Page 98 of Empty Net

“To be fair, it’s all you’ve talked about since your first bite.”

“Can you blame me? It was incredible. Well worth the garlic breath I have right now.”

“I like your garlic breath.”

“It’s great garlic breath,” she agrees. “And that sourdough crust? Ugh. It was perfection.”

“It’s one of my favorite parts of living here. Seattle loves its sourdough, and it’s my favorite kind of bread. My mother used to make it all the time growing up.”

“I love the way you talk about your family.”

“They’re my favorite people in the world. I wouldn’t be where I am without them.”

“How’d you even get into hockey living in the South? It’s not huge there, right?”

“There have been a few renditions of professional hockey in Atlanta over the years, but as a whole, no, it’s not huge there. My dad was a fan after going to college with a guy from Canada. He got him into it, and after that, he was hooked. Never missed a game on TV. I used to sit in the living room and watch along with him, and my obsession grew from there. I asked for my first pair of skates when I was six. The rest is history.”

“That’s actually really sweet, Fox. I bet he’s proud of you.”

I think of the text he sent me before the last game, a quickGood luck, kid. He sends the same one before every one of my appearances in net.

“Immensely,” I tell her. “Doesn’t let me ever forget it, either.”

She squeezes my thigh. “I’m glad you have that.”

“I’m sorry you don’t.”

“That sounds—” She yawns, the rest of her words stolen.

I chuckle. “I’m sorry. Did I bore you?”

“No.” She shakes her head, turning sideways as the ferry disembarks. She stretches her legs out over mine, and I run my hand over her idly. “Sorry. I’m just wiped. So, why goalie? Don’t they always say you have to be a little crazy to be a goalie?”

“Maybe, but I like to think it’s that you’re a little brave. I mean, facing down those shots? That’s not crazy. That’s courageous.”

“I like that you”—she yawns again, her eyelids growing heavy—“think of it that way.”

I laugh again. “Rest, Lilah.”

“Huh?”

“Rest.”

“No. What if I fall asleep?” she asks, her eyes barely open now, and I have no doubt shewillfall asleep.

“Then I’ll carry you to the car.”

She huffs out a half-hearted laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Only when it comes to you.”

She smiles, mumbling something I can’t quite make out, her breaths already evening out as she falls fast asleep, and that’s how she stays through the rest of the ride. Not even the announcement that the ferry is approaching the destination rouses her from her sleep. So, I do as I promised—I haul her into my arms and carry her off the ferry and all the way to the car. She doesn’t stir until I’m buckling her into the seat. Only then does she blink open her eyes.

“Did you carry me?”

“Of course I did, sugar.”

She smiles, her eyes fluttering back closed. She sleeps the whole car ride back to her apartment and I carry her right to her door, where I barely get her on her feet to unlock it.

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