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want to see more things than hockey.

  Maria laughed, nodding her head. “I used to vacation at my grandparents’ too,” she said. “Mom’s parents lived on the other side of the lake. It felt like forever away back then. These days, I can drive out in the morning and be back before dinner. I guess traveling with two kids in tow is a lot more effort.”