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“He listened,” Tova says.

Astrid’s hands pause.

Then she smooths the end of the wrap into place.

“I am glad.”

The answer is for Tova. Her eyes are on me.

She found out what I do from her kid, and it wasn’t hockey.

Gabi rescues the last page from the printer and hands it to Tova.

“There. Twelve pages of injustice.”

Tova takes it with her left hand. “Thanks.”

Astrid picks up her coffee.

“Thank you for keeping her company.”

“She was keeping me humble.”

“He needs it,” Tova says.

“See?” I point at her. “Hostile family.”

Astrid’s mouth shifts before she catches it.

Her eyes drop to the appointment card in my hand.

“Monday at eleven thirty.”

“I’ll be improved by then.”

“Do not overtrain in pursuit of a better first impression.”

“You think this is my first impression?”

Tova looks at her mother. “It isn’t.”

Astrid turns toward the corridor.

“No,” she says. “It is not.”

Chapter four

Astrid

On the third replay, twenty-seven takes the puck off a man without touching him.

Colt enters from the left side of the frame with his stick low and his right elbow closer to his body than I would expect from a player moving at that speed. The defender braces for contact that never arrives. Colt changes his angle, reaches through the open lane, and leaves with the puck.

I drag the progress bar backward.

Again.

This time I watch the shoulder. Then his face. He says something as he passes the bench, and the player nearest him laughs without looking away from the ice.