Page 103 of Slapshot Bride

“She named her stuffed rabbit after you. Theo is amused by it. But then, that’s just a sign she adores you. So, welcome to Emma’s world.”

We laugh.

The lights drop.

The horn goes.

The players skate out.

I know exactly where he is before I have seen the number. I don't know how. Something in his posture, in the way he moves on the ice, in the specific set of his shoulders, even under pads and a jersey.

He glides to the line for the anthem and stands with his eyes on the flag and his stick across his body, and I have my camera up before I have decided to.

With Emma now on her seat, I take the shot.

The puck drops.

Oh.

He's fast.

I did not know he was that fast. I have watched him on his morning skates on television with the sound off, and it has been a man doing his job. This is different. This is a man in his element, doing what he loves.

The ice is being cut into by a group of the largest athletes I have ever seen, and I'm glued to the glass with a camera pressed against my cheek because I don't want to look away.

He hits someone.

Not hard. But hard enough that the sound of it carries through the plexi and lands in my chest, and I make a small involuntary sound, and Quinn laughs beside me without taking her eyes off the ice.

“You get used to it. He hits clean. He isn't one of the dirty ones.”

“First time watching a game,” I tell her, raising the camera again.

The shutter clicks.

“I can tell. You’re a rookie. But no worries, once you get in, it gets in the blood.” Quinn assures me.

I forget the camera is in my hands. My eyes take over, and the fingers work on instinct. I don’t think about what I'm framing. I just shoot.

I shoot him at the line. I shoot Kai winning a face-off. I shoot Wyatt on the bench with his mouthguard hanging out of his teeth. I shoot the crowd behind the bench, a wall of open mouths and green jerseys and one small child on a father’s shoulders.

I turn to Quinn with Emma on her lap, eyes focused on the game, and take another clean shot.

The click makes her turn, and when she realizes what I’ve done, she laughs.

“Definitely getting a copy of that one.”

“Of course.”

We turn our attention back to the game.

He takes a hit in the second period.

Big one.

He's skating through the neutral zone with the puck, and a Vegas defenseman catches him from the blind side. Easton goes into the boards hard enough that the glass shakes.

My body reacts before my brain does. I'm halfway out of my seat with my hand at my mouth, and Quinn puts her hand on my forearm and says, “Wait. Wait. Watch.”