Puck Me Baby

by Lili Valente

  “No?” Her lips curve, and her eyes begin to shine.

  I shake my head. “No. You’re perfect, just the way you are.”

  “Aw.” She sniffs, smile widening. “I love you, too, cranky.”

  The words hit me hard. It feels like I’ve been slammed against the boards, a body blow that knocks the air from my lungs.

  Before I can figure out what to say—what to think—a fresh faced blonde with a perky ponytail and an even perkier bounce in her step bounds out of the gym, clapping her hands as she spots us.

  “There you are!” She points two fingers our way. “You must be Amanda and Alexi.” She doesn’t wait for me to nod before extending her hand to Amanda. “I’m Hailey. So nice to meet you. Ready to kick a little butt?”

  Amanda laughs as she stands. “I guess. Gentle butt-kicking, maybe?”

  “No need to be gentle.” Hailey scans me up and down, an amused look in her blue eyes. “This guy looks like he can take a beating and come back for more.”

  My eyebrows dart up my forehead. “Me?”

  “Don’t worry. We won’t do any permanent damage,” Hailey extends an arm toward the gym. “We’ll be on the mats on the far side to start. Go ahead and leave your shoes on for now.”

  “I’m not worried about me, I’m worried about her.” I stay in my chair. “I’m twice her size.”

  “The bigger they are, the harder they fall,” Hailey chirps.

  “And she’s pregnant,” I add, beginning to doubt the wisdom of bringing Mandy here. I don’t want to brawl with my pregnant girlfriend, I just want to be sure she has the skills to defend herself in case I’m not there the next time she decides to be a hero.

  And in the meantime, I want to sit out here, remember how to breathe again, and figure out what I’m going to do about the fact that Mandy’s in love with me. So in love she didn’t hesitate to confess it in public, in front of God, the grizzled old woman manning the front desk, and a dozen pubescent girls who are now whispering together in the corner and casting curious glances my way, making me suspect I’ve been recognized again.

  Hailey pats my shoulder, her blue eyes softening. “Yes, I see that she’s pregnant, and we’ll be careful. No one’s going to get hurt today. I promise. You can trust me.”

  But trust isn’t my strong suit. And by the time we’re halfway through the introduction to beginner’s self-defense, it’s clear that I’m not going to be much help. Hailey has to get behind me and physically manipulate my arms in order to illustrate what would be considered “real and imminent” danger, the kind that makes it okay for Mandy to legally strike another person. I happen to think that any motherfucker who so much as raises his voice in anger to a woman who’s visibly pregnant has waived his right not to get punched in the throat, but Hailey is a professional and not interested in my opinions.

  “My goal is to keep my students safe from every imaginable threat,” Hailey says kindly, but firmly. “And that includes getting sued for assault for using excessive force against an assailant.” She motions for Mandy to join her on the mat again. “Okay, let’s pretend that Alexi has been suitably threatening. Now you assume the ready stance.” She guides Mandy in front of her and helps adjust her position. “Okay, remember, feet hip-width apart, dominant foot slightly in front, hips square to problem—which is Alexi in this case, a man who has proven he’s an immediate threat to your safety. Keep your knees bent, lift your arms to form stop-sign hands. This is body language universally recognized by everyone from babies to adults, in every culture around the world, and even by most animals. So if an assailant ignores your shouted ‘no’ and the stop-sign hands, you’re clear to engage, no holding back.”

  Hailey guides Mandy through the heel-palm strike into a groin strike, making me blush when she steps between us to make sure Mandy is aiming for my balls with her thigh, not her knee.

  “Your knee is easy to tweak,” Hailey says, “but your thigh is a big, tough muscle that can dish out a beating and stay strong enough to help you run away. You can really go for a target with your thigh.”

  “Though I would appreciate some punch-pulling with this particular target,” I add, earning a laugh from Hailey and an impish smile from Mandy as she says, “But you’re the one who wanted me to learn how to defend myself. Don’t you want to make sure I’ve got what it takes to bring down the bad guys?”

  I shake my head with a defeated sigh. “All right. Do what you’ve got to do, dragon.”

  “I’m kidding,” she says, standing on tiptoe to press a kiss to my cheek. “I’ll be gentle, baby. I promise.”

  And she is. She’s gentle and strong, fierce and kind, understanding and uncompromising and all the wonderful things she’s been from the moment I met her. She’s incredible, and she loves me. I’m the luckiest bastard in the world, but I can’t seem to bring myself to tell her so. To tell her I love her, too.

  Every time my lips part to say the words, I think about the things we don’t know—the misery that could be waiting just around the corner, at that ultrasound I’ve been dreading for weeks—and my throat closes up, refusing to let so much as a whisper through the barrier.

  Back at home, I make dinner and make love to her with the same devotion, making sure to tell her how beautiful and perfect she is at least a dozen times, but I know it’s not enough. It’s not enough, but it’s the best I can do right now. So I hold her close and kiss her softly as she falls asleep, silently promising to make this better as soon as I can.

  Chapter 18

  From the phone messages of Amanda Esposito

  and Diana Daniels-Nowicki

  *

  Amanda: What are the odds? The one time I actually want to talk on the phone, you don’t pick up. Crazy…

  nervous laughter

  I thought you might be around, since Tanner is out of town and you get off work at five. So where are you? You didn’t make new friends without me, did you? Or join a gym, heaven forbid. I thought you were a hike-through-the-woods-and-get-fit-climbing-on-rocks kind of girl. You’ll lose all your hippie, forest-dweller cred if you join a gym.

  *laughter heavy sigh*

  Don’t go changing on me, okay? At least, not too much. I mean, new friends are good. I want you to have new friends so you can have fun without me when I’m home with a newborn and unable to keep my eyes open past seven o’clock, so…

  heavy sigh

  Okay, guess you’re really not picking up. Call me back when you get a chance.

  *

  Ten minutes later…

  *

  Amanda: Where are you? Are you okay? I know I shouldn’t worry, but Tanner’s not around and the only person waiting for you at home is Wanda. I know she’s a smart pig, but she’s not smart enough to call 911 if you’ve fallen in the bath, knocked your head on the tile wall, and are now drowning in eight inches of bathwater. In fact, all she would do is wait until you’re dead and then eat your corpse. That’s what pigs do, even nice pigs. They will literally eat anything, Diana, even people they used to love.

  *heavy sigh sniff*

  Do you think animals really love us? The way we love them? I mean, I know they get attached, but love is uniquely human, don’t you think?

  *sniff longer sniff*

  Please call me as soon as you get this. Or come by. I need girl-talk in a major way.

  *

  Fifteen minutes later…

  *

  Amanda: I can’t wait for you to answer. I have to get this out before it eats a hole in my chest. Five days ago, I told Alexi that I love him. We’d been fighting—not a big fight, just a stressful afternoon, followed by some crankiness and scary faces on his part—and then he said the sweetest thing about not wanting me to be anyone else, because I’m perfect the way I am. Hearing that over the phone, it probably doesn’t sound like an invitation to profess my love, but you should have heard the way he said it. It was so sweet and loving and perfect, and so I just…spit it out. I told him I loved him, and then we went to a
self-defense class, went home and made dinner, had lovely, intimate sex, and went on with the rest of our week as if nothing happened.

  He didn’t mention the love thing, so I didn’t mention the love thing.

  But I—

  *

  Message cut off. Voicemail sent.

  *

  Amanda: So anyway, we didn’t talk about it, but I wasn’t stressed because he was still acting like he loved me, even though he clearly wasn’t ready to say it, and things were comfortable and good and I was lulled into a false sense of security. But now he’s gone, and I’m alone in this big house with all his things and almost none of my things, and it’s becoming increasingly obvious that I’m not a permanent fixture. I’m just here for now. I’m pregnant with his baby, and he likes me and likes banging me for some reason, even though I’m as big as a house and getting bigger every day, and that’s it.

  He’s not emotionally attached. Is he?

  I mean, I can tell he likes me as a friend and enjoys spending time with—

  *

  Message cut off. Voicemail sent.

  *

  Amanda: I’m sorry. I’m filling up your entire mailbox. I’ll stop. I’m just…freaking out. And sad. And scared. Really scared. I’ve never felt this way about anyone, Dee. Ever. The thought of losing him is terrifying. It gives me panic sweats, and I never have panic sweats. I’m turning into someone I don’t even know, all because I dropped my guard and let myself fall for someone who is way out of my league.

  That’s it, isn’t it?

  He realizes that I’m just a normal girl with a normal job and a normal life and I’ll never be up to the challenge of being a famous hockey player’s girlfriend, let alone his wife, and um…

  *sniff bigger, longer sniff*

  Yeah, I admit that’s kind of where my mind was going. To the forever, death-do-us-part place. Because I love him and I want to raise our baby with him and share my life with him and know he’s always going to be there at the end of the day, in bed next to me.

  sobbing sound

  Oh my God, I’m pathetic. Just delete this message and forget I called. I’m going to go binge watch The Bachelorette and get lost in her problems. She did a crap job of choosing her final five. They’re all awful. I have no idea how she’s going to—

  *

  Twenty minutes later, voicemail from Diana…

  *

  Diana: Oh my God, I’m so glad you’re okay. Or at least mostly okay. I saw all those voicemail messages and thought something awful had happened. I mean, I know this is awful, but I don’t think it’s as awful as you think.

  Yes, it sucks that Alexi is having trouble making his feelings come out of his mouth hole, but some guys are just like that. And you know that saying, “actions speak louder than words.” Well, that’s a real thing. So if Alexi is still acting like he adores you, then he adores you. End of story.

  He just might need some time to get around to expressing it verbally.

  heavy sigh

  But I know how shitty it feels to stick your neck out and be left hanging, feeling like a fucking—

  *

  Message cut off. Voicemail sent.

  *

  Diana: But you are not an idiot. You are wonderful, and if Alexi has the sense God gave a banana slug, he’ll realize that sooner or later. Just hang in there, okay? chewing sounds

  You want me to come over? I can bring ice cream. I’m eating some now with Laura and Chloe, but they’re great at sharing, so…

  sigh

  Call me, buttercup. I love you and I will always love you even if you woke up one morning and were covered in pink slime and smelled like rotten eggs and the doctors couldn’t find a way to heal you. I would still be your bestie forever and ever. I wish I could wave my magic wand and make this better, but in the meantime, I have my ringer on.

  *

  From the texts of Amanda Esposito

  and Diana Daniels-Nowicki

  *

  Amanda: Got your message. I’m crying, but in the good way.

  You’re the best friend ever. I was so smart to call dibs on you in kindergarten and claim you for my own.

  *

  Diana: Aw, thanks. But I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry! Do you want me to bring you some ice cream? We have TONS, and it’s delicious. Chloe got an ice-cream maker for her birthday, and she’s whipping up wild and wonderful things. The Lime-Honey-Basil is really something special. Weird, but special.

  *

  Amanda: No thank you. I’m good. I ate dinner, watched dumb TV, took a lukewarm bath, and talked myself down from the ledge. You’re right. He just needs time. And I have to be patient, even though it’s hard.

  *

  Diana: You don’t have to be patient. You could push the issue and tell him to quit being a cowardly ding-dong with his feelings. But that usually doesn’t work out so well with the less-verbal sex.

  *

  Amanda: No, it doesn’t. And I don’t want to push. He went through some messed-up stuff with his last serious girlfriend. I don’t know all the details, but I know enough to understand why he wants to take things slow.

  I would usually want to go slow, too, but…

  I don’t know. I’m not myself lately.

  *

  Diana: You’ve been through a lot, too, you know. I think you should cut yourself some slack. And let me bring you ice cream.

  *

  Amanda: Okay. :) But if you come over, you’d better bring pajamas and a toothbrush because once I have you in my clutches, I won’t want to let you leave.

  *

  Diana: Perfect! I can’t wait to be in your clutches. It’s been way too long since we had a sleepover. I’ll run by my place, feed Wanda and get her settled for the night, and be right over.

  *

  Amanda: Or bring her if you want. We can make her model baby clothes. My mom sent me a giant package of things she got at an estate sale. All sizes. I’m sure there’s something in there that will fit a mini pig.

  *

  Diana: YES! Ice cream and pig dress-up!

  Sounds like a recipe for good times, mama. Be there soon.

  *

  Amanda: I’ll leave the light on for you, xo.

  Chapter 19

  Petrov

  *

  Despite the parental drama of my early years and a career spent facing down the biggest defenders in NHL history—compare team stats from the 70s to the present day and it’s clear that, as a species, we’re getting larger—I haven’t dealt with a lot of anxiety. I’m just not an anxious person.

  I seem to have been born with the instinctive knowledge that worrying about my parents’ constant arguing or getting sent away to boarding school or being slammed into the boards hard enough to cause brain damage was a waste of energy. I evaluate situations logically, take steps to prevent bad things from happening, and then banish the capricious nature of Fate from my mind.

  Because Fate doesn’t give a shit how much you worry. Fate has its own plans and will achieve its agenda, even if it has to send an airplane crashing through the window of the house where you’ve been hiding, thinking you’re safe from all the terrible things waiting outside your door.

  There is no “safe.” But that’s okay. I learned to live with uncertainty early on and can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been scared out of my mind. The first time I was four years old.

  I ran out of the house while my parents were fighting, hopped on the bike I’d just learned to ride, and got lost in the city. By that point I spoke both Russian and English fluently, but the people in this new place spoke a language I’d never heard before. It was that new and terrifying frustration—not being able to make myself understood or decipher what the strangers were asking when they leaned down, motioning animatedly to me, my bike, and the air around me—that scared me most. Being lost was something I’d experienced enough to know it was a temporary situation, remedied when my grandmother came by to check on me,
or my parents stopped screaming at each other long enough to realize the house was too quiet and I must have wandered away again.

  But that new confusion was so frightening I can still remember the way it felt, that creepy, crawling suspicion that the world had been turned inside out, and from now on I would live in an alternate reality, a world as scary as nightmares.

  What could be worse than a world of nonsense? I wasn’t the kind of kid who enjoyed Alice In Wonderland. I liked rules, order, sense-making, and the dependable relationship between cause and effect.

  I don’t need a session with a shrink to know my preference for order came from those early days spent trapped and helpless in my childhood home while the chaos of my parents’ ill-fated relationship raged around me. To this day, I can’t understand why two people who spent so much time loathing each other would stay together for eight long years, but it’s not a mistake I’ll be repeating.

  I refuse to scream at my partner, frighten my child, or break the promises I’ve made to people who need me. I will not become my father or my mother. I will be better.

  So much fucking better. I swear it on every bit of luck life has handed me.

  As Mandy and I are shown into the dimly lit ultrasound room, where I’ll have my first chance to see the baby, I beg, borrow, bargain, and pray. I swear to the God I haven’t spoken to since I was a child that I’ll make any sacrifice necessary if only this child will be okay. I’ll suffer a career-ending injury, I’ll lose every last dime I’ve invested in the market, I’ll spend the rest of my life in pain from hockey-related damage even the best doctors can’t fix, if only this appointment goes well.

  “Relax,” Mandy whispers as the nurse leaves the room with a promise to send the tech in soon. “It’s going to be fine.”

  I nod, hating that my fear, this repulsive, useless emotion, is so plain on my face that Mandy can see it in the dark.