Pucking Around: Chapter 95

The buzzer sounds the end of the game and I breathe a huge sigh of relief. What a goddamn mess. Jake ejected in the second period for fighting. Novikov took a skate to the face and is probably still off getting stitches. Midway through the third period, Toronto’s goalie left the net to the scream of the fans, skated over to the bench, folded himself over the boards, and puked his guts out. Play stopped as they got him off the ice and the backup took over.

Rays won, but it doesn’t feel like a victory. We all survived something out here tonight. Something horrible. The teams form a line to shake hands. I see Mäkinen and he sees me. He laughs and shakes his head, calling out in Finnish, “Did we just fall out of a tree?”

I can’t help but laugh too. That’s definitely what this feels like. I’m dazed and confused, sitting at the bottom of this tree of a game wondering how I managed to hit every limb on the way down. “You played like shit,” I say back.

“Speak for yourself, Kinnunen. You let in three goals.”

“None from you,” I reply. “And at least I kept down my lunch.”

He laughs again. “What a mess. The scouts will likely pass on us both.”

“They won’t. You’ll wear the blue and white,” I say, cuffing his shoulder.

“As will you, my friend,” he says before skating off.

I work my way back to the locker room, unsurprised that Rachel is still missing. She left with Novikov and didn’t come back to the bench. Doctor Tyler took her place. Jake isn’t in the locker room either. His stall is cleared out.

I go through all my routines, stripping out of my gear, before hitting the shower. As I’m in there, Coach Tomlin pops his head in. “Hey Mars, hurry up! The FIHA guys are out here waiting.”

My hands still in my hair, shampoo rinsing down the drain as I exhale. The hot spray of the water hits my face. I’m disappointed. This game is not the image I wanted them to have of me. But I can’t control it. I played my hardest while missing two of my best defenders. I let in three goals, but they were good shots. Toronto earned each one.

I shut off the water, staring at the tiled wall. This is my last chance at an Olympics. The scouts know it and so do I. Whatever happens will happen. Taking a deep breath, I turn, ready to face my fate.

“Thank you so much for agreeing to see us tonight.” Elias Laakso sits at the table across from me. He’s one of the top FIHA reps based here in North America. Next to him sits Harri Järvinen, part of the defensive coaching staff for the Leijonat, the Finnish Men’s National Team.

“My pleasure,” I say.

We’re seated in one of the arena offices up near the boxes. It’s a conference style room with a large table and wheeled chairs. Pictures of arena events frame the wall behind the men’s heads.

“That was a difficult game,” says Järvinen, while Laakso helps himself to the pitcher of ice water on the table. “The Rays lost two good defenders, but you played your hardest, Kinnunen.”

“Toronto earned their goals,” I reply.

“You’ve had some health issues this season,” says Laakso. “You’ve missed quite a few games. Away from the eyes of the agents and the coaches, can you tell us honestly: should we be concerned about your fitness?”

I take a breath, letting it out. Jake is right, no more hiding. “I have a minor labral tear in my hip,” I explain. “I’m rehabilitating it under the guidance of my team’s Barkley Fellow. She’s a specialist in hip injuries. She benched me as a precaution. I’ve been receiving treatment from the Cincinnati Sport Clinic. Between the cortisone shots and the joint gel, combined with a new physical therapy regime, I feel stronger than before. There is no reason to believe it will get worse. That being said,” I add, “None of us can guarantee our health from one day to the next.”

Järvinen is glancing down, swiping his finger across his tablet. “I see nothing here from the Cincinnati Sport Clinic.”

“An oversight,” I reply. “I’ll have Doctor Price email you everything again tonight.”

“Welcome, but unnecessary,” Laakso replies. “The starting spot is yours, Kinnunen. You’ve more than earned it. You’re the third highest ranking goalie in the NHL. You were first in the Liiga. You’ve been a rising star since your days on the junior league.”

“Add to that the fact that your record is utterly spotless,” Järvinen adds with a pleased nod. “You live and breathe for the game.”

“You do the Kinnunen family proud,” says Laakso. “You do Finland and the FIHA proud. The Leijonat jersey is yours…if you want it.”

“Well done, Kinnunen,” Järvinen adds with a smile. “It’s an honor well-earned.”

Their words flow around me like a morning mist. I breathe in, feeling empty. Did I hear them correctly? I’m on the team. I’ll wear the blue and white of Finland. I’ll play in the Olympics.

But my mind catches on Järvinen’s words. My record is utterly spotless. My personal record, he means. I have no record because, before Rachel, I had no life. I lived to play hockey. Nothing else mattered. But she blasted into my life with all the subtlety of an avalanche, and now I live for so much more.

“Needless to say, there will be need to be some coordination with the Rays as we move forward,” says Laakso. “But that will be a matter for your agent to arrange…assuming you accept our offer,” he adds with a raised brow.

I swallow, looking up from my folded hands to face the gentlemen across from me. “Before I make my answer, I feel I must warn you about something. You may even wish to rescind your offer.”

“Warn us?” says Laakso.

“Sounds ominous,” Järvinen adds with a level gaze.

I nod, slowly piecing together the words in my mind. None of this matters if I can’t share it with Rachel. I want her at my side for every step of this journey. Jake and Caleb too. I will not hide what we are. I chose the Kinnunen’s as my family. Now I choose again. I choose Rachel. Even if it costs me this chance, I will choose her.

“As you both know, I am a private person. I have a spotless record because I don’t share my life with the world. I am not reckless. I live well within my means. I give generously to charities, never attaching my name.”

“Yes, we know,” Laakso murmurs, his fair brows raised in curiosity.

“The Kinnunen name is synonymous with hockey the world over,” I go on. “I’ve worked hard to keep it that way. I have never been involved in a scandal.”

“You are Finnish,” Laakso reasons with a nod.

“These Americans all care about the drama,” Järvinen scoffs with a wave of his hand. “Everything is an opportunity to aggrandize oneself.”

I nod, clearing my throat. “All that to say…it is likely you will soon hear my name quite a lot in the press. I assure you now that there is no scandal.”

“He’s right, this does sound ominous,” Järvinen teases.

“Speak your mind, Kinnunen,” Laakso offers gently. “We promise to listen and reserve judgement.”

I lean forward, elbows on the table. “Do either of you know of the rock band The Ferrymen?”