The happy expression on her face was a little reminiscent of the expression she’d worn when I made her come.It was adorable.
Until we heard the voice that made her flinch.
“Ivana Volkova!”
We both turned as a large man strode towards our table, his dark hair mussed, his nose red and bulbous.I’d been around hockey long enough to recognize that it was Yvonne’s father, Sergey Volkov.
I’d also heard the rumors about his drinking.I wrinkled my nose as I got a faint whiff of alcohol and cigarette smoke.His clothes were clean and neat, and he didn’t seem drunk, so maybe the alcohol was coming from his pores.
Yvonne pushed to her feet, her entire body rigid as her father said something to her in Russian.I stood up as well, as Yvonne switched to English, her voice colder than I’d ever heard it.
“What are you doing here, Sergey?”
Her father’s nostrils flared at the use of his first name.
“I am consultant for Russian team,” he answered in a thick accent.
Yvonne didn’t ask him to join us, so neither did I.They were both ignoring me anyway, locked in some kind of a staring contest.
“Did you know I was here?”she asked.“At the Games?”
“I saw name on roster.American name,” he said the last part with distaste.“I told yourmamaI would see you here.”
“She didn’t come?”Yvonne asked.
“Nyet.”
A long uncomfortable silence stretched between them.I cleared my throat, mostly to remind Yvonne that I was here for her, but she didn’t take her eyes off her father.They were still staring at each other with open hostility, both of them seemingly poised for a fight.
“This is Toni Lindstrom, my teammate,” she finally said.“Toni this is my… father, Sergey Volkov.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said politely.
He spared me a quick glance but didn’t reply.Asshole.He was probably one of those old school guys who believed women didn’t belong in sports.I’d run into a lot of that over the course of my career.
“You play Russian women today,da?”
I was sure he knew that, but Yvonne played along.“Yes we do.”
Her voice was cold as ice.
“I will come to see if you are better now,” he said arrogantly.“Before, you make many mistakes.Not good.”
“Yvonne is one of the best players in professional women’s hockey,” I said firmly, defending her.“You don’t get to the International Games – and selected team captain -- if you’re not among the best in the world.”
This earned me another dismissive look from Volkov, but again, he didn’t respond.
“I will see you later, Ivana.”
He said something else in rapid-fire Russian, something that sounded harsh, then turned on his heel and strode off.
Yvonne continued to stand still as a statue, her face completely expressionless, the only hint that she was upset the faint tremor in her fingers.We both waited until Volkov left the cafeteria, then I walked around the table and put my hands on her shoulders, pressing her down into her chair.She sat with her head bowed, fingers twisted together in her lap, a forlorn look on her face that broke my heart.
After a few more minutes of silence I spoke up.
“So that’s your father, huh?”
“Yeah.”
