Nickolai's Noel (11 page)

“I like my dress. My mama’s gonna buy me shoes and a hat. And the Easter Bunny will come.”

“And you’ll be lovely.” Grandmama came in and sat on the opposite end of the sofa from Noel. “Constance, you’re a lucky girl to have an aunt who can make such beautiful things for you.”

“Will you be here for the Easter Bunny, Aunt Noel?”

“Of course she will!” That came from Deborah.

Noel didn’t contradict her mother, but she’d have to see about that. Nickolai had a home game the night before and a road game the following Tuesday. If he wasn’t too tired for a one-day turnaround trip, it might be time to bring him to the Debutante Den.

Ah, finally. The Sound was taking the ice to warm-up. Noel turned the volume up. There he was—third on the ice, like always, with his stick in front of him, blade up. He wouldn’t put the blade down until he’d skated a lap around each end zone face-off circle, one clockwise and the other counterclockwise.

The camera was tight on his face, and the announcers were talking about him. Unfortunately, Deborah was talking as well.

Noel caught only the words
goals, penalties, and playoffs
from the television, but she heard everything Deborah said.

“I was absolutely astonished when you told me what those Beaufords did to that beautiful plantation house—putting in a commercial kitchen and modernizing a whole wing!”

“They did that?” Grandmama looked up from her needlepoint. “What a shame.”

“My castle wall came off!” Constance wailed.

“It’s okay, baby,” Paige said. “See? We just need to put this piece back.”

Nickolai took a few practice shots, and now he was gliding next to the boards.

“Noel, did you hear what I said?” Deborah asked.

The camera switched to the Devils’ goalie. Oh, well. She’d set up the DVR at home because she’d known it would be like this.

“Yes, Mother. I think Jackson’s parents and aunt did what was necessary to keep their home and take care of their children. I admire them for starting the events business.”

“But now … those boys have made a fortune. They could close that business and restore that house.”

“I think they like their house like it is. And most of it is preserved.”

Ah, there he was—fidgeting a little during the National Anthem. He usually didn’t do that.

“
Most
is worse than none.”

Whatever
. It was time for the puck drop, and Nickolai was in position for the face-off.

“And there he is, folks, Nickolai Glazov,” the announcer said. “His teammates call him Glaz and say he’s coolheaded and aggressive in equal parts. In his second season with the Sound, he has scored at least one goal for eleven games straight and spent only two minutes in the penalty box. Can he do it again tonight? And will it be enough to guarantee the Nashville Sound a chance to play for the Stanley Cup?”

The other announcer—a pretty blonde woman—was replying, but it was lost in a discussion about where the Verden clan should have lunch tomorrow after church.

The puck was down and Nickolai had control. He passed it off to Mikhail Orlov, but then the Devils took it and drove it back down the ice. And so it went, back and forth as it always did. Noel knew just enough about the game to be hungry for the commentary, but not enough that she could get the nuances without it. There was a lot of puck passing back and forth, attempted and blocked shots, and players slamming into each other and against the boards.

Now Constance was crying. “I need a princess for my castle!”

Paige picked her up and went to the rocking chair in the corner.

“Someone’s tired,” Deborah said.

“I know,” Paige said as she rocked and patted Constance’s back. “But I need to keep her up until Webb gets home so he can see her.”

“And when is that going to be?” Grandmama asked. “That boy works incessantly.”

“I want my daddy!”

What? Nickolai was on the bench, and Noel hadn’t even realized it. Wait. He was coming back on the ice.

“Webb will be here soon,” Paige said. “I got a text a few minutes ago.”

And so it went, back and forth with no score. Sometime around the end of the first period, Webb came in, briefcase in hand, looking almost translucent, the way very fair people do when they’re exhausted. Constance flew across the room into his arms.

He lifted her above his head and said, “Daddy loves you, baby.” Then he brought her in for a close embrace.

Time stood still for Noel. Suddenly, it wasn’t Webb and Constance she was seeing, but Nickolai and some elusive child with dark hair and electric blue eyes. Her heart went into a tailspin.

But a voice from the television brought her back to reality. “And Glazov scores! The Sound is finally on the board!” She’d missed it, but she saw him with his stick raised above his head, surrounded by his teammates. The period ended, and Noel finally threaded her needle and picked up Constance’s dress.

Webb and Paige took Constance up to bed and returned as the second period started. Webb sat at his desk and opened his laptop. No, no, he assured everyone. The game and their conversation wouldn’t bother him.

And the conversation continued. Of course it did. There was a bridal tea next week for the Bartholomew boy’s fiancée, and Mindy Bartholomew didn’t like her. Lisa Lawrence was pregnant again, and everyone was hopeful because this time she’d made it through the first trimester. Noel finally gave up and joined in. Might as well, though she sewed and kept an eye on the television. It was a dog-eat-dog game. Sound wing, Jan Voleck, went to the penalty box for fighting but didn’t stay long because the Devils scored on the power play, tying the game. Then the Devils scored again, and Bryant Taylor tied it up for the Sound. And, through it all, until the end of the period, Nickolai was everywhere—shooting, assisting, and slamming Devils into the boards.

The third period was a frenzied study in frustration—until the midway point when Nickolai scored again. This time Noel didn’t miss it, and she jumped to her feet and applauded, causing a halt to the discussion of the American Girl fashion show the Junior League was planning.

“My, Noel,” Grandmama said. “You certainly are excited.”

“If the Sound wins, they go to the playoffs,” Webb said from behind his computer. “Could mean the Stanley Cup.”

“And that’s Glaz’s second goal of the night! Could he get a hat trick?” the announcer said.

And the answer to that was yes. Nickolai’s third goal came with two minutes left on the clock. The siren blasted and hats sailed onto the ice—not as many as there would have been on home ice, of course, but a decent number.

“Why are those people throwing their hats away?” Paige asked.

Noel clutched her heart and swallowed her tears. “He scored a third goal. It’s called a hat trick. Fans throw their hats on the ice.”

“Why is it called a hat trick?”

Noel laughed. “You know, I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it. Do you know, Webb?”

Webb laughed a little, too. “No. I might need to look that up later.”

“I wouldn’t want to throw my hat,” Paige said and went back to her magazine.

You would if you were in love with a hockey player.
Noel wished she were wearing a hat so she could throw it. Maybe she’d do that when she and Nickolai watched the game together later. He would laugh.

Two minutes was a long time to play hockey, but, though the Devils scored again, time ran out.

With a 4–3 win, the Sound was going to the playoffs.

“Well, that’s that,” Deborah said. “I thought I might serve a little second dessert before we go to bed. Bad, of course, but Noel’s lemon tarts were so good, and Webb didn’t have any. Shall we move to the parlor?” She held her hand out for the remote that Noel held.

“Wait!” Noel jerked the remote from her mother’s reach and turned up the volume. The reporter had caught Nickolai as he came off the ice. “Be quiet!”

He was out of breath, sweating, and his hair curled around the edges of his helmet.

“There’s our guy!”
her naughty bits cheered.
“He’s delicious. Get up and go to New Jersey! Try to get there before he showers!”

“Shut up! I want to hear what he says.”

Miraculously, the Verden women were silent and had directed their attention to the television. Webb even stopped typing.

“We’re here with Nickolai Glazov,” the reporter said, “center for the Nashville Sound and man of the night. Glaz, you’ve been the man of the night a lot lately.”

Nickolai briefly closed his eyes and tilted his head. “Nice of you so say so, Chuck, but not so true.”

“We love it when he’s all tired and excited and his accent gets heavy like that,”
her naughty bits said with a sigh.

“Will you, for once, pipe down?”

“No can do. Biologically impossible.”

“This is the twelfth straight game you’ve scored in,” Chuck the reporter said. “And your third hat trick of the season. How does that feel?”

Even through his visor, Nickolai’s blue eyes stood out like sapphires in the snow. It was hard to believe that he was
hers,
and might be hers forever.

“Meh.” Nickolai shrugged and leaned on his stick. “I don’t think so much about personal achievements, you know? That means nothing without team achievements. I’m proud to be a Nashville Sound. The Devils played good, but we achieved tonight. They achieved, but we achieved more.”

“Speaking of your team—tonight the Sound secured a place in the playoffs. How do you feel about that?”

“Is good. Really good. But there are games to play this season. That’s what I think of next.”

Someone off camera yelled, “Hey, Glaz! Over here.” Nickolai looked over his shoulder and waved before turning back to the reporter.

“One more question for you, Nickolai, and then I’ll let you go. You’ve been performing well all season, but since the beginning of the year, you’ve been a man on fire. How do you account for that?”

He laughed and let his face settle into a smile. “I’m a happy man.” Then he looked away from the reporter and straight into the camera. “Hello, to my Noel. She’s with her family in Kentucky, watching on TV. I share this moment with you,
zvezda moya. Vot moe serce. Ono polno lubvi.”

The reporter laughed. “Any chance you’ll translate for us?”

Nickolai raised a gloved hand as he walked away. “You say
one
more question, Chuck! Next time, you think, no?”

But Noel knew what it meant—at least most of it. And it warmed her heart, so much that she barely noticed the silence in the room around her.

“Do you know that man, Noel?” Deborah said. “Was he talking about you?”

The reporter on television laughed. “Always a pleasure to chat with Glaz. And it looks like he has a good luck charm we didn’t know about.” He paused and placed a hand on the earpiece of his headset. “And I believe we have a translation from Shelly up in the booth.”

“Noel—”

“Mother! Quiet!” Paige said.

Oh, damn! It was a safe bet there would be no lemon tarts served in the parlor tonight. Maybe they’d get it wrong. Not that that would help at this point.

The camera switched to the blonde commentator. “Indeed, we do, Chuck. She picked up a piece of paper. What Glaz said—and don’t hold me responsible if I get this wrong—was, ‘I share this moment with you, my star. Here is my heart. It is full of love.’ She laughed. “Almost as poetic off the ice as on, wouldn’t you say? So if the Sound does win it all, who knows? On the day Glaz gets to have to have the Stanley Cup, maybe he and his Noel will drink their wedding Champagne from it.”

The other reporter in the booth had the look of a man who was tired of romance speculation and wanted to talk about hockey; Noel was with him. “Odder things have been done with that cup, for sure.” And he began to talk stats and rankings, while an inset on the screen showed a group of Sound fans in the arena celebrating.

Meanwhile, back in Louisville …

“Noel! Did you hear what I said? Do you know that man?”

“Yes.” She muted the sound but kept an eye on the screen in case there was a chance to get another glimpse at Nickolai.

Paige got up and came to sit on the floor at Noel’s feet, folding her long legs into the crisscross position. She’d gotten all the height in the family.

“So,” Paige said, “how long has this been going on?”

“Not long. A few months.”

“A few months!” Deborah exploded. “You have been seeing this man—this hockey player—for
a few months
. We talk to you at least once a day. Yet, you have not seen fit to tell your family? Are you ashamed of him for some reason?”

“Ashamed? Mama, did you see him? Did you hear what they said about him? Why would I be ashamed?”

“I don’t know, Noel. I don’t know anything about him—because you haven’t told us. We had no idea you were even dating anybody—much less someone who would go on television and declare his love in a foreign language!”

“Nolie.” Paige used her childhood name for Noel. “We don’t want you to get hurt. You don’t know how men like that are.” She squeezed Noel’s hand.

“Men like what?” Noel took her hand back. “You don’t know anything about him. It’s not like I’m fifteen and have rolled up on the back of some juvenile delinquent’s stolen motorcycle.”

“It’s just that you’re not very worldly,” Paige said. “And pro athletes are known for their big egos and bad behavior.”

I’m worldly enough that I can use the Internet and help you go behind your husband’s back so you can keep being a sorority girl.
She didn’t say that of course. She never would.

“Noel, dear.” Grandmama continued to work on her needlepoint. At least she sounded somewhat calm. “Where did you meet this young man? Who are his people?”

“He doesn’t have any people. He grew up in an orphanage. And I met him at Beauford Bend on Christmas Eve.” Not exactly the truth, but close enough. There was no way she was going into what brought him into Piece by Piece that first time.

“Christmas Eve!” Deborah said. “Is that why you didn’t come home for Christmas? You always did like a stray.”

“Whoa, Noel!”
her naughty bits said.
“Don’t let her call our guy a stray!”