Page 147 of Wicked Serve

We walk down the tunnel. He’s right, the moment I actually see the ice from this perspective, I feel weak in the knees. Putting on the Sharks jersey at the press conference yesterday was nice, but this is better. Way better.

I just wish that Isabelle was by my side.

After Mom helped me pack—and told Grandfather in no uncertain terms that I was signing the contract—I nearly went to Isabelle’s place. It took all of my self-control to head straight to the airport instead. I feel the distance like a physical ache behind my ribs. I know she’s upset, but if we have a shot in hell at making it, I need to get my head on straight. I love her too much to be selfish about this.

When I’ve started to untangle the knots in my head and my heart, then I’ll come home to her.

Forever, like I promised.

“Kid?” Hal says, giving my back another thump. “You listening?”

I blink. “Sorry, what?”

“Think you can handle this? It’ll be fast. The contact will be harder.”

I just nod. It’s not my job that I’m worried about. I’ve been ready for this for months. It might take some getting used to, but if there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s play hockey.

I wonder if Dad will find a way to watch it. If he’s back in St. Petersburg by now.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious, if I didn’t care—but tonight, I won’t be playing for him. I’m playing for my old teammates and coaches at UMass. My McKee teammates. Coach Ryder. Cooper.

Isabelle most of all.

“You don’t have to stay, you know,” I tell Cricket as she follows me down the sidewalk. I pull open the door to the building, ignoring the lurch of my stomach. “I thought you wanted to check out the Winchester Mystery House.”

“One, we’re going there together.” She holds the door open for an older person with a walker before catching up to me. Her glasses are a cheery pink today, which keeps reminding me of the whirlwind of pink that follows Isabelle around. “Two, therapy is exhausting, so it never hurts to have someone else to drive you home. And three, when I’m in Dubai for six months, it’ll be a little hard to hang out.”

I stop on the threshold of the therapist’s office. “Dubai?”

“Whenever I want to strangle the old man, I’ll just curse him out in Russian.” She beams as the receptionist whips up her head. “Maybe I can bully him into an early retirement.”

I sign in with the receptionist. “Ignore her. She doesn’t know how to behave in public.”

“Ooh, Nik, they have Coastal Living. You know I love the Nancy Meyers aesthetic.”

I drop into the seat next to her. I have to admit that it’s nice to have her here with me. When I made the appointment, I nearly called the office back right away to cancel. However necessary, nothing sounds more uncomfortable than telling a stranger about my past.

“Maybe getting a dog would be enough. That might heal me.”

“No. Shush.” Cricket pulls my hands away from my face. “Nik, this is a good thing. A really good thing.”

“Nikolai?” The receptionist walks around the desk. “I can bring you to Dr. Reyes now.”

My cousin gives me an uncharacteristically serious look as I stand. “I’ll be here waiting. You got this.”

When I asked the team’s performance coach for therapist recommendations, it took all of my grit to clarify that I was looking for someone who specialized in childhood trauma. Domestic abuse. It was the first time I said it aloud that way—that ugly phrase—but she just nodded once and gave me Dr. Reyes’s name.

I wipe my palms on my jeans as the receptionist shows me to the right door.

It’s just one session. One session to try it, to hopefully set me down a path that will make it possible to move on with my life. Playing in actual NHL games the past week and a half has been hard, but this is ten times harder.

This is for me and for Isabelle and I can do it.

I knock on the door.

A woman my mother’s age opens it. “Hi, Nikolai. Come in and make yourself comfortable, okay?”

My heart has started to sprint, but something about her welcoming smile helps me walk the last few steps into the room. She gestures for me to sit on a love seat. I settle on it stiffly, taking in the room. It’s done up in shades of blue and gray. There’s a framed photograph on her desk of her at a Sharks game, wearing a home sweater and cheering.

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