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Nobody on the bench says anything about the pause, and I’m the last man in this building with any standing to. He’ll tell Maren before he’s showered. He always does.

Roman drops in beside me. “This is why nobody plays cards with him.”

“You owe me forty dollars.”

“Unrelated.”

Mack leans over from the other side.

“You could let the kid have one.”

“He’s twenty-three.”

“That’s a kid to you.”

“Most of the league is a kid to me.”

“You want us to start calling you Grandpa?”

“I want you to remember I know where you live.”

“You helped me move.”

“Then you know I know.”

He laughs and bumps my glove with his.

Ten games left. We came into tonight a point out of the last spot, and nobody in this building is counting them the way I am.

Late in the third we’re protecting the lead in our own end. The puck comes back along the wall and I reach for it, and my left hand loses the bottom of the stick for half a beat. The blade opens. Their winger is already leaning for it.

I get my skate on it first and kick it to Mack, and Mack clears it, and nineteen thousand people breathe out.

Nobody says anything. My right shoulder is hot beneath the pad.

I close the left hand around the shaft again. It answers this time.

We win three to one. The out-of-town board puts us level for the last spot with nine to play.

Finn grins at me on the way down the tunnel. “I’m learning feet.”

“Better,” I tell him.

“Fuck you.”

“Also better.”

Tova comes through the front door the next afternoon with her backpack against one hip and a look on her face that makes me turn the television down before she says anything.

“How was school?”

“Fine.”

“You’ve got to sell it harder than that.”

She goes to the refrigerator and takes out the juice. Her hoodie from Sweden is tied around her waist even though the house is warm.

“I did what you said.”