Page 248 of Pucking Around

He raises both hands in mock surrender. “Hurricane, I swear to god, he volunteered.”

“Apparently they booted a children’s choir for him,” Harrison says with a grin, poking his face down between us.

“Ohmygod,” I groan, burying my face in my hands.

“Come on, it’s not that bad,” Caleb teases. Wrapping me in his arms, he rests his chin on the top of my head.

“Please rise for the playing of our National Anthem!” comes the announcer’s booming voice. “Performed tonight by one of rock and roll’s biggest legends…”

The whole arena goes feral as my dad steps through the plexiglass, the cameras zooming in on him. His smiling face appears up on the jumbotron. He looks effortlessly cool in his ripped t-shirt and leather jacket, jeans, and a pair of scuffed motorcycle boots. He waves to the crowd as he walks down the carpet towards his waiting guitar.

“Hockey fans, please welcome to the ice the lead guitarist of The Ferrymen, LA’s own native son, Hallllll Priiiiice!!”

Content in Caleb’s arms, I smile and watch as Jake and Ilmari skate up to the carpet’s edge and each remove a glove to shake my dad’s hand. The crowd goes wild as he picks up his guitar. The moment he strums that first note, a hush falls. Then, closing his eyes, he leans back and begins to play.

EPILOGUE

One Year Later

“Easy, Hurricane,” Caleb mutters, taking his hand and covering mine, giving it a gentle squeeze.

I take a deep breath, letting my hands go still. Whenever I’m nervous during a game, I spin the guys’ wedding rings round and round on my thumb, focusing my energy on the feel of the cool metal brushing against my skin. They all have the same band—white gold, inset with four small diamonds.

It’s our little ritual. The guys can’t wear jewelry on the ice, so at the start of each game they hand their wedding bands to me. I hand them back when they finish. Taking it off made Jake so depressed, he finally popped his tattoo cherry. Now he has a thin, inked band around his finger that stays hidden under the ring.

Tonight, I’m only holding one ring because Jake is standing next to me. Decked out in a blue and white Finland jersey, he’s fighting with Harrison for control of the popcorn bucket.

The arena buzzes with excitement as dance music pumps up the crowd. My gaze is locked on center ice where the Olympic rings are painted. This is it. The gold medal game. Finland vs. Canada…inCanada. Everywhere I look is the red and white of the Canadian flag—jerseys, scarfs, hats, signs, painted faces.

My heart feels like it’s going to burst with excitement…and gratitude. All around me, our friends and family are here to cheer for Ilmari. Harrison and Somchai stand next to Jake, both wearing Suomi sweatshirts. Som looks ridiculous in a Suomi beanie with a big blue and white knit puff ball on top.

On the other side of Caleb, the Kinnunen’s are singing all the cheers. Juhani is a Finnish hockey star in his own right, so he’s been swarmed by the fans at every game. His sister Laura and her daughter Helena stand to his right. They’ve been so kind and welcoming, letting the three of us into their lives as we show them how much we love Ilmari.

We spent part of last summer with them in Finland, and it was so fun to see a different side of Ilmari. I’m now officially a convert to Finnish saunas and cold baths. We even installed a sauna at the house that Ilmari uses after every game. I smile, cheeks warming. We’ve had some serious fun in that thing.

I’m distracted as a baby lets out a loud squeal. Mäkinen’s wife Kristina bounces their toddler on her hip in the row in front of us. He’s a little cherub, with bright blond curls and pink cheeks. He’s wearing baby-sized noise-cancelling headphones, bundled up in a lion costume. The moment I saw him, I think my ovaries exploded. Jake has already had to physically remove him from my arms once tonight.

Caleb snakes his arm around my waist. “He’s gonna do great, babe. He’s feeling good. Feeling strong.”

I nod, trying to swallow my nerves. The last game was a disaster. Finland vs. Sweden. Ilmari took a gnarly hit that had my soul threatening to escape my body. An elbow to his mask tipped him back, shoving him into his net. He hit the crossbar as he fell, knocking the goal loose.

The scream I screamed. As the lineman escorted the Swedish player over to the penalty box, the guys were physically holding me back from climbing the plexiglass and ripping his heart out. Those are the two hardest parts about being a hockey wife: the waiting and the hits. And I’m a hockey wife twice over.

I have no one to blame but myself.

“Hey, Seattle—look,” says Jake, giving me a nudge, his fist full of popcorn “He’s here.”

I follow the line of his point to see Doctor Halla standing at the far end of the row in the aisle, glancing at his ticket. He’s decked out in Suomi gear too, including a t-shirt and scarf. I smirk. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen him in anything but scrubs or a suit. It’s weird. Like seeing a dog ride a skateboard.

“He came,” Caleb murmurs next to me.

I smile, giving both their hands a squeeze as I brush past Jake to go greet him.

It turns out no one can hold a grudge quite like a Finn. And my husband is the most Finnish Finn I’ve ever met. So, we’re taking it slow. Halla came to a Rays game in the spring. He also came down at the end of the summer to celebrate the launch of Ilmari’s sea turtle conservation organization.

On the night of the gala, it turns out Ilmari donated half a million dollars to a non-profit run by three overenthusiastic, but rather hapless do-gooders. His additional money and oversight provided a total overhaul of their organization. Now, Out of the Net is a proper non-profit with a board and a CFO and a growing volunteer base.

Halla made a sizable donation too, all but matching Ilmari’s contribution. Sea turtles up and down the coast of North Florida are going to sleep well at night knowing a pair of Finns are determined to keep them safe.