She hums again. “Bring her home again soon, okay? Your father likes her. Won’t shut up about how she laughs at his stupid jokes.”
“They’re not stupid,” I protest.
“They’re terrible,” she says fondly. “But she laughs anyway. She fits, Scottie, and she’s good for you.”
I close my eyes.
Yeah… I know she is.
“I’ll bring her back,” I say. “I promise.” Though I’m not one hundred percent sure, I can make good on that promise. If I haveanything to say about it, I’ll be bringing her back home for years to come.
We say goodbye, and I hang up, staring at the dark screen for a long moment.
Dad’s trial. Mom’s voice. Katerina in my bed.
There’s just too much I can’t control, but the only other choice is to give up, and I won’t do that. I don’t think I even know how.
I polish off the coffee, grab my gear, set Katerina’s cup of tea by the bed and kiss her head just as she wakes, and head for the rink.
Weights slam against the rubber mats as music thumps loud enough to bleed through the soundproof walls. The Hawkeyes' gym is full of players who need to get in some extra workouts. Hunter, JP, and Luka are already here.
I’m halfway through a set of dumbbell presses when Luka walks by, towel slung over his shoulder, water bottle tucked under his arm. I drop the weights and wipe my hands on my shorts.
“Hey,” I call, trying to sound casual, which I immediately realize is suspicious because Luka stops like I’ve said something alarming.
“What?” he asks, narrowing his eyes like he already assumes I’m about to inconvenience him.
“I need to ask you something. Do you remember,” I start slowly, “what Russian candy your mom used to buy for Katerina at that old theater? The one she used to take Kat to watch old Audrey Hepburn movies?”
He blinks at me. Once, then twice.
“What?” he repeats, flat.
“I’m trying to find it. She mentioned it once, and I didn’t write it down, so I have no idea where to get it.”
Luka stares at me as if I’ve spoken in tongues.
“You’re trying to buy my sister… with Russian movie theater candy?”
“Yeah.”
“For what purpose exactly?”
“Because we’re gonna miss her opening night,” I say, grabbing the barbell and re-racking it. “We have that Salt Lake game. I want to make it up to her.”
Luka grimaces. “Shit. I forgot about that.”
“Yeah. So the candy is for—”
“To soften the blow?” Luka interrupts. “Ease the disappointment? You think a candy bar fixes missing a milestone in her career?”
“No,” I say, frowning. “The candy’s not the point.”
Luka folds his arms. “Uh-huh. So what is the point?”
I blow out a breath.
“I’m renting a theater,” I admit. “For a private showing.”
