Page 183 of Full Contact

I looked down at him. He was still studying the contact sheet.

“Then bring that,” Varga said. “Enough for everybody. Rook buys bread like he’s feeding birds.”

“I buy enough for dinner.”

“What about after dinner?”

“Goodnight, Varga,” I said.

“Five. Don’t let him make you leave at ten, Mark.”

The call ended. Mark set the sheet on the folder and looked up at me.

“Would you mind staying later tomorrow?”

“Do you want to?”

“Yes. We haven’t seen much of them since the move.”

“Okay.”

I bent to kiss him. He caught the front of my shirt and kept me close for another.

We could stay until eleven, or we could leave before ten if one of us got tired. When we did leave, we’d come home together.

Epilogue - Mark

Iarrived at the family box with my phone in my pocket. It was the first game of the new season. Sully moved his jacket off the seat between him and Niko.

“Leah said you’d try to sit by the door.”

“Not when I can sit where I want.”

I sat between them. Below us, the team was finishing warmups. Varga kept glancing up. On one rush he looked too long, and Cross’s pass hit his skate.

“That’s twice,” Niko said. “I hope he doesn’t do that during the game.”

Leah had shown me the running order earlier in the week. When the lights went down, I checked the gate where the guests would enter. Everyone was in position.

Rook came onto the carpet in a charcoal suit and stood beside Cross. I’d seen him dressed for hundreds of games, but never standing on the ice in his shoes while everyone else wore skates. Varga watched him from the line of players.

The championship banner began to rise. I wanted the broadcast to hold the wide shot long enough to include the team beneath it. On the arena screen, it did.

When the championship year cleared the covering, Sully caught my sleeve. Niko stood with the rest of the box. I stood between them and clapped until my palms stung.

Trier was near the end of the line beside Callahan, looking up with his mouth slightly open. I remembered that expression from June, when he’d held the Cup.

He turned toward the families. I raised my hand. He found me and pressed his glove to his mouth, then lifted it toward the box.

“Oh, that’s for you,” Sully said.

I was still smiling when the anthem began.

That weekend, we threw a party for a sixteen-year-old cat. “Twelve guests,” Trier said, reading the list at our counter.

“How many in the living room at once?”

“Cross and his wife are only staying for one drink.”