Page 85 of Crease Collision

As we pass a shop window, Kendrick insists we go inside. The store sells high-quality men’s clothing, and we wander around, enjoying the warmth and checking out the inventory. Kendrick picks out a shirt while Carson tries on some pants. They fit him well, so he buys them.

While they’re paying, I spot a dark gray sweater. It’s simple and made of cashmere, like the ones Kai wears. Before I can second-guess myself, I take it to the register.

“Glad you found something you like,” Carson says as the clerk rings it up.

“Damn, Olly, that’s nice.” Kendrick looks at the clerk. “Do you have that in any other colors?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” she says. “Those are handmade, and that is the very last one. Your friend was lucky to find it.”

Perfect. Kai will have something unique.

We go back outside, but the wind soon drives us into a coffee shop. While we stand in line, Kendrick mentions his anniversary is coming up, and he needs a gift for his wife. That gets Carson talking about his latest friend with benefits.

Kendrick shakes his head. “Don’t know how you do it. I need stability.”

Carson shrugs. “It’s not like I don’t want that. Just waiting for the right girl.”

“Keep the faith,” Kendrick says. “You’ll find her when you least expect to.”

The espresso machine hisses while Carson turns toward me. “So, for real, Olly. When do we meet your girlfriend? You should bring her to that team dinner we’re having for Thanksgiving.”

I open my mouth, ready to deflect. But…

No. I can’t do this.

I brace myself and look at them. “Not a woman, actually. It’s a guy.”

Neither of them flinches. Kendrick raises an eyebrow, and they trade a quick look.

“Oh.” Carson gives me a nod. “Okay. Cool.”

Kendrick grins. “You should bring him to the dinner then.”

A ridiculous amount of relief settles inside me. This mattered so much more in my head than it does to them.

“What’s his name?” Kendrick asks.

“Next in line,” the cashier calls, saving me from having to answer. I step forward and order black coffee, the Swedish standard.

By the time we get our drinks, the conversation has shifted, and we all seem more relaxed. Kendrick complains about an Ottawa defenseman he thinks is one of the league’s worst bullies, while Carson insists the guy is a coward who backs down if challenged. They may both be right.

“Fuck that dude anyway,” Carson tells us. “Ottawa’s not our biggest rival.”

They aren’t. The Condors are, and when we play them again next month, Kai will be on the other end of the ice.

Later that night, after discovering that poutine is delicious enough to be Swedish, I’m in my room watching the city lights. Kai and I had texted during the team dinner, and I open the messaging app to read the exchange again.

KAI: Could we talk now instead of later? I can barely keep my eyes open.

I’d considered leaving the dinner, but decided not to. Players have to trust their goalie, and we’re all still getting to know each other.

OSKAR: We’re still at dinner. Go to bed, baby. You need your rest for when I get home tomorrow.

KAI: That’s what I was thinking. How’s the chocolate mousse?

OSKAR: How’d you know I got chocolate mousse?

KAI: You always get it.