Rodriguez drops onto the bench next to me, still in his gear, drenched in sweat and water from the celebration. The manic energy from the ice has burned off and he’s quieter now, sitting with his elbows on his knees, looking at the floor.
“How you feeling?” he asks.
“I don’t know yet.”
“That’s fair.” He leans back against the wall. “That glove save in the third. Top corner. How’d you know?”
“I didn’t know. I just didn’t guess.”
He nods like that means more than it should. “Sometimes not guessing is enough.” He’s quiet for a second. “You should go find your girl after this. Whoever she is.”
The words sit in the air between us and I look at him and he’s not looking at me.
“I will,” I say.
“Good.” He stands up. “I’m proud of you, Z. For a lot of reasons.” He squeezes my shoulder and walks across the room to Dex.
My phone buzzes again.
Mackie
parking garage. Level 2. My car. I’ll wait as long as it takes.
I’ve got media obligations. Finally I shower and change, walk through the tunnel, and take the elevator to the private garage. I find her car in the corner of level 2. She’s sitting on the hood in her Puckaneers hoodie with her legs crossed and her eyes red. She stands when sees me and doesn’t say anything. She just opens her arms, and I walk into them. She wraps herself around me and holds on.
“You did it,” she says into my neck.
“We did it.”
“No. You.” She pulls back and puts her hands on my face. “That was you, Zach. That was all you.”
I kiss her and she pulls me in deeper, her fingers curling into my collar. I run my hands along the skin above her waistband and she makes a sound against my mouth. She hooks her leg over my hip and I lift her onto the hood of her car. I can hear the muffled celebration still rolling through the building above us. My brain should be calculating exposure risk. Right now, it’s only filing away the fact that her breathing changes when we’re somewhere we shouldn’t be. The sheer relief of having her overrides every single rule we’ve made.
“We gotta go,” I say against her mouth. “Someone’s going to see us.”
“I know.”
Neither of us moves.
“Mackie.”
“Five more seconds.”
She holds my face and kisses me one more time, slow and warm. Then she lets go and slides off the hood.
“I’ll be at your apartment in forty minutes,” she says.
“Drive safe.”
“I always drive safe.”
“You got into a street race three weeks ago.”
“That was recreational.” She’s backing toward the driver’s side, grinning. The lights are glinting off her hair making it look copper and her eyes are still red. I want to remember exactly this—her face, this light, this parking garage that smells like concrete and exhaust and victory. “Forty minutes. Leave the door unlocked.”
She gets in the car and drives away. I stand there listening to the engine fade, thinking about Rodriguez saying go find your girl. Jack’s hand on the back of my head. Barrett’s palm on the towel. The puck hitting my glove with forty-three seconds left.
Round 1 is over. We advance.
