Gina and I are curled up on our couch watching the Blizzards play. They’re winning 3 to 1 against New York.
“I never thought you would become a sports fan,” Gina says.
I throw a pillow at her, then lean forward, because I don’t want to miss anything. New York is angry, their normal state, and they’ve become even more violent than normal.
I watch Florian more than I should. He’s confident and commanding on the ice. He looks exactly like a man who wouldn’t find me terrifying.
I mean, I don’t carry a hockey stick around and try to push him into the boards every chance I can.
“He’s so handsome,” Gina coos.
“Gina…”
“Oh! Your book arrived.” She hops off the couch and runs to her room.
She comes back shortly after with the book. She beams, which is annoying. Twin sisters are annoying in general, and Gina is no exception. She’s also my best friend, and I don’t know what I would do without her.
I take the book, glance at the title, and almost drop it.
“Seriously, Gina?How to Manifest Your Ideal Boyfriend in 30 Days or Less (Even If You’ve Tried Everything).That’s the title?”
“It’s what you need.”
I take the book and slip it into my work satchel. “I’ll look at it later.”
“Right. Because now you have to focus on watching Florian Richter on the ice.”
“I am watching all the players,” I say haughtily. “It’s practically my job. I’m observing if they receive any injuries.”
And that’s when it happens.
One of the New York players barrels into Florian’s back, then pushes him head-first into the boards.
I gasp.
So does Gina.
“I can’t believe that player did that!” Gina exclaims. “How could he be so violent?”
I like hockey. I do. But my heart is somewhere in my throat.
Because the thing is…
Florian isn’t moving.
He’s not moving when the New York player manages to look guilty, when that’s totally not how he ever acts, and Florian is not moving when the referee skates over in his black-and-white shirt.
Florian’s also not moving when the paramedics arrive with a stretcher, and he doesn’t move when they check that he’s breathing—oh, God, why do they haveto check that?—and he’s not moving when they slide him onto the stretcher and remove him from the ice.
“He’ll be fine,” Gina promises, her voice forceful like when she promised Mom that the cancer would go away, and then when she promised Mom three years later that we would be totally okay and we would see her in heaven in eight decades.
“Yes. Totally.” I try to make my voice extra confident. My voice sounds funny, and she shoots me a worried look.
But hockey players have injuries all the time.
I know. I work on their bodies after.
I also watch a lot of hockey.
