Page 4 of Must Love Dogs… and Hockey

They all laugh.

“They’re only a buck, get one before you fuck,” Wendy adds, to more laughter.

Tension eases out of me now we’ve turned the conversation away from shop talk. Hockey’s our passion, but everyone needs a break from their job sometimes.

Cookie and I take the subway home. We live in the same building, as do a couple of other guys who play for the team. Cookie was the one who recommended the building to me when I moved here. It’s nice, not super expensive, which is hard to find in New York, and it’s a great location—easy subway ride to and from the arena, and quick access to 9A to get to our practice facility.

We walk into the lobby of our building and head to the elevator. There’s a woman already there, waiting, with a pup on a leash. He’s bounding around, clearly a puppy, one of those so-ugly-he’s-cute kinds. Some kind of bulldog mix, maybe? Sad-looking eyes and mouth, black with a white patch on his chest, and big ears sticking up.

The elevator arrives and the woman steps inside, tugging the leash. But the pup doesn’t follow her; he’s more interested in us. We try to move forward so he’ll follow his owner, but he goes up on his back legs, pulling on his leash, tongue hanging out of his mouth. He’s hilarious.

Then the elevator doors slide shut.

The woman is inside. The dog is outside.

For a moment, everyone is stunned into silence. I wait for the doors to open again, and when they don’t, I leap forward and punch the button, hoping to stop the elevator. It doesn’t work. I punch it six more times. Then the woman in the elevator starts screaming. She’s still holding the leash and the dog is still attached to it, and the elevator is going up.

Jesus Christ.

“Fuck!” I dash forward and grab the leash. It’s pulling tight. I need to get it off the dog. “Fuck!”

I’m not even thinking, just reacting. All I know is I have to save this dog.

“Shhh. Calm down,” I order him. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

It’s getting tighter.

Cookie leaps forward to grab the leash too, trying to hold it as it strains.

My fingers close around the clip. I can’t see what I’m doing, only feel, and I use my thumb to flick it open then wrangle it off. The dog is in my arms now, crying, and as he’s freed, I stumble back.

“Holy shit,” Cookie says, looking on in horror, eyes wide. “That was close.”

My legs suddenly feel like rubber bands and I sink down onto the floor on my ass, the dog on my lap. He’s now frantically licking my face and wriggling around. I stroke his back and try to dodge his tongue. “It’s okay, dude. You’re okay. I got you.”

The elevator returns to the ground floor and opens. The woman bursts out and stops short when she sees me.

“He’s okay,” I say. “See?”

She’s crying, her face wet and red. She appears to be in her thirties, with shoulder-length brown hair, wearing jeans and a jacket. “Oh my God!” She presses her hands to her face. “I was so scared. Oh my God.”

Her eyes go glassy and she doesn’t look so good. Cookie moves over to her to take her arm. “Maybe you should sit down.”

He leads her over to the grouping of chairs in the lobby of the building and helps her sit. Now I notice that Javier, the doorman who was sitting at the big sleek counter in the lobby, has joined us, a concerned look on his face.

The woman is shaking and sobbing. “I can’t b-believe that happened.” She bends over. “Oh my God. I can’t do this.”

What?

“It was close,” Cookie agrees, looking over at me. “Lucky my buddy here is good and strong.”

I’m shaking a bit too, the adrenaline still coursing in my veins, so I can’t blame the woman for being upset. Except, Jesus, she should have carried the dog into the elevator in case this happened.

I pull in a long, slow breath, which makes the pup try to lick me even more. You’d think he’d run to his owner, but he doesn’t seem to want to leave my lap. I push up off the marble floor with the dog in my arms.

I meet Javier’s eyes. “We’re all okay.”

“Good, good.”

---