Page 94 of Crease Collision

She laughs. “You know we speak English. I’m familiar with that phrase.” Her voice turns serious. “Are you meeting people apart from the team? It would be good to make friends outside of hockey.”

“I’m trying, but our schedule makes things hard.”

She doesn’t let it go. “Have you met someone special? You’re twenty-two, the handsomest hockey player in America. I’m sure many people would be interested in seeing you.”

I barely hold back a groan. If I give her any information, she’ll keep asking questions.

“I’ve been on a couple of dates,” I finally say.

She perks up. “Well, don’t keep us in suspense. Tell us about… her or him. We want to know more.”

Something inside me stalls. I can’t give her what she wants. Not that she wouldn’t support me, but she’d know, and I want Kai to myself. I press my lips together until they’re numb.

The excitement fades from her face, replaced by hurt. Before the silence drags on longer, Pappa speaks up, his voice deep and calm. “Let the boy alone, Anna. He is in America to stop pucks, not to be cross-examined. If he spends all his time chasing romance, his glove hand will get slow. Then his old man will have to fly over there and give him a stern talk.”

Mamma lets out a soft, exasperated sigh and says, “A slow glove hand would be a tragedy. I did not mean to upset you, Oskar.”

“I’m sorry, Mamma. The travel has worn me out.”

Understated, but that’s what she taught me. She’s always said big, dramatic apologies never sound sincere.

Her smile comes back, melting the tension. “It is forgotten. We know how hard you work. I’m sure you have a lot of cooking to do, so we should let you go. Tell your friend Merry Christmas from Stockholm. We love you, Oskar.”

“Love you,” Pappa says.

“I love you too. God jul.”

The screen goes black, and my stomach twists into a tight knot. I’ve always prided myself on being direct, yet I just denied the most important person in my life to the people who know me best.

It wasn’t because I am ashamed. Vad fan, it’s the opposite. I want this to work so much that even telling my parents feels like what my teammates call a jinx. Goalies are superstitious. We don’t think about a shutout while there’s still time on the clock. And we don’t dream about forever until…

Jävla skit!

Kai ran from me once because what was happening between us scared him. He promised not to do it again. But promises made when things are calm are easily broken when life gets loud. It has only been a few months. How am I supposed to forget how all that felt?

Helvete. I’m as afraid as Kai is, but my fear isn’t organized. It’s a messy pile of bricks, ready to fall the minute I slip up.

I go sit in the living room. I’m still there, looking out the window, when the front door opens.

“I’m back!” Kai calls out, and I hear the rustle of paper bags. His voice makes most of my worry disappear. “You wouldn’t believe the human zoo that is Whole Foods on Christmas Eve. Two people got into a shoving match over the last carton of organic eggnog.”

I find him in the kitchen, unpacking groceries. His smile warms me from head to toe, and after I kiss him, his grin is even bigger.

“Missed you,” he says. “Look what I remembered.” He holds up a jar of lingonberry preserves and gives a little cheer.

“Impressive. I was sure you’d forget.”

“No faith in me? I loved the lingonberries when we had meatballs in October.”

The memory comes back. Making dinner and not eating it until hours later because we took a long detour to the bedroom. Should we postpone dinner again tonight? Maybe not, since it is a holiday. Food first, then Kai.

He gives me a sly look as we put the groceries away. “Just for you, I found the duck thing.”

“Duck thing?”

“The Christmas Donald Duck special your entire country apparently worships.”

If I could get a magic Christmas wish, I’d want to freeze things the way they are right this minute.