Page 69 of Top Shelf

My skate catches for half a second on the turn, but it’s enough that Eli shoots me a grin I would like to remove from his face. I turn back to the glass just in time to see Heidi lift her hand and wink right at me.

I miss the next pass from Jake completely. The puck slides past my blade and rattles off the boards, and Eli’s laugh is immediate.

Chase skates by with a smirk. “Blink, Vik. You look concussed.”

“I am fine.”

“Sure.” His eyes flick toward the girls. “You seem very fine.”

I collect the puck and shoot harder than necessary. Behind the glass, Heidi’s smile is bright enough to be seen from center ice, and I have the sudden, violent thought that every man in this building should know she chose to put my name on her.

Thousands of people wear my jersey in the stands every game, but it has never meant anything beyond hockey. On Heidi, it is different. She is my wife wrapped in my name and an arrangement which is becoming increasingly difficult to convince myself is temporary.

With a shake of my head, I turn back to the drill before Chase can say anything else.

We win 3–1, and I get an assist, three blocked shots, and a penalty in the second period I don’t regret because their left wing had his shoulder too close to Jake’s head, so I chose to explain with my hands that it was poor decision-making.

Afterward, media keeps me longer than I want. Questions about the playoff push, and the penalty I still do not regret. I give them the answers they need and nothing more. On the way back to the family room, one of the junior reporters glances past me, where Heidi is laughing with Zoe by the door.

“That your guest tonight, Karlsson?” he asks lightly. “Girlfriend?”

“No.”

“Ah. Sister?”

“Definitely not.”

“Friend of a friend?”

I don’t dignify that question with an answer, and his smile stretches, amused by his own game.

“Well,” he drawls, “if she’s not family or your girlfriend, can I ask for her name and number?”

I stop and turn slowly to him.

“Her name,” I say, “is Dr. Heidi Grant. PT, DPT, OCS, CSCS. And she is my wife.”

The reporter’s mouth opens then closes.

“So you can write down the name,” I add. “But you will not ask for my wife’s number again.”

I don’t wait for whatever pitiful response he has; instead, I turn back toward the family room to see Lulu, Zoe, and Heidi watching me. I stop in front of them, and Heidi’s gaze moves over my face, my suit, my tie.

“Dr. Heidi Grant, huh?” She is teasing me.

“He asked for your name.”

“So you gave him my full credentials, and then told him I was your wife.”

“He was imprecise with his questions.” I shrug. “And you are.”

Her mouth twitches, but there is a sparkle in her eye. A photographer moves at the far end of the hallway, and Heidi clocks it, then looks back at me.

“Good game, by the way,” she says.

“Thank you.”

“You missed a pass during warmup, though.”