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TWELVE

CHARLIE

I sit on the armchair I brought out to the stupid Juliet balcony that I’m slowly falling in love with because it has the best view, and I stare. Facing west I get to watch as the sun goes down on the last day of the year, and I let out a big sigh.

Life is so weird sometimes.

Three months ago I was packing up my house and feeling like I’d failed miserably at the one dream I’d had all my life.

Now that’s not true anymore. I still have a chance of holding a Stanley Cup over my head, and I’m not feeling sorry for myself anymore. But looking back, putting things into perspective with the help of hindsight, I realize that nothing will ever be completely perfect just like nothing will ever be completely bad .

When I was playing for Atlanta I was on a bad team but I felt pretty good about life.

Now I’m on a good team and I not only know the camaraderie that I missed out on during my whole career, but I’m still missing out on it now and seeing it first hand every day at work.

So yeah, some good things and some bad things.

Everything I overheard last night put things into perspective for me. Seeing Gab throw herself on Nikolay’s lap showed me that she’s very close to him. Seeing Nikolay take in everything Chris told him did as well.

So it seems I really have no clue what this team is normally like. It seems my arrival here changed things dramatically for them.

The sun disappears in the distance and I decide I better go down and start cooking.

When I made my hasty retreat last night, I thought for a blissful second about getting on a plane and going to see my family and spending New Year’s Eve with them. I quickly changed my mind.

Logistically it would’ve been a nightmare, and my family never does anything big anyway.

So, since Michelle and Kelly—who are the only people I know in Vegas outside the Pirates organization—have plans to spend the night partying like it’s their last night on earth, and I have to be at the rink at ten in the morning, I decided to treat myself to my favorite meal .

Because sweets are what keeps life worth living, I also bought myself a red velvet cake from a bakery Ingrid recommended to me yesterday. It will go down perfectly after my cannelloni.

I get to work on the pasta first, then let it rest for a while before I do a final pass through the roller. The stuffing will be my Lala’s ragu, which is more tomatoey than the traditional one, and I get lost in the work.

Memories of cooking when I was little, with Lala and Yoyo, with Dad when he was still here, with my uncle Leo. .. they flood me as I focus intently on each step.

I might be cooking for one, but every time I make a family recipe I want to do it justice.

Every bite is a portal home, and I’m happy I remembered to take a picture when I got them out of the oven because as soon as I’m done with the cannelloni, my phone buzzes with a FaceTime call from Lala. I smirk at how much she loves that feature on her phone—and how often she cold calls people.

There’s no reining her in.

“Happy almost New Year, Lala,” I greet her, and smile and wave at the camera. She comes into view, and all the lines life has put on her face get deeper with her full smile.

That’s the most beautiful face in the world , I think to myself.

“Happy almost New Year, Carlo.” She calls me by her nickname for me, then sends me a kiss through the screen. I miss her painfully then, and I want nothing more than to feel her arms hugging me like a vise. “Those cannelloni look perfect.” She cheers as she says it. “Like a true Italian master.”

Ridiculously, her compliments make me blush and look down. She always knows exactly what to say to put us in a good mood.

With every one of her five kids, nine grandkids, and three great-grandkids she has a special and unique bond.

“I learned from the best,” I tell her, once I’ve swallowed past the emotion-filled lump that was stuck in my throat. I have to get a grip on myself. I just saw them all less than a week ago. “What are y’all up to tonight?”

“Your grandfather conned me into making a lasagna?—”

“So you made three,” I finish for her with a smile. No one ever has to con her into cooking; she lives for it. She clicks her tongue at me, pretending I’m not right with a sniff.

“Yes, but only because he told everyone about it and now they’re all coming here in an hour or so.”

“So the quiet New Year’s isn’t happening?” I ask, though I knew it wasn’t even when he told me about her plan during Christmas lunch. She can’t resist having everyone over.

“It’s not, but Samuel and Harper asked if the kids could stay after dinner when everyone goes out to party at Quincy’s.” The only bar in town gets pretty rowdy on New Year’s I’m told, so I know they’ll have a great time. I’m surprised Sam is going, though. He usually spends the holiday in the city.

“They take you and your babysitting services for granted, Lala,” I tell her, indulging her.

She smiles softly, though, telling me she’s in a nostalgic mood today.

“I’m going to have a better time than they are,” she proclaims, and I don’t doubt it.

I talk to her only a little bit longer, then text the group chat the same picture I sent her and wish them all a great night.

I then spend the rest of the night thinking, thinking, and then thinking some more.

It’s all jumbled up in my head.

I of course have no idea why Nikolay hates me.

I have no clue what on God’s earth made Gab think that bringing me here—and keeping me here after we found out about Nikolay’s animosity toward me—was a good idea.

Now, I do know that the team holds Nikolay in the highest regard imaginable, and that everybody’s been keeping their distance for his benefit—which I have to respect. It surprised me last night when that realization came, because the image Nikolay has had all his career is that of a stone-faced hard-ass. I never imagined he’d be someone who could change an entire team’s mood by being silent, but that’s clearly what’s been happening.

After I saw the way people who aren’t on the team treated him last night—especially the way he interacted with Sterling and little Ava—I know that my arrival to the team is the reason for our record.

It fucking burns to know that. To know that for the first time in my career I’m the problem in my team. We barely have a winning record and it’s the middle of the regular season. If we’re not careful we won’t get into the playoffs and we definitely won’t win our division with the way Phoenix is playing.

Something’s gotta give; something’s gotta change.

Staring—more like gaping—at the scene in front of me, I’m at a loss for words.

I arrived a little early, the way I always do, for our light skating practice today. And like I always do, I walked down the corridor to the locker room only to feel trepidation slowly filling my veins when I heard there was music pumping from behind the door.

Dua Lipa no less.

Dancing the night away isn’t what I did to ring in the new year, but maybe the younger guys did?

I opened the door hesitantly and peeked inside to see what all the fuss was about, and that’s when I practically dislocated my jaw.

Because in the middle of the room there’s a huge Russian man, wearing only a towel around his hips, and shaking said hips like he’s getting paid to do it. All the while, Nikolay’s singing at the top of his lungs and so out of tune that I’m surprised Eagle, Milkman, Twocox, and Spiderman can even laugh.

They’re bent in half, gasping while earthquake-like laughter rings out of them.

I feel like I’m intruding, like I definitely shouldn’t be seeing—yup, now he’s twerking. How the hell is that towel staying on?

And Jesus, how many protein shakes does the guy drink in a day? And how many times does he go to the gym so that every single one of his muscles looks so defined and... bulging?

And why the fuck am I staring at his muscles?

I’m about to step out and, I don’t know, wait for this to be over to get ready for the ice, when Nikolay jumps and turns to shake his ass in the other direction.

He sees me and his movements stall for a second, but then he looks toward Eagle again and keeps dancing and singing like this is all... normal.

Is it normal?

I mean for them, not in general.

I know this isn’t actually normal, normal.

“Hey man,” Eagle tells me with a smile and an up nod, as if it’s normal . It’s not. He’s never greeted me so openly.

“Hello,” I say slowly. I don’t know what else to say.

“Santa here is just showing us how we should’ve rung in the new year.”

“Oh yeah? ”

Do I sound as scared as I feel?

I sure hope not.

“How did you spend last night?” I ask over the sound of Spiderman and Twocox still laughing. I’m trying with all my might to sound nonchalant as I have to walk sideways to get to my cubby. I make damn sure not to touch Nikolay.

“We just played NHL until about one and then passed out on my couch,” Eagle tells me with a careless shrug and easy smile.

I smile back, hoping it’s the right thing to do, then turn away because since when do I fucking tiptoe around twenty-year-olds?

I’m clearly out of it, but who would blame me?

The one-eighty from yesterday, when Eagle didn’t say one word to me during the Christmas party, is startling as fuck.

I tell myself to just go with it. Act like nothing’s wrong.

Nikolay’s still twerking, to Cardi B now, and I can’t stifle my snicker when he sings along. “WAP, WAP, WAP,” he screeches at the top of his lungs and makes Twocox fall on the floor from laughter.

“Do not hurt yourself, child,” Nikolay says with mock wisdom.

I shake my head and look away. No need to ruin this good mood he’s in. Maybe he got laid or something.

I have to force myself to keep undressing as if the thought didn’t make my chest tighten.

I know nothing about his personal life, though I’m pretty sure he isn’t married or in a serious relationship. I think I’d know if that were the case... wouldn’t I?

Nikolay’s good mood carries the team over the next two weeks. Out of the seven games we play we win the first four, and then we seem to run out of steam and definitely hit a streak of bad luck.

Bear got hit during the last period of the fifth game, and got a nasty concussion when his head hit the ice so hard I heard the thump from the bench.

Nikolay went insane.

And he wasn’t the only one. Even skinny Spiderman went after the left wing of the Phoenix Hawks who had crashed into Bear.

There were . . . a lot of penalties.

And even though our other goalie—cleverly nicknamed Baby Bear by, you guessed it, Nikolay—is damn good, we couldn’t recover with the time we had left, since Phoenix took advantage of the power play and scored on us twice .

The mood was somber after that, though it didn’t go back to the way it was before New Year’s thankfully. There was still some chatting, and even though Nikolay was fuming, guys still came up to him sitting next to me and patted him on the shoulder and back.

We were told Bear would be out for the next five games and so... here we are, about to start practice in preparation for tomorrow night’s game against the New York Demons who are coming into town.

After tomorrow’s game we’ll be going on an eleven-day roadie, and I fear that if we don’t get a W against the Demons we’ll be in for a miserable week and a half on the road.

Gab’s favor is a constant in the back of my mind, and I can’t figure out any way at all that I can get to Nikolay without it being aggressive.

It all boils over when the first two lines go head to head.

Another backup goalie was brought up from our farm team—the Hunter, I think his nickname is—and he’s my target at the moment.

Jules passes me the puck after playing keep away from Bates, and Nikolay comes right for me like he always does. And he hits me harder than what’s called for, like fucking always.

Finally, it’s too much for me. My frayed nerves, my fear of never making my dreams come true and of failing the one person who still believes in me on this team, it all comes crashing down, and I snap when Nikolay mutters, “Weak little boy,” in his stupid as fuck accent.

I’m done .

“You’ve lived here for a decade and a half Nikolay. You should drop the fucking accent so we can understand you.”

The whole rink goes silent at my words and I. Don’t. Care .

I know everyone’s watching as Nikolay stops skating, as he turns and closes the distance between us slowly.

“You can shut the fuck up or you can stick your opinion up your ass, Heart. No one cares what you think.”

“You clearly do,” I taunt him. “If you want me to shut up so much, why don’t you come here and make—” My question gets cut off when he barrels toward me with a battle cry.

I’m waiting for the punch, ready for it in fact. I’ve taken more than my share and I’m not scared of the big bad Santa . But it never comes.

I see Baby Bear pulling a snarling Nikolay away from me, and then I feel someone—Mater?—tugging me back as well. I didn’t even realize I was moving in too.

“Hey,” comes the scream from Laney as he steps onto the ice and looks at us with a hard stare. “You two fucking brainless idiots, off the ice. Now ,” he yells, so loud I wince.

I look back at Mater and nod at him, then skate out, following Laney without looking at anyone. I know that deliberately starting a fight was wrong, but what else am I supposed to do when Nikolay refuses to have a normal conversation with me?

I know... I know deep in my gut that we’re the problem with this team, and if we could just move past whatever it is I did or didn’t do to make him hate me, I know we could be great. We could win.

“Conference room,” Laney barks as soon as my skates are on the mats. I nod wordlessly and go directly to the room where the press conferences take place, not bothering to go to the locker room to change out of my skates.

I guess Nikolay did bother because I’m there alone for about ten minutes.

The ten longest minutes of my life, where I stew, then I think, and then... I panic.

What the fuck did I just do?