Chapter 1
Matt Lawson has a pretty new linemate.
Nikolai had seen the trade notification, last week, when he scrolled past the Huskies' post on Echo.
The kid is young, and tall, with curly hair and a big toothy smile.
Nikolai had snorted at his Oklahoma hometown having some funny-sounding name and kept scrolling.
He hadn't realized then the kid was going to be playing on the Huskies' top line.
For God's sake, he's a
kid.
But there he is, moving into the offensive zone opposite Lawson in the highlight playing on the phone one of the Wolves defensemen is holding out in front of where Nikolai is sitting half-dressed in his locker room stall.
The Valdorian's a good skater, for a big guy.
The highlight shows a two-on-one rush, with just one defenseman skating backwards between Lawson and the Valdorian.
When the kid slides the puck to Lawson, it clicks like a magnet onto Lawson's tape.
The defender jabs his stick at it, tries to smack it away from Lawson.
Lawson spins away from the poke check.
He doesn't even look over his shoulder as he drops the pass behind his legs, right in front of the net.
The kid is already there, as Lawson must have known he would be.
He wrists the puck top corner, faster than the goaltender's glove can rise to meet it.
1-0, Huskies, and the game clock says it's been less than thirty seconds since puck drop.
Petrov, who is leaning against the side of Nikolai's locker with the hand he's not using to hold the phone out, says in Muscovyn, "Tell Coach he's got to match me up with them tomorrow.
There's no way Caron is keeping up with
Lawson is jumping into the kid's arms.
He's big.
He hefts Lawson up.
Lawson's skates are still dangling above the ice when the rest of his teammates pile in around them to celebrate.
"Voronov." Petrov snaps his fingers in front of the phone.
"Are you listening to me?
That top pairing Coach's been running, these fast little fuckers in Halifax will kill them.
Are you going to tell him?
Are you going to tell him it should be me and Dubois matched up with that first line for the road game?"
"I'll mention it," Nikolai snaps, pushing Petrov's hand away.
"Get out of my face."
"Show him that highlight.
The Valdorian is a problem."
"It wasn't even that good of a goal," Nikolai grumbles, turning away, grabbing for the remainder of the pads he'd been halfway through putting on when Petrov had stormed up to his stall and shoved a Huskies highlight reel in his face.
"It was Lawson doing all of the work."
Echo has noticed that Matt Lawson has a pretty new linemate.
Nikolai discovers this in bed later that night, under his comforter in the dark, with his phone glowing inches from his face.
He's still moist from his shower.
The pillow is getting damp beneath his wet hair.
The Huskies account has been posting regularly about Lawson and the Valdorian, and it's not just hockey highlights.
There's a shot of the two of them playing sewer ball in some concrete arena hallway.
There's a clip of them sitting side-by-side on stools in front of a grey backdrop, holding stacks of index cards the caption says feature questions from fans.
Lawson looks small in the preview, the way he's perched on that stool with his feet tucked under him, especially compared to the way the Valdorian kid is stretching his long legs out.
Nikolai clicks play.
Lawson is smiling, a small, genuine grin that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle up, as the pretty Valdorian lifts up a card and reads a question asking whether they start taping their stick blades at the heel or the toe.
The Valdorian lowers the card, starts talking while gesturing animatedly at Lawson.
The video isn't subtitled.
The Valdorian speaks very quickly.
Nikolai can't quite parse what he's saying.
He gets the gist— Lawson is a perfectionist, Lawson cares too much about his stick tape— but can't piece some of the words together in a way that makes sense.
Lawson must be able to.
Whatever the Valdorian is saying is making him laugh.
He reaches out a finger, scrubs back along the video timeline, and watches the Valdorian answer the question again.
The Valdorian, when describing how quickly Matt goes for the tape between periods, says something about a "beeline." A one point, when Lawson tries to interject, the Valdorian holds out one hand and says, "Slow your roll."
"Your roll," Nikolai mouths.
He pages away to Searchify and starts typing.
They both turn out to be idioms.
They seem all but nonsensical, but they'd somehow made Matt laugh.
Nikolai hates English idioms.
He pages back to the video and watches, again, as Lawson chuckles so forcefully it rocks him back on his stool.
It hadn't even been that funny, really.
Nikolai can't remember if Lawson's ever laughed like that around him.
The comments below are full of heart-eyed emojis and requests for
more of these two please!
Nikolai closes out of the video, frowning.
Impulsively, he pulls up his list of recently dialed calls, taps at Olga's name.
It must be very early morning, in Muscovy, but she still picks up on the fourth ring.
"Hello."
"Why aren't you in Detroit?" Nikolai asks.
Olga laughs.
There's a distant thumping, somewhere behind her.
Then the sound of a door shutting, and sudden quiet.
"Because the clubbing is better in Tver, obviously.
Are you missing home?"
"Fuck, no," Nikolai says, rolling over in bed to stare up at the dark ceiling.
"You're still out?"
"Yes, old man," Olga says.
"You're in bed?"
"Morning skate tomorrow."
"You should be asleep.
You're traveling to Halifax tomorrow, aren't you?"
"Yes," Nikolai sighs.
There's a crackle, probably from a cigarette being lit.
A long pause.
Then Olga exhales into the phone and says, "What's wrong?"
"I'm sick of English," Nikolai says.
"I don't want to speak English ever again."
Olga says, "I've told you before, you're too hard on yourself.
Your English is fine."
"It's the idioms.
I fucking hate their idioms."
"I learned a new one the other day," Olga says.
Nikolai can hear her take another drag.
He pictures her outside whatever nightclub she'd been in, leaning against the building with her cigarette between her lips.