Page 39 of Offside

His eyes fell to my right arm. "Are you?"

"I'm good."

"I'm good too." He nodded as he skated away.

There was a minute seven left in the second. I sat through it with my right glove off and the hand low on my thigh. The shoulder burned where the jersey had pulled it, but my strength was unchanged. At the horn, Vicki pointed toward the tunnel. Zoe had a table ready; Reyes stood beside her.

Declan was across the room with Hayes, checking where a blocked shot had caught him above the skate. Declan looked up when I entered. His eyes went to my right arm, then back to Hayes. Zoe checked my grip, sensation, active movement, and low-load strength. The shoulder stopped at its current limit and held there.

"Tell me exactly what you felt when he pulled the arm," she said.

"It caught when his grip pulled the arm up. No weakness. It burned afterward."

"Why did you stop?" Zoe asked. "I thought you'd throw another punch."

"The shoulder told me to stop. The fight was finished, anyway."

Reyes watched the second strength check. "No new loss. You have fifty-three seconds carrying into the third. When you come out, no more fighting and no overhead reach. If the burn turns into weakness, you report it."

"I will. The next warning from this shoulder ends my night."

"It's not up for discussion," Reyes said. "I need you to follow it."

"I heard you. No more fighting; no overhead reach."

Zoe entered the response and handed me a fresh shirt. "Postgame check before you leave."

I dressed without looking across the room again. Declan had followed the boundary. So had I. The distance between his table and mine was less than twenty feet—and more complete than a closed door.

In the third, Detroit scored while I was in the box. We answered after I came out. Theo carried the puck deep, Luca won it back along the wall, and Garrett's shot from the point went through traffic before the goalie saw it. We won four-two. Nico waited by my stall after the room started clearing.

"You didn't have to do that," he said.

"I did. You were hit after the whistle."

"And you stopped before the officials had to stop you," Nico said.

"When it was done. The next punch would have been mine."

He looked at me for another second, then bumped his left fist against mine. "Thank you."

Kieran called his name from the showers.

After the postgame check, Zoe wrote the night plan on a card, even though it was already in the portal. I was to use the cold sleeve for fifteen minutes when I got home and put on the support afterward. If the strength changed, I would call Reyes before the morning recheck. Declan left the building before I did.

He arrived at my apartment an hour later. He brought bread and a bottle of wine.

"I said I was cooking," I told him. "You didn't need to bring food."

"Then don't eat it. More for me." He grinned. I took the bag from his hand.

The stew had been in the slow cooker since morning. I'd set it up before the game because dinner would happen no matter what happened on the ice. The apartment smelled of beef, onions, and rosemary. Declan took off his coat and hung it on the hook by the door, but he didn't say anything else. His eyes went to the cold sleeve in my left hand.

That was all. I placed the sleeve over my right shoulder, held it in place against the wall, and fastened the strap across my chest with my left hand. I set a timer for fifteen minutes.

Declan opened the wine while I filled two bowls. He didn't adjust the sleeve or ask for the postgame numbers. He asked why I owned six bowls and only two plates.

"Bowls hold more. Plates are just bowls with a structural problem."