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vladi

D on’t think about that word. Focus on the puck.

Keep your eyes forward, scanning the ice.

Talk to me ice . Tell me which way this cocksucker is going to go .

He’s keeping the puck in front of him, which tells me he’s going to pass.

He does. Bougie is there and gets a great hit in, forcing the puck back to the boards.

Now it’s back up at the blue line on my right, passed over to the left.

The Colorado Storm’s top scorer, Jake Brooks, is crowding my crease.

Tay shoves him out of the way and I risk glancing up.

Ten seconds left on the clock . Ten seconds to keep this puck out of the net.

The Storm pass back and forth, trying to find a way to beat me.

My defensemen desperately try to clear it.

Don’t think about anything but that puck. It’s bad luck.

The puck flies up to the top of the zone again, and I see Brooks pull back his stick for a one-timer.

I follow it across the ice, never looking away.

You can do this. I don’t know how much time is on the clock, but I don’t care.

My only job is to stop that puck. Time stands still as I follow the shot with my eyes, right to my stick, the puck bouncing off and heading away from the net.

I shift on my skates, ready for the next attack, when the horn sounds.

My teammates all scream, cheer, and tackle me at the goal line.

A shit-eating grin spreads across my cheeks.

We won . This was my fiftieth career shutout, and a new Riders record.

I can breathe now, finally saying the word out loud.

Shutout. I got a shutout. I don’t know how to feel.

I am numb. Excited. Buzzing. In fucking awe of the last sixty minutes.

In shock, I look a few rows up to see her standing there in my jersey jumping, screaming, and hugging her friends.

This is all new for me. Having someone here again just for me.

Cheering me on. There are thousands of fans here, but they don’t get me.

Not like she does. They don’t get that I’m not your typical broody goalie.

Yes. I brood, if anything, I’m known for it, but she sees past all that.

She sees me. Vladimir. The Wolf. And she’s my little fox.

She has no idea I made a promise to myself to propose after I got my fiftieth shut out, but she’s about to find out.

She’s probably going to want to hyphenate her name.

I’ll argue with her to rile her up, but I’ll let her win.

I always let her win. I’ll lose every game if it means she gets to win in life.

I never thought my best friend moving to Milwaukee to join the Riders would be such a catalyst in my life.

I never imagined it would lead me to having a woman I love and loves me in return.

Never thought I would experience this much healing.

All because of some damn bourbon. Not vodka.

Bourbon. I’ve clearly spent too much time in America.

But, here I am, a fan. While my biggest fan, my soon to be fiancée, smiles and winks as she makes her way down to the locker room to congratulate me.

I miss my mother and my father. I miss Russia. But Milwaukee is my home now. I love that it gets cold and the humidity stays low in the summer. And it’s home to the woman of my dreams. My future wife, who is the air in my lungs and the blood pumping through my veins.

Maggie fucking James.