She smiles. "Thanks."
"So what can you tell me?"
"It involves trace evidence, like such a small amount, and if I screw up any of my tests, that’s it. There’s nothing else to test."
“You know what you’re doing. You got the job because they trust you. Don’t overthink it.”
She picks up her pizza again. "Tell me about your day. Distract me from my existential work crisis."
I grin. "We destroyed them. Four-nothing. I got two assists and almost scored in the third, but their goalie made this ridiculous save. I'm still mad about it."
"I saw the highlights. That save was insane. I’m sorry I didn’t get to go."
“Babe, you’ve seen me play hundreds of times. I don’t expect you to be at every game.”
“I feel like a bad girlfriend. The other girlfriends are going to talk shit.”
“Who cares? My opinion matters—not theirs. I wasn’t even sure I’d get any ice time. I’m not mad or sad or any of the things.”
“I’m going to the next one.”
I grab my beer from the coffee table. "Coach pulled me aside after and said I'm playing some of the best hockey he's seen from a rookie. Says if I keep this up, I might make the All-Rookie Team."
Her face lights up. "Declan, that's incredible!"
"It's a long shot. There are guys having better seasons. But it's nice to hear, you know? That I'm not completely screwing this up."
"You're not screwing anything up. You're killing it." She moves to sit closer to me. "I'm so proud of you."
"I had a couple of rough games at the start."
"Everyone has rough games. You adjusted. You figured it out. That's what matters."
I love this. This right here. Coming home after a game to someone who gets it. Who knows what it costs and what it means. Who celebrates the wins and talks me through the losses without making me feel like I need to be anything other than exactly who I am. She knows hockey, which is also a huge help. We talk through plays and watch my games to identify areas I could have improved. She’s my little home coach.
"How's the condo treating you?" I ask, looking around our new home.
It’s a three-bedroom, two-bath on the thirty-sixth floor. It was way out of the price range she was looking at. I had to remind her that my dad negotiated one hell of a deal for me.
"Are you asking if I've figured out the stupid shower yet?"
"Have you?"
"It’s digital. Not rocket science, but I’m used to turning the knob and getting in. Now, I feel like I’m firing up my rocket ship just to get clean.”
I laugh. “State of the art, baby.”
This is my life now. I love it. I love that we’ve settled together. We work. I know there is no chance I would be playing at the level I am without her. I need her. She grounds me, lifts me, and just makes me all around happy.
I want to marry her.
Not someday. Not eventually. Now.
"What?" she asks, and I realize I've been staring at her.
"Nothing."
"You look like you’re concentrating on something really hard.”
