Page 26 of Offside

"Next one is mine," he said.

"We'll see." I put the receipt in my pocket.

Outside, the parking lot was full of people separating into cars and rides, Theo arguing that he was sober enough to choose the music while Luca told him that wasn't the relevant qualification.

Declan fell into step beside me. Neither of us mentioned that we'd been watching each other.

"You ate three servings of short rib," he said.

"Four." I corrected him as we crossed the parking lot.

We passed Vicki's car, and she lifted a hand before getting in. Zoe called good night from two rows over.

"You didn't take any kimchi," I said. Declan's car was two spaces past mine.

"I had some. Volkov moved it to Morrison's table before you sat down."

"He rearranged half the restaurant before we sat down."

Declan smiled as we reached my truck. "Good night, Bishop."

"Drive safe, Pryce."

He kept walking to his car. I unlocked my truck and stood with one hand on the door. The whole conversation had been about food, the first one we'd had in weeks that didn't involve my shoulder.

10

Declan

Bishop arrived at six-forty-three for a seven o'clock session. He'd been early every Monday since the September assessment. On Wednesdays he appeared before the first full line came off the ice. On Fridays he waited until the room cleared after practice, then came through the door carrying his folded shirt and pretending the timing was because of his schedule. I'd accepted each explanation because the treatment got done.

After Thursday in the corridor and Saturday across the restaurant, acceptance was no longer the same as not noticing.

"You're early," I said.

"You're here already. Why not?" Bishop put his folded shirt on top of his bag and took the light band from the wall rack.

We'd done four times a week for two weeks. His response measures had stabilized enough to return to three, with the weekly shared checkpoint still in place.

I walked him through the first set. He controlled the movement without lifting the shoulder toward his ear. On the second, fatigue brought the compensation back two repetitions earlier than Friday.

"Stop," I said. He released the band, and I asked, "Sore from Saturday?"

"Five when I woke up Sunday. Three now."

"Any weakness or catching?" I asked.

"No weakness. It caught when I got dressed, but just the once."

I recorded his response. When I looked up, Bishop was watching my face.

"How are you, Pryce?"

"I'm fine."

"Fine isn't good enough when I say it," Bishop pointed out.

"Because I'm asking a clinical question."