At the beginning of June, I fly back to Boston to sit on the bench and cheer on the Hawks as we play in the Stanley Cup Finals.
“Missed you, man!” Panda smacks me on the back when I enter the locker room. A general cheer goes up and I grin and thank the guys for welcoming me back with open arms.
I know if it wasn’t me, a guy who’s given most of my life to this team, and I wasn’t injured, I wouldn’t have been given the green light from the Hawks to stay in Norway and settle Farmor’s estate. But now, the team knows I’m not returning, that this is my last season, and that my life is headed in a new direction, across the Atlantic.
To be received so warmly from the men who’ve been my family for more years than my own is touching and fills me with emotion. I sigh; I am getting too damn soft in my old age.
James wraps an arm around my neck and for the first time, I think I understand a fraction of the sheer devastation he felt losing Layla. Because of Claire, I know Rielle is happy and whole, working at a photography studio in New York. Her happiness brings me comfort. To think the world could spin without Rielle would gut me and I realize now just how broken my old friend is.
I place James in a headlock and he laughs, punching me softly in the ribs. “Don’t want to hurt you, old man.”
I snort and drop my hold.
James lifts his chin at me. “How are you holding up? All healed?”
I nod, letting my shoulder rotate. It still clicks and cracks but it’s functioning again. Not that I’ll ever skate onto the ice as an NHL Hawk and give it a test, but it works for my everyday use. “Knee’s doing okay too,” I tell him.
“Good. It’s good to see you.”
“I’ll be cheering louder than anyone in the stands for you guys tonight.” I smack the back of Easton’s head.
He turns to me and grins. “Don’t waste up all your lung capacity in one go. It’s only the first game of the series.”
I flip him the middle finger but agree, “Fair enough.”
Easton watches me curiously for a long beat and drops his voice. “She’s doing okay, man.”
My chest seizes at the mention of Rielle, even though he didn’t say her name. My guy still gives me regular updates about Rielle’s safety but it’s not the same as knowing her thoughts. I think of her all the time and wonder how she’s coping with her new norm, her relationships with her family members. “You sure?”
“Yeah. She’s happy in New York. Claire misses her fiercely, but Ri needed this separation from Boston. From reminders of you.”
I frown at his word choice. Does she hate me that much? Will she ever forgive me for the sham of a marriage I dragged her through?
“Rielle needed a change of scenery. Some time to grow. Some time to heal,” East continues, tapping me on the chest as he stows the last of his belongings in his locker. “Let’s go win the Cup.”
I tip my head and force a grin. “Hell yeah.”
I follow the team out to the ice and breathe in the cold air, holding it in my lungs. I take in the cheering crowd, the excited expressions, the jerseys the fans rock. Some of them still represent with my number and it’s humbling. Sure, this isn’t how I saw it all going down but Bill was right. I had one hell of a career.
I sit on the bench in my jersey and cheer on my team for the entire game. I give East a few pointers, I remind James of some of his opponent’s strengths, I commend Noah on a beautiful breakaway. In a way, coming back for the Finals is the closure I needed. Because I can tell from my seat on the bench, that part of me has already moved on. Now that hockey is over, now that Rielle is gone, there’s nothing holding me here except memories. And even though the majority of them are great, the ones that aren’t hurt so deeply, they shadow the good times.
We beat Dallas and a victory cry rocks the arena.
Maybe I’m not on the ice but by the hugs and back slaps from my teammates, I recognize that my presence still matters to them. I’m still helping the team reach for a Cup win.
Over the next week and a half, I spend all my free time at the arena. I help the guys prepare for every game against the Diamonds that I can. I’m able to skate a bit and help them set up the plays Coach Phillips wants to work out.
Late at night, while Boston sleeps, I check in with Anders as he drinks his morning coffee. We run through the financials, discuss investment opportunities, and brainstorm ways to make our archaic family company more socially responsible and environmentally conscious. It’s definitely not the work I anticipated for myself after hanging up my skates but a part of me enjoys it. I like working with my brother and cousins more than I thought I would. I like connecting with my family again.
With my time in Boston coming to a close, I consider selling the penthouse. I consider selling my Waterfront properties. I meet with a brokerage and discuss different scenarios but in the end, I can’t do it. I can’t cut ties with the city. I can’t move on from a place I’ve considered home for too long.
And despite my reaching out to Bill, I definitely can’t bring myself to ask him to draft up divorce papers.
Instead, I pour my days into hockey, into the Hawks. My nights into my family and the prosperity of the Hansens. I throw myself into everything and anything to blunt the hurt of losing Rielle. Still, she finds me in my dreams and I wake up longing for her the same way I used to before I ever had her. Now, it just hurts more.
On game six of the series, the team’s nerves are on high alert. We’re leading the series 3–2 and this game will determine if we win the Cup outright or need to play game seven for a tiebreaker. For some strange reason I don’t understand, I’m even more nervous sitting on the side than I would be skating onto the ice.
I take my spot on the bench, exchange a few words with Coach Phillips, and turn my eyes to the ice when I feel it. The sensation of someone watching me. The back of my neck chills and a strange sense of awareness spreads through my body. I turn my head and glance over my shoulder, my eyes scanning the crowd. On a whim, as if I can’t help myself, my attention travels to the WAGs box.
Midnight eyes clasp onto mine and I freeze, my limbs locking down. Her hair is longer, wilder. Her lips are painted red and her eyes are so dark, their depths are unfathomable. She’s rocking my number and staring at me with an intensity that’s more like a gravitational force. I can’t look away. And I don’t want to.
The arena, the game, the nerves, every single thing it took to get me to this point in my life, to this moment, fade away. There’s her and there’s me and there’s us. Our story which once had the potential to be my favorite but is still one I’d choose all over again.
A slow smile spreads across her mouth and she lifts her hand in the tiniest of waves. Hesitant, vulnerable, and so fucking real, she makes the first move.
I pounce on it and wave back. I gesture to her that we’ll share a drink after the game. Fans stretching the distance between us turn and stare, following our exchange with interest. Rielle laughs and it’s like staring directly at the sun. Bright, blinding, so beautiful it burns. She nods and mimes lining up a row of shot glasses.
Fans’ necks swivel back to me as I chuckle and pretend to toss back the shots. Our eye contact never breaks and over the heads of hundreds of people, we have a conversation that only we understand.
I give her a wink and turn back to the ice in time to watch the puck drop. Game six is one of the most intense, brutal, and awe-inspiring games I’ve ever witnessed. Austin scores a natural hat-trick, three goals in succession, that has both fans and haters on their feet with their mouths open. Claire, Indy, and Rielle dance in their seats, waving their hands wildly.
In the second period, Panda dives for the puck and knocks it off the side post for a save that fills my chest with relief. Easton weaves through opponents like a demon, Noah has four successful assists, and James play like he did before Layla died—with his full attention, all of his talent, and every bit of his heart.
When the final buzzer rings out and the Hawks win the Stanley Cup, emotion rocks me hard. We did it. We won. But more than that, I realize that my team is going to be okay without me. Just as they should be. I watch as the guys sitting with me on the bench rush the ice. I push off after them, gliding over the ice and throwing myself into the team celebrations.
When Austin is awarded the Stanley Cup, he doesn’t hoist it overhead like tradition dictates. Instead, he points to me, skates over, and passes me the trophy. I shake my head at him but he grins. “Congratulations, Torst. Thanks for getting us here.”
My hands tremble as I lift the trophy overhead. The team’s cheers are deafening. The jubilee of the crowd shakes the arena. My eyes find my wife and hold her gaze.
In a handful of moments, I realize just how much my life has changed. And just how okay I am with it all.