“You do. Big time.”
“So we’re good?” Alex asked.
“We’re good.”
“See you tomorrow,” Alex said.
“Hey,” Stefan said when Alex got to the doorway. Alex turned around. “Don’t worry, bro. You’ll get it back.”
“Get what back?”
“Your jomo.”
“Mojo,” Alex said with a laugh.
“Mojo.”
The first thing Alex did when he got back to his room was call Lara and thank her for being such a good friend. Then he got down on the floor and did one hundred and one push-ups.
THIRTY-FOUR
“Have you decided what school you’re going to go to?” Alex asked Stefan as they joined the crowd filing into the Rogers Arena for the Vancouver Canucks game against the Boston Bruins.
In the three weeks since Stefan had received the scholarship offer from the University of Minnesota, most of the other top colleges in the States had followed suit, and the pile of letters on his desk was getting higher day by day.
“Right now I’m leaning to Denver or Boston University,” Stefan answered.
“I meant it when I said it’s cool if you want to go to Minnesota,” Alex said.
“I know you did,” Stefan said, “but their starting goalie has two years of school left and I don’t feel like sitting on the bench that long. Denver and BU are both losing their starter.”
“That makes sense.” It hadn’t been easy but Alex had finally been able to accept that his brother was a better goalie than he was without feeling like the earth was going to split open and swallow him up. That didn’t mean he wasn’t envious of Stefan’s success. It was only natural to be jealous that his brother was living out his dream, but he had his feelings pretty much in check. The key was understanding that it was pointless to compare himself to Stefan. That had been the root cause of his problem. He came out on the short end of the comparison and that, for reasons he still didn’t fully understand, had caused him to doubt his own ability. It was stupid, he realized now. His talent as a goalie was one thing, Stefan’s was another, and the two had nothing to do with each other. Stefan was great, no doubt about that, but he was pretty damn good himself.
Once he’d gotten his brother out of his head, Alex had been able to focus on his own game and it wasn’t long until he was playing like the Alex of old. Unfortunately, Earl Bales had continued his outstanding play, which meant that Alex’s butt was still firmly planted on the bench, leaving him feeling like Wally Pipp after Lou Gehrig took his place in the Yankees’ starting lineup.
The only thing that had changed was his attitude. He was no longer happy about being benched. He felt a lot better knowing that his competitive juices were flowing again, but the flip side was that his frustration was mounting game by game. He was chomping at the bit to get some ice time so he could prove, to himself and to everyone else, that he was back. As well as he was playing in practice, Alex was plagued by a nagging doubt that kept coming to the surface, like a relentless itch. And until he proved himself in a real game, that itch wasn’t going away. And with only two weeks left in the season, it didn’t look like he was going to get a chance to scratch it.
With a minute left in the game, the Canucks were clinging to a 3–2 lead over Boston. The Bruins were on the attack, desperately looking for the equalizer, but they couldn’t get the puck past Lou Roberts and the Canucks held on for the victory.
“What a great game,” Stefan said enthusiastically. “The Wall was unbelievable,” he added, using his nickname for Lou Roberts.
Alex nodded. It was the first NHL game his brother had ever been to and his excitement was so infectious that Alex almost felt as if it were his first time seeing a game live as well.
“I can’t believe how big and fast the players are. You don’t see that on TV.”
“It helps to be sitting here,” Alex said. The tickets—in the fifth row, between centre ice and the blue line—were a birthday present from Anna. The two of them had cleaned up this year. Boris had given them a top-of-the-line table hockey game, and Roman had given them each the latest smart phone, which they had programmed with just about every app that had ever been invented.
The three stars of the game took their victory laps. “And the first star, from the Vancouver Canucks, number 33, Lou Roberts,” the announcer boomed.
“Lou, Lou,” the crowd roared as Roberts skated out onto the ice.
“That could be you out there one day,” Alex said.
“Yeah, right,” Stefan snorted. “I don’t know what you’re on, but I’ll take some of it.” They stood up and joined the traffic jam of fans heading for the exits. “Do you really think I’m good enough to play in the NHL?” he asked a few moments later. There was a hesitation in his voice that Alex had never heard before, a hesitation that revealed how much hockey mattered to him.
“You’ve got a shot,” Alex said. “That’s all I’m saying.” Earlier that week College Hockey Magazine had ranked Stefan as one of the top ten high school goalies in North America. It was a long way from that to the NHL, but Stefan was something special. There was no doubt about that.
Stefan beamed. Alex knew it meant a lot to his brother to hear him say what he’d just said. It felt good to be able to say it, even if it did hurt a little.
“Just remember,” Alex said, “if you do make it, I expect a pair of season tickets. Anywhere in this section will be fine.”
“I’m sorry,” Stefan said. “Do I know you?”
They walked up the aisle and into the main corridor. Stefan’s phone rang. “Hey, babe,” he said, his face lighting up. “We’re just leaving. I’ll be there in a half hour … I gotta pee,” Stefan said after he hung up. He disappeared into the washroom.
As Alex was waiting for his brother, he saw Roman heading his way with a tall, thin man who towered over the other fans streaming out of the arena.
“Hey, Alex. How’s it going?” Roman asked.
“Hi, Uncle Roman,” Alex said.
“What a game,” Roman said. “Bill Novak. Alex Petrovic,” he said, making the introductions. “My nephew,” he added.
Alex looked up at Bill. Way up. The guy had to be at least six eight.
“You’re the hockey player, right?” Bill said after they shook hands.
Alex nodded. I used to be, he thought.
“You’re looking at the next Mike Barkich,” Roman said. Alex gave an appropriately modest nod. There was no point correcting him. “Bill’s going on the next tour to Berovia and Maldania. He had to cancel last time.”
“You’re the guy who broke his arm playing basketball,” Alex said, making the connection.
“Just got the cast off,” Bill said.
“Bill played college ball in the States,” Roman said.
“That was a long time ago,” Bill said. “Back when I had a full head of hair.” He rubbed his scalp. His grey hair, what was left of it, was cut short.
“You should have seen this guy play,” Roman said. “Great shooter. And he never met a shot he didn’t like,” he joked.
“Where did you play?” Alex asked.
“Four years at Washington State. Spent most of my time on the bench. I’m still picking the splinters out of my butt.” Alex laughed. I can relate to that.
“Alex may be going on the tour, too,” Roman said. “When do you find out?” he asked Alex.
“In two weeks. If we win the league championship, we’ll be practising for the provincials,” he explained to Bill.
“My cousin’s daughter, Lara, is going, too,” Roman said.
“It will be great to have some young people there. Although I’m sure you’d rather be playing hockey,” Bill said to Alex. “Good luck.”
“Thanks,” Alex said, although he wasn’t actually sure he wanted the team to make it to the provincials. He was glad he hadn’t quit, but sitting on the bench was sheer torture and he had no desire to prolong the agony.
Of course, if thing
s didn’t work out the way he hoped with Lara, the trip to Berovia and Maldania could turn out to be torture of a different kind. He still hadn’t told her how he felt about her. His feelings for her had resurfaced once his depression lifted, but by then she had started preparing for the national championships. She had stopped working at the travel agency and was training twice a day, seven days a week. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d had a chance to say more than hello to each other.
The national championships would be over in two weeks. He would tell her then.
THIRTY-FIVE
Alex never did get to scratch his itch. Two weeks after the Canucks game against Boston he was in his familiar place on the end of the bench as the clock wound down in the league championship game. When the final buzzer sounded, West Van had a 3–2 win and a berth in the provincial championships.
The Cougars’ bench was as silent as a tomb. From the first day of practice the team had a single goal: winning the league championship. The dejected look on their faces showed how much it hurt to come so close to the prize, only to have it slip away.
“Good luck in the provincials,” Alex said to each West Van player as they met and shook hands at centre ice after the game. Stefan was at the end of the West Van line. “Great game, bro,” Alex said. “You were the difference.”
“Thanks,” Stefan said. The two brothers looked at each other. Alex knew they were both thinking back to the first time they met, nine months earlier at the TelCel Cup. So much had happened since then. They hugged briefly and skated away. When Alex got back to his bench, he turned and looked across the ice. Stefan was standing by his bench. They saluted each other with their goalie masks.
The players were still in their uniforms when Coach Hampton came into the room twenty minutes later, as if leaving them on meant they didn’t have to acknowledge that the season was over.
“Nobody in this room has any reason to hang his head,” the coach said. “I know you wanted to win the championship, but don’t make the mistake of thinking the season was a failure because we came up short. Life doesn’t always work out the way we want. All you can do is go out there and give 100 percent. You did that, and you did it all season long. I’m proud of every person in this room. It’s been a privilege to coach you guys.”
The coach went around the room, shaking hands and saying a few words to every player.
“I guess you’re glad this is all over,” he said when he got to Alex. Alex shrugged. There was no point denying it. “I know things didn’t turn out the way you were hoping, but I want you to know that I admire the way you handled the situation.”
“Thanks.” He wondered if the coach would say the same thing if he knew how close he came to quitting.
“To tell you the truth, for a while there I didn’t think you were going to stick it out,” Hampton said, as if he’d read Alex’s mind, “but I was dead wrong about that.” Not exactly dead wrong, Alex thought. “You showed a lot of character.”
“Thanks,” Alex said again.
“We could have won this if you’d been playing,” Kenny Nelson said in a low voice after the coach moved on.
“You can’t blame Earl,” Alex said, even though Kenny was voicing his secret belief. All three West Van goals came on rebounds of shots Earl should have been able to smother. On the other hand, he made four or five outstanding saves that Alex couldn’t say with certainty he would have made. He sure would have liked the chance, though.
After he changed into his street clothes he went around the room and said his goodbyes. One after another his teammates echoed Coach Hampton’s sentiments. They understood what Alex had gone through in a way that only athletes could. He’d earned their respect for the way he’d gutted it out. As disappointed as he was with the way things had turned out, it meant a lot to get that kind of recognition from his teammates.
Even Mike Leonard got in on the act. “You can play on my team any time, Petrovic,” was the way he put it.
Neil Daniels came up to him as he hoisted his hockey bag over his shoulder. “Thanks, Alex,” he said. “For everything.”
Alex took a final look around before he walked out of the locker room. He had shared a lot with these guys over the last seven months. They had celebrated victories and commiserated over defeats. Alex knew he would miss the camaraderie. But he was still glad the season was over.
Alex went straight from the rink to Fraserview Hall, where Lara was fighting in the finals of the national muay Thai championships.
It was a knockdown drag-out fight between two evenly matched competitors from start to finish. With the final round drawing to a close, Lara and her opponent from Cape Breton, Nova Scotia, stood toe-to-toe slugging it out. Both girls were exhausted. “Come on, Lara,” Alex yelled, his voice hoarse. He had been on his feet, urging her on, for the entire fight.
Lara fought through the fatigue and mounted one final flurry that put her opponent back on her heels. When the bell rang she and her opponent hugged each other before going to their corners to await the judges’ decision. Alex nervously snapped the rubber band on his wrist. He thought Lara had the edge but it had been a close fight and the decision could go either way.
The referee called both girls into the middle of the ring. He stood between them, holding their arms. “In the junior women’s K1 lightweight title fight, the winner, by a split decision, is …”—the announcer waited a moment to heighten the suspense—“Lara Wellington from Vancouver, British Columbia.”
“Yes!” Alex roared. He ran down the bleacher steps and jumped into the ring to congratulate her, along with her parents and teammates. He wrapped Lara in a bear hug and swung her around. He felt as happy as if he’d won the national championship himself.
Lara’s parents took everyone out to dinner to celebrate her victory.
“Right, right,” Alex said to something one of Lara’s teammates was saying, but he wasn’t really paying attention. He was looking at Lara. His eyes hadn’t strayed from her during the entire meal. She was sitting at the other end of the table, beside her parents and her coach. She smiled at something her coach said. She is so beautiful, Alex thought. His heart ached with desire. He knew he would be devastated if she didn’t feel the same way about him as he did about her. The tour to Berovia and Maldania was leaving the next morning, and he had decided to tell her how he felt when they arrived. It would be the first chance they would have to be alone.
“National Champ,” Alex said when he finally got a chance to talk to Lara. They were at the dessert table. “I don’t know anybody else who can say that.”
“Thanks, Alex,” Lara said.
“It’s an incredible accomplishment,” he said. “I’m really proud of you.”
“Thanks,” she said again. She put a slice of carrot cake on her already overflowing plate, then caught him staring at it.
“I’m moving up a weight class next year,” she joked.
“Maybe a couple,” he said.
“You guys must be excited about tomorrow,” Lara’s mother said as she joined them.
“Yeah,” they both answered.
“You’re going to have a great time,” Lara’s mother said. She put a piece of chocolate mousse cake on a plate. “I might as well put this straight on my hips,” she said with a laugh.
Alex laughed but his mind was elsewhere.
THIRTY-SIX
“You worry too much,” Stefan said to Alex as they sat in his bedroom, waiting for Anna to take Alex to the airport. “Lara really likes you.”
“But does she like me like that?”
“Trust your big brother, man. She’s into you.” He opened his desk drawer and handed Alex a small gift-wrapped package. “I got you something for the trip.”
“Thanks,” Alex said. He opened the package. It was a box of condoms. “Very funny.”
“It’s no joke, man. You’re going to need them.”
He put the package on the desk. “I don’t want to jinx things.”
“Suit yourself,” Stefan said. He put the condoms back in the desk drawer.
“I know San Marco is on the itinerary,” Anna said as she drove Alex to the airport, “but that doesn’t mean you have to go.”
“I want to go,” Alex said. He knew it would be painful to stand in the building where his father was killed, but even though he had never known him, in a strange way he felt it was his duty as a son. His father was a brave and daring man. He proved that by fighting for Anna, and by saving Stefan’s life. His father had never been buried. Going to the church would be like visiting the cemetery, a way to show his respect.
Alex wondered where the Stork and the Snowman were. By now the Stork’s broken leg would have healed, and there would be no reason for him to stay in Berovia. Alex imagined the two men lying on a beach on a remote island where nobody had ever heard of Berovia or Maldania, drinking slivovitz and reminiscing about the good old days. Like the time they burned that church down. To good times. Dos Prosta. Clink. Clink.
Anna pulled up at the passenger drop-off for international flights at the Vancouver International Airport. She and Alex got out of the car. Alex took his suitcase out of the trunk. “I know the past few months have been difficult,” she said. “I’m proud of the way you’ve handled everything. Your dad would be proud of you, too.” She hugged him goodbye. “I’m going to miss you, dude.”
“I’m going to miss you, too, Anna.”
Roman was talking to Bill Novak near the check-in counter when Alex walked into the terminal. Roman looked like a child beside him. Lara was nearby, handing orange luggage tags to the tour group members and ticking their names off a list on a clipboard.
“Hey,” she said as Alex walked up to her.
“Hey.” She looked fantastic.
“Is that everyone?” Roman asked Lara.
“Yes.”
“I thought Peter and Greta were flying over with us,” Alex said. Peter had proposed to Greta the week before and was taking her to Berovia to meet his parents.
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