Page 91 of Full Contact

The whole rink rang every time the puck hit the boards. Josh kept score and announced every goal with a scream that brought Kelsey’s mother in from the living room to check whether anyone was bleeding. Russ scored while I explained how the bent rod changed the passing lanes. I hunched over the table, forgot the house was cold, and celebrated every goal like it was a Heath special. Down four-three, I put one in off the far post and straightened up, shouting.

“Four-all,” Josh announced. “Next goal wins.”

I bent over the handles again. My center got the puck to the winger, who stopped dead at the blue line. Before I could work him loose, Russ stole it and shot past my goalie.

Josh slid the score marker to five.

“Rematch,” I said.

Russ leaned back and smiled.

“After pie,” Kelsey said. “Somebody help me with these plates.” She ran water in the sink and handed me the dish towel without asking.

“Is Mark with the same friends today?”

“Different house. Dana does leftovers, and everyone brings what Felix sent home with them.” I dried a plate. “Yesterday he picked up Felix’s bakery order at five a.m. The woman at the counter told him Felix had described him as handsome and confused, and that he was only one of those.”

Kelsey grinned. “Which one?”

“She wouldn’t say.”

“I’d have said.” She handed me a bowl. “What’s he like when he isn’t working?”

“Earlier this month he played me thirty seconds of Beethoven in a coffee shop,” I said. “The preview stopped just when it was getting interesting, so he played more of it. I told him it sounded like a forecheck. He didn’t laugh at me.” I set the bowl down. “I’d never wanted to hear the rest of anything by Beethoven.”

Kelsey held the next glass a moment before handing it over.

“Would he come with you sometime? Here, I mean. You could have invited him this year.”

“We’ll have to look at the schedule.”

“I’d like that,” she said.

***

The next day, Kelsey tried to send me home with half a ham.

“It’s six pounds,” I said. “Security will want to talk to me about it.”

“Tell them it’s for your cat.”

“She can’t eat ham. It’s bad on her kidneys.”

Kelsey traded the ham for cookies, two pieces of pie, and a sandwich in wax paper.

In the basement guest room, I folded the fourth sweater, the one I didn’t wear. On the twenty-third, before leaving home, I’d moved it into the suitcase so Mark could sit on the bed. He hadn’t stayed sitting long. I’d been halfway out of my shirt, talking about Kelsey’s space heater, when he hooked his fingers into the back of my waistband, and I forgot the space heater entirely. I could still feel his palm under the small of my back. I put the sweater in the suitcase and closed the lid on it.

My phone buzzed.

Mark: Confirming 2:40 departure, landing O’Hare 4:15. I’ll be there.

Trier: Kelsey tried to send me home with a ham. I negotiated her down to pie and a sandwich. There’s a cookie for you if you’re on time.

Mark: I’m always on time.

While Russ loaded the car, I checked the team chat. The facility had opened that morning for anyone who wanted to come in before tomorrow’s practice. Callahan had posted a photograph of the players’ lot, empty under a gray sky, one car in the space nearest the door.

Callahan: Rock-star parking.