Page 88 of Crease Collision

Eventually, we stop to look at blown-glass ornaments.

“Your turn,” I say. “You still need gifts for your parents, right?”

His expression softens. “Yeah.”

He studies the ornaments, then shakes his head. We walk on until he stops so fast I nearly crash into him. Above us hangs a wooden sign painted with snowflakes: Scandinavian Christmas.

The booth is piled high with everything from knitted wool socks to intricately embroidered tablecloths.

Oskar goes still, and his eyes widen when he sees a row of painted wooden horses. “Vad fan,” he whispers.

A wistful smile spreads across his lips. He picks up one of the horses, bright red with little blue and white flowers painted along the sides.

“A dalahäst,” he says, turning toward me. “My dad had one when I was little, but it broke years ago.”

He runs his thumb over the painted wood with a tenderness that makes him look younger. Not childish, just someone’s son, far from home.

“It’s beautiful,” I say.

“It means good luck.”

He keeps his eyes on the horses while the woman running the booth says, “We got those in only this week. They were handmade in Sweden.”

Oskar looks the way he must have on the day he got his first bike. A minute later he’s holding two of the horses, the red one and another painted blue. He whispers something in Swedish and puts the blue one down.

“I’ll take this one,” he says, handing the red one to the woman. “And I need something for my mother. Any suggestions?”

“Maybe,” she says, tossing him a look that stabs me in the chest.

What the actual fuck?

She leads us to a table with bearded wooden figures wearing red caps.

“Tomtar!” Oskar says. “My mother loves these.” He picks one up and laughs. “She says they protect the house.”

While he pays, I watch him standing under the white lights as snow drifts around him. Finding things from Sweden has made him so happy.

I need to make our holiday break very special for him. With two weeks to go, and the internet at my fingertips, I can do it.

After the saleswoman wraps his gifts, he reaches for my hand and laces our fingers together. “Ready to head back?” he asks. “Or do you want to keep shopping?”

His thumb strokes my knuckles while people stream around us in every direction. Unless I’m in an arena, crowds always make me feel trapped. So why, right now, do I feel anchored?

“Hot chocolate first,” I say. “Then we can go home.”

After visiting a beverage cart, we stand by an outdoor heater drinking cocoa while the sky turns dark over Manhattan. Our shopping bags bump together as the wind picks up again. Tomorrow we’ll go back to the chaos of hockey. Practices, travel, games… It’s enough to drive anyone crazy.

Next week, the Condors and Fury will play our second game of the season. But tonight, Ozzy and I have nowhere to be except together.

I grin like an idiot as we head for the subway.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

KAI

OSKAR: We just got to Condors Arena. I’d say good luck in tonight’s game, but…

KAI: Yeah. Same.