Page 2 of Keeping the Score

“Hi, Ford. Looks like you’ve been working hard.”

“Oh, yeah.” Sweat is dripping off me. I stop near her and look at the baby. “How’s the little guy?” Shit, I can’t remember his name.

“Good! He’s getting so big! Want to hold him?”

“No.” I take a quick step back. “That’s okay. I’m, uh, all sweaty.” I give the baby a fake smile. “Hey, kid. Do you like sharks?”

The baby gazes back at me with a tiny wrinkle between his eyes.

“Sharks?” Sage laughs. “What?”

I shrug. “I like sharks. They’re fascinating. Did you know they can’t swim backwards?” I ask the kid. “And they don’t usually want to eat humans. They just want a taste to see if it’s anything good.”

The baby’s bottom lip pushes out. Uh oh. That doesn’t look good. Then his mouth opens and his eyes squint up. “Waaaaah!”

I blink at him. Wow. He can really yell loud.

“Oh, no. Leo, shhh.” Sage bounces him and tries to comfort him. He continues to wail loud enough to pierce eardrums. “Shhh. It’s okay. There are no sharks here.” She casts me an unhappy look. “Let’s go.”

Xander frowns at me and follows his wife out of the building.

Yikes. The kid can’t understand about sharks, can he? I was just jabbering.

Oh, well. I shake my head and head to the locker room to change and head home. Babies never like me. Kids do, sometimes, because I’m fun. But it doesn’t matter. I don’t want kids. Or a wife. I don’t need anyone else in my life. My work is my life.

My condo is in Hoboken, a nice place in a trendy neighborhood. I park in the underground garage and ride theelevator to the seventh floor. There are only two units on each floor, which is a bonus. I walk into my place and hang my keys on the hook near the door where I always hang them, then head to the kitchen. I left my planner on the counter there and I sit on a stool and look it over. I still have to meditate and do my eye exercises. And eat dinner. This morning I did a load of laundry before I left, but I have to put it all away and I’ve scheduled cleaning the fridge for today. I decide what order I’ll do things in and then get busy.

Dinner is leftover tahini-lemon chicken that I grilled yesterday, along with a salad. No cucumbers. Half an avocado. I guzzle down water while I prepare it.

I like meditating on the rooftop deck of the building when the weather cooperates. It’s a nice late summer day so I go up there with my yoga mat, dressed in my white taekwondo Dobak—pants only. It’s warm up here.

This is a nice spot with lots of shrubs and plants in natural wood planters. Peaceful. There’s a gas barbecue and patio furniture, but I’m usually the only one up here. I roll out my mat onto the wooden deck and get myself comfortably seated.

First, I focus on my breath. Then I do a body scan. Yeah, I’m sore. But it feels good. It feels like I accomplished something. Like I’m getting stronger. Better.Breathe.

I think about my goals. To be the best goaltender. To be the number one goaltender for the New Jersey Storm. I’ve been part of a goaltending tandem for the last three seasons, but this year I want to be the number one goalie. Everyone knows I’m better than Pavel Bendik. I should be getting most of the starts. This past summer, I worked my perfectly shaped ass off to make myself even better.

Breathe.

How do I feel about my goals? Pressure? Excitement? Right now… I feel positive. Challenged. I can do it. Iwilldo it.

After my meditation I do some eye-strengthening exercises that help me track the puck—looking side to side, up, down, diagonal, without moving my head.

“What on earth are you doing?”

Standing off to the side is Andi Marsh, my next-door neighbor, the woman who lives in the other condo on my floor. She’s watching me with wide-eyed amusement, on the verge of outright laughter.

There was a time in my life when that would have stung me. Now I just go with it. If you’re going to be weird, do it with confidence. “I didn’t hear you come out here.” I push up to stand.

“Clearly.” Now she dissolves into giggles, almost doubling over. “That looked so weird!”

“I don’t care.” I smile back at her. “I’m strengthening my eye muscles.”

“Oooookay.”

She looks good. Better than she did a year ago after her dickwad of a husband cheated on her and left her. I run my gaze over her, taking in her messy dark blonde hair, brown eyes dancing with mirth behind big tortoiseshell glasses, and wide, inviting smile. She’s wearing a loose white shirt and cut-off denim shorts. Yes, my eyes might linger on her long, smooth legs. “You must have had Lucky Charms for breakfast today.”

She blinks. “What? Why?”

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