Page 42 of Home Game

“Hey.”

“I really like her.”

“Who are you talking about?”

“Zoey.”

I looked at my phone for a second to make sure I was actually talking to the real Krista. “What’s going on?”

“Well, I dropped over there after work and guess what she was doing?”

“What?”

“She was scrubbing under your kitchen sink. One hand in a sling, on her knees. When I asked her what she was doing, she said she was trying to find things to do to repay you.”

I stood there frozen. “Seriously? She doesn’t have to do that.”

“That is what I told her. So I ended up ordering dinner and watching the game with her.”

“You did?”

“Yes.”

“At my place?” I tried to imagine Zoey and Krista sitting on the couch over takeout, watching the game. I couldn't imagine it.

“She doesn’t know a thing about hockey, but when you were in that fist fight with O’Hara, she got upset.”

I was having trouble keeping up with this conversation. “What do you mean upset?”

“Well for a few moments, no one was sure how you would fair in your fight with Goliath, and it glued her to the television. Then, after the fight, when you went to the box, she repeatedly asked me if I thought you were okay.”

Indifferent, prickly Zoey concerned about my well-being. “Really.”

“Yeah, I tried to tell her that this was just part of the hockey world, but she didn’t like it.”

Silence hung between us while I tried to process this conversation. “So, she’s okay?”

“She still looks like shit. I could tell she was in pain so when I left, I made her take a pain pill, but she’s doing okay. I think she was happy to see me.”

“Really?”

“She’s hard to read. But she wasn’t opposed to hanging.”

For the first time since I had left Vancouver, something in my gut seemed to thaw. “Thanks Krista.”

“So, you off to LA tomorrow?”

I yawned. “Yeah. Early flight.”

“How is the team bonding going?”

“Could be better.”

“What did Gordon say about your fight?”

I snorted. “He told me next time I need to skate away.”

“This isn’t LA.”

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