“We have to go home,” I tell him. “So I can show you how proud of you I really am,” I say, pulling him toward his house. And show him I do.
We walk out of the house with him wearing his suit and me wearing black jean and a Stingers shirt with his name on the back and a black leather jacket. It’s the first time we walk into the arena holding hands. When he pulls open the door and we walk down the hallway, Matthew is the first one to see us.
“What is that shirt you are wearing?” he asks me, and then his eyes go to our hands. “It better be a Grant shirt.”
I laugh but not before Viktor says, “You wish, buddy.” He stops at the front of the dressing room. “See you later,” he says, smiling. He leans down and kisses my lips.
“Dude,” Matthew says. “Seriously, that’s my sister.”
“Dude,” Viktor says. “Seriously, that’s mine.”
“I have no words,” I say, shaking my head and then walking away from them to the box, hoping someone will be there. I walk in and see Karrie and Vivienne sitting at the bar with Allison. “Hey there,” I say, and Vivienne looks up at me.
“She had the sex,” she says with a gasp, and I look at her shocked.
“How do you know this?”
“You’re glowing, and it’s written all over your face,” she says, and I touch my face. “It’s the I got it so fucking good look,” she says and slaps the table. “I want that look.”
“Then go get that look,” Karrie says, picking up her glass of wine. Vivienne just looks over at her and glares. We spend the next two hours snacking on chicken wings and pizza, and when the game finally starts, I take off my jacket and walk to the seat.
“Matthew!” Vivienne yells for my brother when I sit down. He comes forward and looks at her. “Looks like someone just claimed your last sister.” He just shakes his head. “It’s a losing battle.”
I just laugh and then turn to see my father looking at me. He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes say it all. He’s both happy and sad that his last daughter has found love. In this wild roller coaster ride.
Chapter Forty
Viktor
“Where are we going?” Zoe asks me as I lead her to a little park I found one day when I was walking around. “Shouldn’t you be at home getting in the zone?”
It’s been two months since I’ve made her mine, and the only time we’ve been apart is when I’m on the road. Which, thank fuck for us, hasn’t been more than we all thought it would be. Tonight, we head into game six of the Stanley Cup. We are one game away from hoisting the cup in the air, but more importantly, I’m one day away from my one-year chip.
One year seems like a lifetime ago, and technically, it was. “It’s going to be so warm later on,” I tell Zoe who just walks next to me holding my hand like she always does. Our lives have merged effortlessly. Slowly, she has been filling up her half of the closet that I gave her, and hopefully, by the time the summer is over, she’ll be “officially” living with me.
We turn down the little path that hides the park. Trees are all around it, and in the middle of the park is green grass with four park benches. The sun breaks through the top of the trees almost like a light shining in from heaven. “What is this place?” she asks while we walk on the pebbled path. “I’ve never seen this place.”
“Don’t tell me that I know of someplace that the big Zoe Stone doesn’t know of?” I joke with her. My girl is killing it and taking names, and I couldn’t be prouder.
“I found this place on my way home one day, and I sat down and just listened to the birds chirping,” I tell her and then finally come into the park, and she’s the light shining in. I couldn’t have asked for a nicer day.
“It’s so pretty,” she says. She sees a potted plant on one of the park benches, and she looks at me. “What is that?”
“Come here. I have to tell you something.”
She stops walking. “If you are going to propose to me, I beg you not to.”
I look at her and try not to laugh. “Would you say no?”
“No,” she says. “But I don’t have any makeup on, and my hair is dirty,” she says, and I walk to her and kiss her. It still feels like the first time. It always feels like the first time.
“I’m not asking you to marry me today,” I tell her. “This is something a bit bigger.” I pull her over to the bench and have her sit down.
“Are you breaking up with me?” she asks, smirking.
“Baby,” I say softly. “No one is breaking up with anyone or getting engaged.”
“Well, you’re scaring me.”
“You know that in recovery, one must go through the twelve steps,” I tell her, and my heart beats so hard in my chest, the sound echoes in my ears. I take a deep breath, but my mouth feels incredibly dry. “They tell you to work on one step a month, own it, do it, and by the end of your year, you will have achieved the twelve steps.” I lean back and take a paper out of my pocket. “Tomorrow is my one-year date.” She nods at me and now wipes a tear from her eye. “But I have one more step I have to do.”
“Viktor,” she whispers my name. “It’s okay to go over the twelve months.” She tries to tell me it’s okay, and if I didn’t love her with everything that I have before this moment, it would change instantly. She is selfless in the way she loves.
“Step five is the hardest step I think I ever did,” I tell her. “It’s writing down all of our faults and finding someone to tell it to.” I look down on the paper that has been folded and unfolded more times than I care to think about. “You see, I made this list in October.” I unfold the paper. “I wrote it, and even while I was writing it, I knew there was only one person I wanted to share it with. One only person I wanted to know about all my wrongs.” I wipe away my own tear now. “It’s been you; it’s always been you,” I tell her, and she leans into me and holds my hand in her lap.
“I’m honored,” she tells me and brings my hand up to her lips, and she kisses it. “Read it to me.”
I clear my throat and look down at my writing on the paper. “There are so many things that I can put on this paper to tell you about all the wrongs I’ve done. I think the first thing that comes to my mind is shame. Shame that I let my family down, shame that my mother and father would know I was weak.” I feel a tear drop on my hand, but I go on. “Guilt. I had so much guilt in me that it crushed my ability to breathe at times. I remember when it was my father’s surprise birthday, and I missed it because I was getting high the night before and slept through the party. Guilt that I wasn’t that son he always wished I would be. I had fear inside me also. That everyone would know my secret, fear that they would judge me because of the drugs, fear that I would always be that person. It took all the guilt and the shame and the fear and made me isolated. I spent all my time alone, especially when I had those days when I would try to get clean, and then I would spiral down. I alienated all the good I had in my life. Pushed it all away. I was dishonest with everyone, but especially me. I told myself I was fine. I told myself that everyone felt like this. It pushed me to becoming angry with myself more than anything.” I look down at the paper and then look up at Zoe who has her face covered and tears are falling. “It’s this list that makes me look at the man who I have become.” I shake my head. “I will always have that shame that I let the drugs have the upper hand and the guilt. I will always have the fear that one day it won’t be a good day, and I might slip, but I have anger because of the drugs. I’m angry that I let the drugs define who I was. I am not that person.”
“You aren’t that person,” she tells me. “You are so much more than that person. Being an addict doesn’t define who you are.”
“It doesn’t,” I agree with her. “Accepting it and having the courage to face it defines who I am,” I tell her. “I didn’t get here all on my own. I had hands that held me up and helped me, and for that, I can never repay them.”
“I think you being the man they know you are is payment enough,” she says,
and she grabs my face. “I hope you know that I’m going to make a big deal out of this.”
I grab the flowers in my hand. “This is for us,” I tell her. “I have to say, writing these faults on paper is one thing but actually putting it out there and saying them out loud is a whole different ball game.” I kiss her. “Thank you for accepting me with all my mistakes and faults.”
“I wouldn’t want you any other way,” she says, grabbing the plant from me. “Can we plant it here?”
“Yes,” I tell her. “I made sure it was okay. I got the permits and everything.”
“It’s going to be a plant that flourishes just like you,” she says, getting up and walking around the park. “Where do you want to put it?”
I shake my head. I just bared my soul to her and told her every single reason she shouldn’t be with me in that letter. I told her about all my faults and my mistakes, but instead of judging me, she sat there and held my hand and shared her love with me even more. This woman will cut your balls off in the blink of an eye if you hurt anyone she loves, but she loves me unconditionally and with everything she has. I look up and send out a little thank you to whoever is listening.
“What about here?” she says to a small spot in the shade that gets a sliver of sunshine through the trees. I get up and walk toward the woman who owns my heart and is in all my future memories. “We should hurry up,” she says to me. “We have to go back and do the pre-game ritual.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s just called a blow job.” I walk to her and take her in my arms, my cock ready for the said ritual.
“Well, I don’t know about you, but every single home game that I suck your dick, you win, so …” She turns in my arms. “I mean, we could test out the theory tonight.”
“I think we should continue this tradition every single day,” I tell her, and just like that, her laughter fills the whole park. After we plant the tree and wash our hands, we make our way back to the apartment where she does her ritual, and then I suit up for the biggest game of my life.
We stop in front of the dressing room. “Win or lose,” she starts saying, and Matthew groans.
“Fuck, Zoe, can we not say lose?” I shake my head and kiss her lips just to irritate him more.
“Can you guys stop dry humping each other? It’s not the time.”
Zoe shakes her head. “Good luck and break a leg.”
Matthew groans again. “Just leave.” Then he turns to me. “Don’t break shit.”
“You need to calm down. You are going to give yourself a heart attack,” Zoe says and then walks closer to him. “Then Karrie is going to have to start dating again.”
“Why do you hate me?” he asks her, and she smiles and kisses his cheek.
“I’m just here to keep it real,” she says and walks away from him.
“I love her,” I tell him, and he just shakes his head. “But she’s right, you need to relax.”
“Do me a favor and go out there and win me a fucking Stanley Cup, and then I’ll relax,” he says, slapping my arm and walking away. I get into the room and get into the zone. I block it all out.
I have one thing in mind, and that is to hold that cup in my hands. It isn’t an easy battle. The first two periods, we race and win some battles and then lose others. When we line up for the third period, I look over at Mark, who hasn’t said a word the whole game. I mean, he barely speaks more than five words in a week. His eyes are on the prize. “I am going to need you fuckers to put some goals in the other net, so I can look like a big deal,” he says to us, and we all look over at him in shock that he spoke and that he also made a joke.
He is the first one on the ice, and he makes his way over. I get on the ice and clip my helmet on, looking up at the jumbotron. Twenty minutes and we are up by one. I skate to the center ice next to Evan. “I’d really love to win tonight,” I tell him, and he laughs.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says and then gets into position. The puck drops, and he wins the face-off, sending it to the defense. They bring the puck up and enter the zone with us on his tail. He shoots the puck, and it rebounds to the right corner, sending everyone rushing for it and getting there at the same time as the defenseman. We crash into each other and try to win the battle of the puck. Evan comes over and takes the puck from between us, sending it back to the defense at the blue line. Making us separate and get into position. The five players from the other team all in the middle of the box we have created, all ready to block the shots to the net.
Jones, our defenseman, looks it over and skates to the middle of the zone, making the other defenseman skate in a bit. I skate ahead toward him, and he moves the puck across to me. I turn with the puck on my stick, and shoot it straight at the goalie, aiming for the top corner and see it hit right over his shoulder. The fans jump to their feet, and Jones skates to me and jumps on me. “Good fucking play,” I tell him and then skate to the bench, celebrating with everyone.
We do a shift change, and once we get on the bench, Coach paces behind us. “Still eighteen minutes to play, guys.”
We watch the chances go more for us than for them with Mark shutting it down each time. I jump over the bench when it’s my turn with Evan beside me. We rush into the zone; Evan with the puck on his stick going to the net and shooting wide. I’m behind the net, getting the puck and shooting it on the board toward Jones, who passes it right to Jamie, the other defenseman, who takes the puck and sees that Evan is all alone in the circle. He passes it straight down the middle, and Evan gets down on his knee and shoots at the goalie just wide, and the puck bounces off the back board and comes straight at me on the side of the net, the puck hitting the middle of my stick in the back and bouncing across the goal line off the goalie’s leg.
Evan jumps on me before I even have time to celebrate, and the building is just going nuts. We are up two goals, but it doesn’t last long when they score a goal ten seconds after I do. “Fuck,” we say and then get ready for us to take the ice. The second- and third-line fight, and we spend more time in their zone than we do in ours.
The whistle blows, and we change line, the puck dropping in center ice. Evan is on point tonight, and he wins again, sending it to me, and I pass it to Jason, the right winger, who dumps the puck in so we can chase it. We get into position, and the crowd is now chanting. Evan battles behind the net for the puck, and he clears it to send it to me who passes it to Jones.
Jones passes it to Jamie who then skates in a bit and shoots it on net, the goalie blocking it with his leg. I rush to get the rebound, trying to get it to Evan, who hits it back to me. The defenseman now pushing me to the board, not giving me a chance to do anything with it. I see Jason, the right winger, and pass it over to him, who passes it to Jones, who is in the middle of the zone, who hammers it to the goalie, going wide, and then bouncing right back to Evan, who has an empty net shot. He takes it, and just like that, we are up by two again. The crowd goes nuts, especially when Evan jumps on the glass, and we all huddle around him.
The countdown is the worst. The longest five minutes of my life, and when they pull the goalie with four minutes to go, everyone has one mission and that is to score an extra goal. We don’t give a shit who does it, as long as someone does. I look up again when I have a chance, and I see it clear as day. The clock counting down from twenty seconds. I look around the arena, and everything zones out and is in slow motion. The crowd on their feet jumping with their hands in the air. The countdown on their lips as the whole arena now counts down. I look up to the box where I know Zoe is. It’s strange that with everything going on, I still make eye contact with her as she stands there with a huge megawatt smile on her face and tears streaming down her face as she claps and counts down with all the girls beside them. She and Zara are doing the same thing. The clock strikes zero, and I look up and send out a silent. “Thank you.”
Gloves are flying, sticks are flying, helmets, you name it, and it’s being tossed out there.
Evan is the first one to yell. Everyone rushes onto the ice and makes our way over to Mark who is in the middle of the circle probably getting crushed. Camera crews now come onto the ice all around us as the other team gets ready to shake hands in the middle of the ice. The handshake is fast, and then I see the red carpet being pushed out and the table that will hold the Stanley Cup.
A reporter pulls me aside, and my eyes do a quick sweep of the area as I look for Zoe. “Viktor, describe to us how you feel right now at this moment. You get traded while you are dealing with personal stuff, and now one year later, you are raising the Stanley Cup.”
I shake my head, trying to blink away the tears. “It’s surreal,” I say, laughing. “When you go through that, it’s tough getting out, but you can do it. Anyone can do it. You just need a support system, and that system was my family in New York. The organization never let me fall and kept helping me strive.”
“Matthew Grant, second year of being a GM, and he takes a chance on you. How big of a thank you do you have to give him right now,” he jokes, and I finally spot Matthew in the corner hugging Evan and smacking his chest in celebration.
“I owe him more than he knows,” I tell him the truth, and then I spot her, standing beside Zara and baby Zoey, who has headphones on as she sleeps in her mother’s arms.
“Thank you so much, and we can’t wait to see what you can do next year.” I nod at him and skate away to the bench where the wives are all lined up at the entranceway, waiting to come onto the ice and celebrate.
“They are bringing out the cup!” someone yells for me, and I just nod, but I walk to the back and grab her in my arms.
“You did it,” she says, trying not to cry as she buries her neck into my sweaty and stinky neck. “I’m so proud of you!”
“I love you,” I tell her, and she moves her head to kiss my lips.
“Now go raise that cup,” she tells me, and I drop her and skate out just in time to see them walk the cup in.
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