by RJ Scott
“Okay, so why is New Year’s such a big deal to Russians?” Adler asked, because Adler asks whatever is on his mind. I waved at Anatoly to explain before I butchered something else that might have been good English. Also, I had to catch a taxi and get to the airport to pick up my sister.
“Back when Bolsheviks come to power, religious holidays are outlawed. Christmas was banned, so people simply shift from Christmas to New Year’s. Was not easy transition. Fir trees and Father Frost now could have no religious meaning. But our people are strong and smart. We make New Year’s Day a day of presents and celebrations.”
“What kind of jerkwad outlaws Christmas? Ouch! Shit, Ten.” Adler yelped. I chuckled at the swat to the head my friend gave my other friend. “What was that for?”
“Go find Layton and have him explain. By the way, Erik said he’s not sure he can make it because of needing a babysitter but he’ll try.”
“Whatever good,” I said as I stepped into my dress slacks.
“Tennant, are you ready?” We all looked at the door at the sound of Coach Madsen’s voice. My friend Tennant smiled at us, then left with his boyfriend.
Erik left then as well, and I continued dressing as Anatoly and I chatted about the party. He would oversee the bar and I was the food man. Much vodka had been purchased, he informed me.
“Oh, I see Dieter in showers. He says he brings pretty figure skating boyfriend up from Philadelphia for party tomorrow night.”
“Trent is nice man.” I tugged my jacket on, grabbed my bag, said goodbye to my countryman, and ran to the doors. Peter said hello, and I replied this time, stopping just for a minute to make chitter-chat before jogging out into the cold for my waiting cab. The ride to the airport seemed to take an eternity.
My sister stood just inside the doors of the Harrisburg International Airport. I ran from the parked taxi, and she met me outside. I swept her up off the ground, hugging her tightly. She was crying and gasping, her long dark hair blowing around in a bitter-cold wind.
“Sladkaya detskaya sestra.” “My sweet baby sister” I whispered, kissing her damp cheeks. Galina finally broke free from my embrace, laughing and crying. She grabbed my hand as the taxi driver put her bags into the trunk of the cab.
We climbed into the back of the car, glad for the warmth, and simply stared at each other for several moments. She was so beautiful, with smoky gray eyes like mine and dark brown hair. Her smile was brilliant and white, her skin soft and smooth like rich cream, and her lips as pink as the marble floors in the Kremlin throne room. She was tall, but not as tall as me, and filled out nicely now. For many years, she was thin. Too thin. Her purging disorder had made her sick, but I had paid for her recovery from my KHL monies. Now she was healthy again.
Galina was funny and loud on occasion, drank almost as well as I could, loved rock music and dancing. She was my darling baby sister, and I adored her.
It had been some time years since we had seen each other. When I had been signed by the Railers from the KHL, I’d had to leave her behind. There was no way then for her to come because she was entering her first year as a student at Novosibirsk Medical University, studying psychology to become an eating disorder counselor. That had been her dream after recovering from her dark times. Mine was hockey in America. Hockey paid for her dream to come true. Now she was in her third year of study and always at the top of her class. My gift to her this year was plane tickets to America for a long visit.
“Tell me how you are doing.”
I began to tell her.
“Tell me in English,” she said, her English so much better than mine. She had taken classes in college.
“I am doing groovy good.”
She laughed warmly. “Who is teaching you English? Is it an old coach?”
“No, it is Elvis movies, TV Land, and team.”
“Elvis movies?” She laughed hard then. I didn’t mind her joking with me. Hearing her laughter and seeing her lovely face made me feel as light as a cloud. We talked all the way back to Hershey. She filled me in on her life. School was hard, but she was doing well. She had no boyfriend, because every man her age that she met was a bolvan, or a jackass. Mama was well too, although she didn’t see her as much as she would like. We both worried over our mother out there in that old, dead village.
“Someday I wish to bring her to America,” I told her as we pulled into my driveway.
Galina gaped at my house through the steamy windows. “Stanislav, your house is huge!”
“But empty until you come to visit.”
We ran inside, me pulling her along, anxious to show her my new American house. Then I ran back out to pay the cab driver and gather her many bags. I gave her a tour and got her settled into a guest room. We changed into pajamas and then watched Elvis movies while we sipped icy-cold vodka and ate pickles. Lucy took turns sleeping on me and my sister. All night we spoke in English mixed with Russian, and it was joyous to let my native tongue flow freely on occasion.
“What time is it?” Galina asked after yawning widely. My head was peaceful on a pillow on the floor and I hated to lift it up, but for her, I would. “Tell me in English. You won’t get better in the language if you do not use it.”
“Ten after two,” I replied, then rolled to my side to look up at her. She was on her belly on the big, fat sofa. Her hair was flipped up over her head and hung over her face.
“We have much work tomorrow for your party.” That wasn’t a question but a fact. I nodded and giggled at the silly feeling in my toes. “I am going to bed now.” She began snoring.
“Dobroy nochi,” I said, and closed my eyes. Galina never said goodnight in return before I fell asleep on the floor. I had to get up the next morning. The skate was optional, but I was hoping Galina would take over talking to caterers and decorators and who knows what.
When I woke up, I walked into the chaos of getting ready for the party.
I scooped up Lucy, who was cowering behind the sofa, and put her in a cat box ready to take her to the vets for her overnight stay. I needed to get out of here and together we would find peace, and hope that when we came back all would be well.
Seven
Erik
“Hey, we haven’t met.”
I looked up from lacing my skates, and the cutest, sweetest, shortest woman stood there, with her hands on her hips and a toddler by her side. I remembered my manners and clambered to stand, but she held up a hand to stop me.
“Don’t get up,” she said, and even her voice was little in the locker room.
“No, ma’am.” She might be tiny, but she had a way about her that I didn’t want to argue with. “Hi,” I said to the little girl standing confidently next to her mom.
“Hi, I’m Ellie, and my dad is in charge of you,” she announced imperiously. Was this the daughter of someone in management? I looked to her mom for clarification, and she smiled at me and held out a hand.
“Liza Hurleigh. I’m Connor’s wife.”
Oh. That kind of boss; the captain of the Railers.
“Ma’am,” I said again, and shook her hand, which was so small in mine.
“Connor said you have a baby and that you might need some help right now?” She tilted her head, and Ellie did as well, like a mini-me. “We have a group of WAGs and a kind of co-operative on emergency childcare. Connor says you have a nanny?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Liza, please. If you give her this information, she can connect with some of the moms and nannies, and then if the worst happens you know someone always has your back.” She handed me a card, and I took it without even looking at it.
I blinked up at her, not entirely sure what to say. It seemed too good to be true, but didn’t I need a wife or girlfriend to qualify? Certainly, I didn’t have a WAG, nor would I ever, but explaining that right now? I couldn’t do that, even if the Railers whole team appeared to be coming out. Well, not the whole team, but at least two, anyway.
“That sounds wonderful, ma— Li
za.”
“Good, good,” she said, as if that was one more thing she had to cross off her list of good deeds today. “Tell her she can call anytime, or you can, and we can set up a play date.”
“Noah isn’t one yet,” I said, but that didn’t seem to be an obstacle for one of these play dates.
“A baby.” She smiled so widely. “And it’s never too soon to have play dates. I guess I’ll see you tonight, at Stan’s party?”
“I’ll be there,” I lied; I hadn’t made up my mind yet. Amy was over her sickness thing, and she’d said she had Netflix she needed to catch up on and added that I paid her for her skills at sitting with a baby and watching TV on New Year’s. Thing was, balancing the concept of facing Stan with the idea of snuggle-time with Noah… I knew which was winning.
Liza left with a goodbye, and Ellie trailed after her. It was only as they left that I realized I hadn’t known that play dates for little babies were even a thing. I mean, what did they do? Throw cereal at each other? Crawl and bump into furniture?
Let’s face it, I am a shit dad.
With that stuck in my craw, I laced my skates fully and grumbled my way out onto the ice. Only Connor and my line mates Toly and Charlie were on the ice, and I blurted out the first thing I thought of when Connor skated over to me.
“Dude, your wife is tiny; you must be able to…” I stopped, and he raised an eyebrow, clearly asking for the rest of the sentence. “…pick her up,” I ended.
“Did she tell you about the WAGs and the cooperative care backup?”
“She did.”
“Good.” He skated away slowly, and the three of us, the Erik/Toly/Charlie line, stopped in front of him. “All we’re working on today is some passing skills. I notice that Erik is faster and…”
The rest of the session, or at least half of it, passed in slow motion checking of positions for passes, and I enjoyed it to the point where I could have done it all day.
Skate. Netflix and snuggle with Noah. Bed. No party at all. Perfect day.
“Okay, guys, I think we’re done.”
“Is not done.” A booming voice came from behind us, and I couldn’t help myself; I had to turn around to see if maybe it was another Russian on the ice with us. No, luck wasn’t on my side. Stan, in full gear, was heading for his net, and when he passed there was a constant stream of Russian.
“Thought you were organizing party,” Toly said, and leaned on his stick.
Stan came to a halt, snowing the net, then turned to face us, skating to the left and stopping, and then to the right, scoring up the ice in the blue paint. He said something to Toly in Russian, and Toly answered back with a huff of laughter.
“Big chaws,” Stan announced, and hit the post gently with his stick, like a love tap. “Sister is all yell, and pussy mad. I leave. Shoot puck.” He took a stance, and it wasn’t just me staring at Stan and not quite getting what he’d said.
“Did he say chaws?” Charlie asked.
“What is chaws?” Connor asked us, and then he raised his voice. “What is chaws, Stan?”
Stan scowled. “Mess, noise.”
Connor looked at us blankly, and then I could see a dawning realization on his face. “Chaos,” he said. “I think he means chaos.”
“Chaws,” Stan repeated. “Is what I say. Shoot.”
“I’m out of here,” Connor announced, “See you all tonight.”
He fist-bumped us, and I looked at the other two expectantly. If they went as well, then I could go without feeling like a complete shit.
“I’m in if you are,” Charlie said.
“Me also,” Toly added.
“Yeah,” I said, “me too.”
One by one, we attempted single shots on goal, gently at first, letting Stan warm up, until the Russian he was shouting was less words than these weird humming noises he sometimes made when he was in that place. Yep. Stan was in the zone.
We practiced a rush, passing between us, and Charlie managed to get a goal past Stan. “Is good,” he shouted, and poked at Charlie with his stick. “You make good Russian.”
Charlie puffed up at that, and chirped at me as he went past. “I’m good,” he said in a bad attempt at a Russian accent. “You’re shit.” He ducked my head-rub and we went for another rush. This time I was shooting, but Stan was there, catching it as though I’d just tossed it to him and not blistered a slap shot right at him.
“Is bad,” he jeered, and Charlie repeated that as I went back. I knew Charlie was teasing, but the doubts inside me were like an acid eating away at my control. The next rush, I was an assist on a goal made against Stan, this time by Toly, who went down on his knees and slid a third of the way across the ice in mock celebration.
“Get the fuck up,” I snapped, and he did, but not without showering us with ice from his jersey. Bastard.
“Toly is good Russian,” Stan summarized.
We rushed again. I was determined to get a shot past him, and we were at speed, aiming right for the big guy in net. I could see the goal, visualize the puck in the net. I wound up, looked Stan right in the eyes, tilted so it looked like I was going five hole, and then slam, right in the net over his head. I began to celebrate, then realized that Stan was holding the puck.
“Too easy,” he chirped at me.
“Again,” I snapped to my line mates, and even though they exchanged looks that spoke volumes about me being out of my freaking mind, they went for it. We skated so fast at Stan that I couldn’t stop myself from barreling into him. A normal man would have been flat on the floor. A normal goalie wouldn’t have been knocked to the ground and still have the damn puck in his glove.
I pushed at the weight of him pinning my leg, and he rolled off, and it sounded like he was laughing.
“You easy like broken car.”
God knew what that meant. I didn’t care. All the tension of moving here, sitting in a crappy apartment, hiring a nanny I could ill afford, worrying about Noah, paying off my ex, and I was done.
So done.
“Again.”
Two more times Stan stopped me. He was reading me better than I could read myself.
“Try hard bad,” Stan informed me when I pushed off the board behind the net. What was wrong with me? Why was I not getting this? I’d beaten goalies, so many of them. I was a good skater, I worked hard, I was accurate.
I iced to a stop next to Toly and Charlie. Toly pointed up at the clock, but didn’t say anything. We needed to get off the ice.
“One more,” I said.
They didn’t argue, must have seen something in me that spoke of utter focus, and we set off again. This time, though, it wasn’t Stan in the net, it was just some random goalie, and when I took the pass, crisp and clean from Toly, I visualized the net—not the puck going in, but the space—and when the puck left my stick, I knew it would get past him. My momentum carried me on to him, and I skated hard left to avoid being part of a Stan/net sandwich. I didn’t have to see the puck go in. I just knew.
Charlie tapped the ice with his stick in celebration, and grinned widely. “Now can we go? Toly only has a few hours to try to look pretty.”
“Fuck you,” Toly said without heat, and the two of them skated off. I waited for Stan, flushed with success and a hint of pride.
“I let in,” Stan said as he skated past, but I was on him and in front of him in an instant, blocking his exit off the ice.
“You did not let that in. It was a solid goal.”
Stan shrugged. “I let in,” he repeated.
Everything stood between us, like a brick wall; the fact that I’d walked away, that I had never contacted him, that I’d chosen a wife instead of him. It was all there, and I hated every pound of the weight between us.
“I’m sorry, okay?” I shouted at him.
He just looked at me, confused, then nodded. “Don’t tug tail of tiger.”
“What?”
“Tiger, tail.” Stan frowned and muttered something in Russian. “Angry,” he su
mmarized, like that made it all better.
That made no fucking sense and, frustrated, I couldn’t help everything spilling out. I pressed a gloved hand to his chest and pushed so he’d feel me. “What can I do? To make things right?”
“Time,” Stan murmured after a few moments’ consideration. “Big time.”
I skated aside to let him through, and he walked off to the locker rooms. For half an hour I skated slow circles and figures of eight, waiting until I knew the locker room would be empty, and fucking glad there were no kids’ lessons on New Year’s. It meant I had the place to myself, and I could think.
When I looked at Stan, I saw the man I’d fallen in love with, his strength and passion and utter determination, and I missed him.
Grief spiked me so hard I slid to a stop by the boards.
“Everything okay?” a voice asked.
I looked up to see Pete the security guy looking at me as if I was an alien.
I huffed a laugh. Was I okay? Not today, no, but maybe Stan was right. With time, maybe I’d be fine and guilt wouldn’t be my constant friend.
“I’m good,” I lied.
“I think they want to close the place,” Pete said.
“Yeah, sorry, I’ll be out in thirty.”
“No sweat.”
When I got to the locker room, there was no sign of Stan, Toly or Charlie. I showered quickly, dressed in my street clothes and hurried out to my car.
I needed some Noah time. Badly.
Amy held out her hands for Noah. She’d been poking at me to go to this damn party all through the hours between getting home and now. I didn’t want to hand him over. He was my barrier against the rest of the world, and I was happy and content just sitting there with him.
“We’ll be fine,” she said.
I knew that. I trusted her. She’d been recommended to me, and I liked her. She was good for Noah and me, and the little guy needed that. But she was wrong about the party. After the ice incident, I wasn’t that keen on making nice with the team.
All because I couldn’t make nice with Stan.
