Page 30 of Off the Post

Luv, Nicolas Petaro

I read the letter once through and then read it again, blinking slowly as I do. The intent of the letter isn’t quite clear, and I’m confused. There’s no clue who this Nicolas kid is.

Ali offers more information and holds up another piece of paper. “Nicolas’s letter was accompanied by this letter, written by his mother. In it, she explained that her son was born with a rare medical condition called Wolf-Hirschhorn Syndrome. Have you ever heard of it?”

I shake my head. “Nein.”

“Yeah, I hadn’t either until I did some research. Apparently, children born with it generally experience growth delays and intellectual disabilities. Plus, it can cause heart and brain function damage, leading to frequent seizures. The kids, like Nicolas, also share a distinct facial feature.” Ali grimaces. “It’s common for their heads to be smaller but their eyes are large and widely set. Their appearance is often described as Greek warrior helmet.”

I rub the side of my jaw, thinking about this boy’s life, and my attention goes back to the letter I hold in my hands. My heart twists into a pretzel of ache. “This condition sounds fucking unfair.”

Ali holds a finger up, gesturing for me to hold on. Then she makes a few clicks on her laptop, her face morphing from sad to somewhat elated.

“Yes, that is very true. But just look at what Nicolas and his mother, Melanie, have done,” she says with a tinge of wonder, shaking her head thoughtfully.

Ali swivels her silver MacBook around so I can see the image on her screen. It appears to be an Instagram account and a profile grid. “They’ve taken what could be a devastating diagnosis, which would send lesser people into hiding, and made lemonade out of the lemons.”

Using the down arrow on the keyboard, I scroll through the grid filled with reels and posts, most of which are of Nicolas, I assume. He’s an adorable brown-haired boy with a crooked-tooth grin, a repaired cleft lip, and a happy disposition. In each shared video, the content is almost always centered on his love of Vikings hockey.

His profile bio even confidently states: #1 Vikings fan and Wolf-Hirschhorn Syndrome advocate. This is the story of a boy named Nicolas diagnosed with WHS. Account managed by Nicolas’s mom.

I glance back to Ali. “Holy shit. The kid has over 50k followers.”

She nods her head enthusiastically, and I click on a short reel where Nicolas is dressed in a too-large-for-his-size Vikings jersey and holds up a foam finger to the camera. He waves it ecstatically in the air, cheering with enthusiasm as he watches TV in his living room. The video pans to the television, which is showing a live broadcast of one of last season’s games.

“Woff, Woff, Woff.” Nicolas chants my nickname excitedly, proudly hoisting a stuffed wolf in his other hand. Then he hugs the animal in the crook of his arm and uses sign language to communicate more.

My breath seizes and the steel lock inside my chest breaks open like ice cracking in front of the net.

I read a caption on the post, typed by his mother, and my throat tightens, threatening to choke me up.

Nicolas is an avid fan of the Vikings team and loves to root for his favorite team and player. Like many with his condition, verbal communication is often fraught with difficulty, so he and others use ASL to communicate. If you don’t know ASL, Nicolas just signed: I love The Wolf.

“I need to meet this kid,” I state gruffly, spinning the screen back toward Ali. Our eyes catch and her smile radiates a warmth that spreads through my chest. Another piece of my armor threatens to crumble.

It’s rare for me to do any special appearances outside the required fan days with the team. I don’t like to engage with fans all that much because the personal attention makes me feel uncomfortable and my social anxiety goes into overdrive. I’m fine on the ice where I have my gear and mask on because the padding protects me from the glare and scrutiny, but face-to-face interactions leave me stressed and on edge.

But in this instance, I’m more than willing to go outside my comfort zone to meet such a huge fan.

Ali grins, her face lighting up with joy and she claps her hands. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

She leans forward and props her elbows on the desk, resting her chin on her steepled fingers. “I don’t want to pressure you, but our next LTLFK event is coming up in July. It’s the charity golf game where we pair up kids with celebrities. I was hoping you’d be Nicolas’s partner.”

No second guessing required. The last time I was this certain about something was the day I announced my intention to put my name in for consideration to the NHL draft.

Completely different circumstances, but like that moment, the idea of doing this fills me with indescribable emotion. A sense a purpose. An excitement to be better. And it will allow me to spend more time with Ali.

Every time I’m with her, my mood has improved. She lights up the room with her radiant smile and her sweet warmth.

At this point, Ali could suggest I get naked on the ice and cluck like a chicken for charity and I’d do it if she’d give me that full-wattage smile of hers.

“Count me in.”

“Thank you so much, Soren.” She reaches her hand out to me, her fingers brushing lightly over my forearm. The touch is brief but no less charged than the one from earlier. A small hum of electricity ricochets through my body and then straight down to my cock.

When she pulls back, a deep blush spreads over her cheeks, and she begins tapping over her keyboard. “I’ll send Nicolas’s mom a confirmation email right now.”

I watch in wonder at how quickly she types. When I’m at a keyboard, I’m all thumbs and have to hunt and peck to find the letters.