“Some of us can see you,” Tiago said stiffly.
I stuck my hand out toward the man who was touching me. “Jonah Adams.”
“Ivan Maximov. Friends here call me Vanya. Or Vanny. Or Ivo. Too many nicknames. I’m be your buddy today, yes?”
He was…a lot. But friendly. I’d give him that. And he didn’t hesitate when he took my hand and shook it.
“Who else is here so I’m not making an ass of myself right now?”
I was the only fully blind member of the team. The closest after me was Andrey. He was also the only other guy on the team who was born blind, so we related a bit harder than the others who were still dealing with the grief and loss.
“Sven, center,” Tiago said, and another hand took mine. “And I think you know?—”
“He knows me.” Ah, that voice. That fucking voice. I startled when Alexio took my hand anyway, and he squeezed a little too gently, which pissed me off, so I tightened my grip until he matched me.
“Okay, enough shaking hands,” Vanya said, pulling me back away from Alexio. His fingers slipped out of mine, and he faded back into the void. “Come. You show me how to kit up. Can’t see, yes? There is goggles for me to be blind too?”
He sounded weirdly eager.
“I have no idea what’s happening,” I told him. “I was told to be here and play nice, so that’s what I’m going to do.”
Vanya was stuck to my side as I made my way to my stall, and I felt him sit beside me. I didn’t have a lot of experience with the Russian players. They were all over the NHL, but the PPHL was still gathering any kind of global recognition. Hell, itwas only in the last couple of years that they even allowed blind hockey in the Olympics, and not every country participated.
“Is okay. You talk to me now, yes? I’m reading a lot—all night. Go on internet and watch so many games. But I also watch games here when I can. But is hard—have sick dog.”
My heart immediately twisted. “Oh. Oh no. Why?”
“He’s old,” Vanya said. “Going to die soon, so I’m taking him chicken nuggets every day, coffee shop puppuccino every day. You know? Make him happy?”
“Why do I love that?” I said. I felt a little better. “I have a cat. You want to see?”
“Yes! You have picture. Show me. Cats…they don’t like me. But I love.”
I pulled out my phone and tapped on the screen, moving to my photos. I didn’t even need to figure out which was which, considering the only thing I ever took photos of was Athena and the occasional up-my-nose pic when I accidentally triggered my camera.
“Here. Go nuts while I get changed.”
He snatched the phone out of my hand, and after a second, I heard him groan. “Jonah, I’m not understand this…this screen. Is not moving. Just talking to me.”
“Oh shit?—”
“I can help,” came a soft voice. It always took me a second to recognize Matty. He was our newest rookie—new to the PPHL and to sight loss. His condition had come on suddenly, rapidly, and he’d been devastated. He’d been drafted and had been on Seattle’s farm team for the last three years.
“Oh yes. You can help me,” Vanya said, then walked off.
That let me focus on stripping down and getting my pads ready. I was able to take a few breaths until one inhale came with a sinus cavity full of fucking cologne.
“Brut.”
“It’s not Brut,” Alexio grumbled.
“I see with my nose. Trust me, it is.”
He muttered something under his breath in a language I didn’t know. “I need to talk to you.”
“Can it wait?”
“No.”
