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ALEXEI

P apa’s there when the doctor comes in with the x-rays and gives me the news I’d been expecting since I felt that pop.

It wasn’t a surprise, but I still get a sick feeling in my stomach when she says it.

I have five months left before graduation. Less than one to the Frozen Four play-offs. None of which I’ll see now.

Like he hasn’t heard a word she said, Papa asks her when I’ll be fit to play hockey again.

She answers him patiently. “If all goes well with surgery, he should be back on the ice in around four to six months, but he’ll be able to train before then, and he’ll need to undergo a rigorous physiotherapy routine to make sure he keeps as much mobility in that arm as possible.”

Papa frowns at her like he doesn’t understand a word of English. “But, it’s the play-offs next month.”

“I’m sorry, there’s no way he’ll be fit for that.”

I give her an apologetic smile and she nods, like she gets it. She sees things like this in the E.R every day.

When she leaves us alone, Papa gets up and starts pacing the room. I can practically hear his brain working.

“It’ll be okay,” he says in Russian. “This isn’t the end of the world.

So you have to go in as a free agent. In six months, you’ll be finished with college and we can work on getting an agent and a try-out with minor-league teams. You just have to work your way up again.

It’ll be a lot of hard work, but we can do it. ”

I’m too tired to argue with him. Too wrung out and… disappointed isn’t even the word. I thought I could only lose everything once. I didn’t realize it could happen twice.

And this time, I didn’t just lose hockey.

When I think about what my heart hurts the most over, Stef wins hands down.

“It’ll be okay son.” He squeezes my good shoulder and I nod, forcing back the tears in my eyes.

Babushka brings Dasha in after school. She does her homework in a chair next to my bed while I watch TV with the sound turned right down. I don’t want to talk to anyone and she doesn’t try to make me. Her presence alone makes me feel a little bit better though.

Babushka asks the nurse to warm some of her chicken soup up for me and I force myself to eat it to make her happy. But every time the door opens, I know who I hope to see standing there.

When visiting hours are over and my family have to leave, I accept that Stef isn’t coming in to see me. That I scared him away.

I’m about to try and get some sleep when I get a message from Pawlowski.

Stef had a panic attack at the performance. He’s okay. In Queens with his parents. Just thought you’d want to know. Call him man. You both need each other right now. Stop being stubborn.

Fuck. My eyes fill with tears for him. Poor baby. I should be there with him.

I call the nurse and tell her I want to sign myself out.

“It’s late,” she says. “The bed’s paid for the night and you have a serious injury.”

“I’m strapped up, my arm isn’t gonna fall off, someone needs me.”

“Whoever this someone is,” she says, her hands on her hips like she’s about to chew me out. “If they care about you, what they need is for you to rest. You can leave in the morning, with your meds and a surgery plan.”

She’s right. I don’t want her to be, but she is. “Yes Ma’am,” I say, letting her shoo me back into bed.

I call him instead. Like Pawlowski suggested. When the fuck did he become the smart one?

At first, I don’t think he’s gonna answer. My stomach flips with every ring. But then the ringing stops, and there’s his voice, saying my name.

I can’t speak at first. He has to say hello three times before I can reply.

“Stef. Hey. It’s me.”

“I know.” I think I hear a smile in his voice, but I can’t be sure.

“I tried to sign myself out of the hospital, they wouldn’t let me, I have to wait until tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“I need the doctor to sign off on my pain meds and give me a surgery plan or something, I don’t know.”

“No, I mean, why did you try to sign yourself out?”

“Oh, because Mischa said you had a panic attack.”

He’s silent and I think he might have gone. When he speaks again, his voice is little more than a whisper.

“You tried to sign yourself out of the hospital because I had a panic attack?”

“Yeah?”

“Why?”

My heart pounds as I think about him sitting there, stressed and sad. I need to be there with him.

I know what that means. The fact I’d make sacrifices for him. The fact hockey isn’t always my first thought when I wake up in the morning anymore.

“Because you need me and I’m not there.” I swallow, my mouth dry. “And I love you.”

There’s a quiet gasp that makes me smile. My breath hitches as I wait for his response. Was that a good gasp? An I’m-so-glad-you-said-that-because-I-love-you-too gasp? Or a shit-he-told-me-he-loves-me-now-he-wants-me-to-say-it-back gasp?

“Alexei I-”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to say it back.”

I realize that I don’t need him to. Not right now anyway. Not if he’s not ready. I’m happy to love him and wait for him to join me. We haven’t exactly had the easiest or smoothest of starts. And I haven’t exactly been the nicest or-

“I love you too. Obviously.” Obviously.

My whole body floods with warmth. Even my shoulder doesn’t hurt for a second.

“Oh.”

“Oh?” he laughs. Yes ! There’s that sound I love.

Stef being happy. I want that sound for the rest of my life.

Wanna be one of the many reasons he smiles and laughs.

Wanna be the only reason he moans – well I’ll give those keftedes a pass, he can moan over those, and I guess he can make himself moan. ..

“Why are you laughing?” he asks, that smile definitely in his voice now.

“I don’t know. I’m just happy. And I know everything’s fucked, I know. It’s just, I thought I’d lost you.”

“You haven’t lost me. I lost you.”

“No-”

“I shouldn’t have lied to you, I was scared and-”

“Stop it, I overreacted, you don’t need to explain.”

“I do I-”

“Steffy.”

He stops talking.

“Tell me what happened at the performance.”

He takes a deep breath before letting out a big sigh. “I messed it up. No, I didn’t even get on stage. I had a panic attack and started hyperventilating in the wings. In front of the whole orchestra and Professor Lisette. I must have looked like a crazy person, it was awful.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

He’s quiet for a second, and I hope he’s not crying. But if he is, then I’ll just have to comfort him. That’s my job now. And unlike working in a bank, it’s a job I actually want.

“I haven’t spoke to my parents about it yet. They just took me home and I said I wanted to be alone. I’m in my room and Ari’s downstairs with them, watching TV.”

“You should tell them how you feel. They’ll understand. They love you so much.”

He lets out a shaky breath. “I know, I just… don’t wanna let them down.” He sniffles and I listen, trying to be there for him, wishing I could put my good arm around him.

“You haven’t let them down. I promise you.”

I think about his big, warm family. The way his dad and mom and grandfather looked at him like he hung the moon because he was playing some folk song in a restaurant.

I know they don’t give a shit if he’s playing in some honky tonk or Carnegie Hall.

They just love him and want him to be happy. The way I do.

“What about your shoulder?”

“It’s over.” I say. “I have to get surgery and it’ll take four to six months to recover. Season will be over by then. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to graduate.”

“Surely school won’t kick you out?”

“I’m here on a hockey scholarship, they have no obligation to let me stay.”

“But you got that injury playing hockey, for them. Whatever happens, we won’t let them kick you out. You’ll graduate and pass with flying colors, the plan can still be the same Alexei, you can still get your finance internship. You don’t need to play hockey for that.”

I sigh, resting my head against the hard metal frame of the hospital bed. But I just wanted this one last season.

“And no more concussions!”

How is he making me laugh right now? My world has just ended, but during this conversation, it doesn't feel like it anymore.

“I wanna come and see you, but I don’t want to get between you and your dad.”

My jaw tenses. “I’ll never let my dad speak to you like that again. I promise.”

“Alexei-”

“I know he’s my dad, and I love him, but I’m an adult, and I have to stand up to him at some point.”

He’s quiet and I wonder if he’s scared. Papa can be intimidating to anyone who doesn’t know him. Shit, he can be intimidating to people who do know him.

I was scared of him as a kid. But I’m not scared of him now. I’m not that little boy who’d do anything to impress him or make him proud. Of course I still want him to be proud of me, but not at the cost of what’ll actually make me happy.

The next day, I have to wait for the doctor to do her rounds to get my pain meds and a date for surgery.

They’ve supported my shoulder as best they can in a sling and told me to take it easy.

No lifting anything with that arm for at least 12 weeks.

She doesn’t wanna let me sign out without someone to make sure I get home okay, so I wait for my dad to come and pick me up with the hockey gear I came in wearing in a bag.

I give it one last look before Papa picks it up.

Let myself acknowledge that I’ll never wear it again.

Let myself feel that pain and then let it go.

When we get out to the parking lot, Papa takes a set of car keys out of his pocket and starts unlocking an old Volvo.

He’s borrowed someone’s rusted hatchback with a plastic figurine of Jesus dangling from the rear-view mirror. It stinks of cigarettes and take out, and I wonder if Papa has been smoking again.

I watch his face as he drives. The lines around his eyes are a lot deeper than they were the last time I really looked at him. Is that because of me? Have I caused him that much stress?