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He looks at the television. I leave it alone.
A few minutes later I stand and carry his glass toward the kitchen.
“What do you want for dinner tomorrow?”
“You pick.”
“That is dangerous.”
“I trust you.”
“More dangerous.”
I open the refrigerator. His yogurt is beside mine. Tova’s juice is waiting on the bottom shelf. There are three kinds of mustard, because Colt apparently considers owning one a personal failure. My coffee is in the cabinet behind me, my shoes are by the garage, and Tova’s hoodie is still on the chair.
I close the refrigerator.
“Thai tomorrow.”
“Perfect.”
Chapter thirty-four
Colt
Sully gives us a half-ice drill for the last twenty minutes and I spend most of it telling a kid things I was told when I was nineteen.
“Feet first.”
“I did.”
“You did them second. Your hands went and your feet came after. That’s how you ended up facing the wall.”
Kowalski resets. “Again?”
“Again.”
He does it again and his feet go first, and the defenseman has to open his hips, and the lane is sitting there before Kowalski has finished deciding to use it.
“There.”
“That’s three.”
“Four and I’ll let you stop.”
Roman, from the boards. “Make it six.”
“Nobody asked the wingers.”
Sully blows it dead at four and change. On the way off I take two draws against Ryan, because he asked me for them and hasn’t won one yet.
He doesn’t win these either.
“One of these days.”
“Not with that grip.”
“My grip is fine.”
