Nickolai's Noel by Alicia Hunter Pace Page A

have to see about that. Nickolai had a home game the night before and a road game the following Tuesday. If he wasn’t too tired for a one-day turnaround trip, it might be time to bring him to the Debutante Den.
    Ah, finally. The Sound was taking the ice to warm-up. Noel turned the volume up. There he was—third on the ice, like always, with his stick in front of him, blade up. He wouldn’t put the blade down until he’d skated a lap around each end zone face-off circle, one clockwise and the other counterclockwise.
    The camera was tight on his face, and the announcers were talking about him. Unfortunately, Deborah was talking as well.
    Noel caught only the words
goals, penalties, and playoffs
from the television, but she heard everything Deborah said.
    “I was absolutely astonished when you told me what those Beaufords did to that beautiful plantation house—putting in a commercial kitchen and modernizing a whole wing!”
    “They did that?” Grandmama looked up from her needlepoint. “What a shame.”
    “My castle wall came off!” Constance wailed.
    “It’s okay, baby,” Paige said. “See? We just need to put this piece back.”
    Nickolai took a few practice shots, and now he was gliding next to the boards.
    “Noel, did you hear what I said?” Deborah asked.
    The camera switched to the Devils’ goalie. Oh, well. She’d set up the DVR at home because she’d known it would be like this.
    “Yes, Mother. I think Jackson’s parents and aunt did what was necessary to keep their home and take care of their children. I admire them for starting the events business.”
    “But now … those boys have made a fortune. They could close that business and restore that house.”
    “I think they like their house like it is. And most of it is preserved.”
    Ah, there he was—fidgeting a little during the National Anthem. He usually didn’t do that.
    “
Most
is worse than none.”
    Whatever
. It was time for the puck drop, and Nickolai was in position for the face-off.
    “And there he is, folks, Nickolai Glazov,” the announcer said. “His teammates call him Glaz and say he’s coolheaded and aggressive in equal parts. In his second season with the Sound, he has scored at least one goal for eleven games straight and spent only two minutes in the penalty box. Can he do it again tonight? And will it be enough to guarantee the Nashville Sound a chance to play for the Stanley Cup?”
    The other announcer—a pretty blonde woman—was replying, but it was lost in a discussion about where the Verden clan should have lunch tomorrow after church.
    The puck was down and Nickolai had control. He passed it off to Mikhail Orlov, but then the Devils took it and drove it back down the ice. And so it went, back and forth as it always did. Noel knew just enough about the game to be hungry for the commentary, but not enough that she could get the nuances without it. There was a lot of puck passing back and forth, attempted and blocked shots, and players slamming into each other and against the boards.
    Now Constance was crying. “I need a princess for my castle!”
    Paige picked her up and went to the rocking chair in the corner.
    “Someone’s tired,” Deborah said.
    “I know,” Paige said as she rocked and patted Constance’s back. “But I need to keep her up until Webb gets home so he can see her.”
    “And when is that going to be?” Grandmama asked. “That boy works incessantly.”
    “I want my daddy!”
    What? Nickolai was on the bench, and Noel hadn’t even realized it. Wait. He was coming back on the ice.
    “Webb will be here soon,” Paige said. “I got a text a few minutes ago.”
    And so it went, back and forth with no score. Sometime around the end of the first period, Webb came in, briefcase in hand, looking almost translucent, the way very fair people do when they’re exhausted. Constance flew across the room into his arms.
    He lifted her above his head and said, “Daddy loves you, baby.” Then he