When I’d broken my jaw, I’d thought having my mouth wired shut would be the worst part. And ithadsucked; going from eating like a hockey player to subsisting on a liquid diet had been awful. Even when I wasn’t eating, just having my damn jaw wired shut was miserable.
But then it had healed and the wire had come off, and now I couldn’t chew or yawn without my jaw clicking. I had wicked headaches. Even my ear ached sometimes.
TMJ, the docs said. Correctible, but it didn’t happen overnight, so yay, that was something I could look forward to.
At least I could eat again. If I never saw a protein shake again, it would be too fucking soon.
I tried not to complain too much, though. Especially not around my boyfriend, who was about to lose his mind from being unable to skate. Thanks to a setback, he’d had to have a second surgery, and now his recovery was pushed back another eight weeks or so. The most optimistic estimates had him being reactivated in December. His physical therapists and hisorthopedist, as well as the Seattle Rainiers’ team doctor, all thought January was more realistic.
Needless to say, Vasily was not a happy camper.
Early on, I worried our relationship would never get off the ground. We’d had like twenty-four hours together before we’d both been hurt, and for a while, we’d both just been miserable from our respective injuries. We’d both been stir crazy because there was nothing more restless than a hockey player who couldn’t play hockey.
At one point, Vasily started to withdraw a little. He wasn’t hostile toward me, but he seemed to be pulling away just a bit. Not wanting to let a problem fester, I’d asked, and after a few attempts, I finally got the truth out of him.
“You wouldn’t be like this”—he’d gestured at his own mouth—“if not for me.”
“That’s not true at all.” I’d taken his hand and kissed it. “I didn’t have to fight that asshole.”
He’d met my eyes with an expression that was both sweet and sad. “But would you have fought him that hard just for a teammate? Because things were—we weren’t just teammates.”
I’d given that some thought, because it was a valid point. Finally, I’d admitted, “Yes, I was extra pissed because he’d hurtyou. I won’t lie. But to tell you the truth, I’d have kicked his ass no matter who he’d done that to. It was a dirty play, and that’s the kind of shit that ends careers. I’m not letting that go unanswered.”
As soon as I’d said it, I’d worried he’d be mad, or that he’d think I didn’t actually care enough about him to go to blows like that. I mean, what was more romantic than fighting someone because he’d hurt my man?
To my great relief, though, it had apparently been what Vasily needed to hear. He’d pulled me into his arms, sighed, and kissed my temple.
“I would have done it too,” he’d whispered. “No matter who he’d fucked up.” He’d paused. “But he might’ve needed a few extra stitches if it had been you.”
I’d laughed, and we’d cuddled, and things had been smoother after that. In fact, despite all the unpleasant excitement there at the beginning, our relationship fell into a comfortably boring groove. It became… normal. We drove each other to doctor’s appointments. We went to the gym together and fussed over if the other was overdoing it. We grocery shopped and cooked together. By about four months into this, we were talking about me letting my lease lapse on my apartment because I was already spending most nights at his place.
The fact that our sex life was limited for a while actually added a bit of excitement. It was something to look forward to. Much like returning to hockey, it was a light at the end of the tunnel for our unpleasant recoveries. In fact, it had been a nice milestone in those recoveries since the sex had been back well before the hockey would be.
Or maybe I was just desperately trying to find as many silver linings as I could to things being derailed the way they were. Staying optimistic helped me get through the bullshit, and it seemed to help Vasily, too. Now, with my jaw fully healed (aside from the TMJ) and Vasily’s leg much better than before, things were as smooth and easy as any relationship could be. We’d made it over a huge bump before we’d even had a chance to experience our honeymoon phase, and now we were going strong.
It occurred to me more than once that had we hooked up that first night at the club, we would’ve had that one night together and then the awkward two weeks of his conditioning loan. But his hesitation had saved us from that, and now… here we were.
All things considered, I really couldn’t complain. And at least I’d been able to play some hockey before the season ended. I’drecovered just in time to join my team for the playoffs. Not that we’d advanced very far, but whatever—it was good to be back on the ice. Good to be eating normal food again; having my mouth wired shut had seriously been bullshit.
It had especially been bullshit when Vasily’s mom came to stay with us and take care of him (much to his protests). She was lovely, and her cooking smelled absolutely amazing. It had been kind of torturous to see and smell all that incredible food that I couldn’t eat, but she’d promised to cook all of it and then some when we came to visit later this summer.
“She’s not joking,” Vasily had told me when we’d settled into bed that night. “She will make you more food than you can ever eat, and then insist on making more.”
“I’m a hockey player,” I’d replied. “There’s no end to what I can eat.”
He’d eyed me. “I wouldn’t recommend dropping that gauntlet with my mother.”
Duly noted.
I’d also noticed during that visit that she called him Vasya, which was apparently the diminutive of Vasily. I’d had about five minutes to be kind of hurt that he hadn’t asked me to use his diminutive like most of my Russian teammates usually had (unless they had a nickname we all used instead).
And of course, like most things in a relationship, all it took was a little communication to clear it up:
“I just like Vasily better,” he’d said with a shrug. “But she’s Mama, so…”
Fair enough.
The dickhead who’d slew-footed Vasily and broken my jaw wound up with an eight-game suspension and the league-maximum fine. Turned out he had a history of intent-to-injure penalties, and Player Safety had finally had enough. Rumor had it he’d also been told during his hearing that another offense likethis would render him ineligible for a contract renewal. No one had been able to verify if that had happened or if it was even a thing the PHL did, but it wouldn’t have surprised me.
