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I don’t care. I lean over and kiss her. I know what time it is, and I know how long it takes to get across campus and into my gear.
“Nash.”
“Yeah.”
“Practice.”
I kiss her again. She’s half laughing into my mouth. “You’re going to be late.”
“Probably.”
She pulls back an inch and looks at me. “You would rather be late to hockey.”
I look up at her. She isn’t laughing now. I can see her working it out behind her eyes. Then she gets off me, pulls me to my feet, and smacks my ass.
I get dressed and grab my bag. She lies on her stomach in the middle of my mattress with the blanket around her waist and my hoodie twisted around her, watching me, and on my way past, I put a hand on her jaw and kiss her again. I have to come back for my skates, and she’s still watching. I kiss her one more time on the way out.
“I’ll see you later,” she says.
I go.
I make it with four minutes to spare, which is less than I’ve ever cut it, and I’m on the ice at six-thirty with the taste of her still in my mouth.
They only light the rink side in the morning, so the seats go black all the way up and the ice comes out of the dark at you, and somebody’s got a speaker going on the bench until Berwyn walks out. Whistle. Flow, edges. Then he blows it again and says, “Board,” and it’s the D-zone stuff off the exhibition film like the faceoff loss, strong-side rotation, where the second guy goes. It’s the least fun hockey there is and about seventy percent of the season.
Some mornings your feet just work better than others, and this is one of them. My first stride out of the turn is there. My hands are quiet. I’m seeing things a half second early instead of a half second late. I win nine of the first twelve draws, and the two I lose to Greeley, I lose clean off the wall on his strong side, where his hands have always been faster than mine.
Koda’s playing mean. He’s been like it since he stepped on the ice, and in the neutral zone, he takes a puck straight off Waleska’s stick, and Rafe is about to lose his mind.
Forty minutes in, one of the walk-on D catches me in the corner with a hip, late and harder than anybody goes at seven in the morning. My shoulder hits the glass so hard the whole pane shakes in its frame. It comes up out of my chest without my head involved at all, the way it always does, and I stand in the corner with my hands on my stick for about half a second, holding it. Then I pick the puck off the wall and move it up to Mathers.
“Sorry, Kennebeck,” the kid says, like I’m going to kill him.
“It’s a drill,” I call back. “Do it again.”
Berwyn saw it. He doesn’t say a word.
Then Greeley’s group goes, and Greeley is unbelievable this morning. He wins his draw, his line gets it out clean, and two reps later, there’s a puck dying along the wall with three bodies on it. He comes in low, digs it out with his feet, spins off the boards, and puts it through two sticks onto Wyatt’s tape in the slot. Wyatt buries it. Berwyn’s whistle goes, and he points his glove into the corner. “That. Right there. Again.”
They do it again, and it works again. I stand at the hash marks with my glove resting on the knob of my stick and watch him be that good, and my jaw aches. When we rotate, he comes off the wall past me on the way back to his side, and I tap his shins with my stick, because that’s what you do.
“Good pass.”
“Thanks,” Greeley says, and we both go to our spots.
The video’s still on his phone, and wherever the fuck else he keeps it.
Back at Corvin, Rafe’s phone goes off while he’s got one leg in his jeans. He looks at the screen, and his whole face resets. He doesn’t sigh or make a thing of it. He sits down on the end of his bed and answers it.
“Hi.” His voice is flatter and more polite at the same time, and every yeah comes out like it’s being graded. “No, it’s Thursday. We leave Thursday.”
He listens.
“That’s fine.”
He listens for longer. “No, I know. I said it’s fine.” He’s got his elbow on his knee and his hand over his eyes. “It’s two games. It’s not—no. Don’t worry about it. Okay. Yeah, you too. Bye.”
He hangs up and throws the phone down the bed. I’m at my desk with my back to him, putting my laptop in my bag, and I don’t ask him anything. We’ve lived together since August, and the deal is pretty clear.
