Page 31 of Full Contact

I took a picture of her there, orange against the gray cushion, facing the door. It wasn’t for the episode. I sent it to Trier from the elevator.

Mark: Your chair’s been reassigned.

Trier: She keeps it for me when I travel. It’s a formal arrangement.

I was still smiling when I reached the lobby. Outside, the breeze lifted the corner of my shirt, cool after the warmth of the condo.

His next message arrived before I reached the curb.

Trier: Send that one to the list.

I stopped walking.

Mark: I’m not on the list.

Trier: You have the picture. I’ll fix the paperwork.

By the time I got to my car, my phone had buzzed again. Trier had added me to the group thread. Below the notification was my photograph of Peaches, forwarded with a caption for her family and friends.

Holding my seat. Back in two days.

I sat in the car for a moment before starting it. It was family and a few approved names. Nobody new in years. Now it had me.

Chapter five

Trier

Opening night filled the arena all the way to the rafters.

Music vibrated through the floor of the tunnel, and I tipped my chin up, letting the cold air off the ice reach beneath my helmet. Behind me, somebody tugged a glove off and pulled it back on for the third time.

I loved the first official game of a new season. We’d spent three weeks discussing what kind of team we might be. Now we could find out whether we could deliver.

During introductions, the crowd gave Rook an extra roar. It rolled down from the upper bowl. He raised his stick a few inches and skated to the line.

I tapped my stick against the ice, then took my place beside him. He could have the farewell ovation. I still wanted another season’s worth of clean passes.

The game was difficult from the start. Their second-line winger kept hanging back as his linemates entered our zone and then slipped into open ice behind us. By the middle of the first period, we’d let him do it twice. Both times, he’d gotten off a shot on Pratt.

On the bench, I leaned toward Rook.

“He’s waiting for you to go to the wall. I’ll take the puck carrier. Stay inside with him.”

“You’ve got the corner?”

“I’ve got it.”

In the next shift, I skated into the corner and forced the puck carrier to turn back. His winger curled toward the slot and found Rook already standing in the space he wanted. The pass went back to the point, and I came out along the wall in time to block the return.

We won one–nothing on a Heath special. He planted himself in front of the net, and my shot went in off his ass. He celebrated like he’d picked the corner.

The locker room afterward was loud. By the time I got my gloves off, Heath was explaining the goal to his third audience.

“I felt him move behind me, so I shifted over. Gave Trier something to aim at.”

“I was aiming at the net,” I said.

“And I improved the angle.”