Pucking Strong: Chapter 62
“Okay, now stir, stir,” I chant, holding the bowl while Karolina moves the whisk in a jerky pattern. “Keep stirring. Tight circles, remember?”
“Here, like this,” says Henrik, trying to reach in and take over.
I playfully slap his hand away. “Babe, she can do it. Just give her a sec.”
Karolina furiously churns the eggs into the top inch of cinnamon roll mixture, an excited smile on her face. “Am I doing it?”
“Dig deeper,” I say on a laugh. “You gotta mix the whooooole bowl.”
We’ve finally made it to the last day of her wearing the arm cast. The last scans of the break look great, so she gets the cast off first thing tomorrow. To celebrate, we’re baking some cinnamon rolls as a gift for Hanna. Karro stands at the counter on her kitchen stool. She’s perfected the art of balancing on one foot, keeping the weight off her healing leg. That cast will be on for another few weeks, at least.
Henrik checks the time on the oven again, offering me a pained wince. “I must go.”noveldrama
“I know.” Leaning around Karro, I wipe a smudge of flour off his forehead. Baking with a five-year-old who only has one good arm is always a bit of a messy adventure. “Give me a kiss before you go, and I might consider saving you a cinnamon roll.”
It’s game day today, an afternoon game against the Chicago Blackhawks. Henrik has delayed for as long as he can, but it’s time to head in. He pulls me in by my shirt and kisses me. “They’re called kanelbulle in this house. Get it right, or I eat them all.” With a last quick peck, he lets me go.
I feel dizzy, lost in a haze of sappy love and contentment. I can’t remember a time when everything in my life felt more perfect. Henrik says something in Swedish that has Karro nodding. Then she starts digging deeper into the bowl, properly mixing the dry and wet ingredients. “Yes,” I praise. “Good girl. Keep going, min lilla chef. Once you get it mixed, I’m gonna knead it for you. But once that cast comes off tomorrow, you’ll be kneading your own dough balls.”
She giggles, still aggressively whisking.
About fifteen minutes later, I’m setting the freshly kneaded dough into a bowl, covering it with a damp towel, when Henrik walks out in a crisp, charcoal-grey suit. “Whoa,” I blurt. Schooling my expression, I offer him a cool wink. “I mean, hej, snygging.”
Henrik’s eyes go wide. “Who taught you that?”
Karro can’t hold it in a moment longer. She cracks up with a loud “Me!”
Chuckling, he shakes his head, holding his arms out. “Well? How do I really look?”
Sitting on the edge of the counter, her sticky fingers dusted with pärlsocker, she gives him a once-over. “You need a pink suit.”
He smiles. “I’m sure you must be right. For today, will this do?”
She just shrugs, content to turn her attention back to eating all the pärlsocker.
He looks to me, one brow raised in silent question. “You think me handsome?”
I shrug too. “You know how I feel about you in a suit.”
His smile widens, reaching his eyes. He steps around the island and gives me a last parting kiss. “I’ll see you both later.”
“We’ll be there. Go play hockey. Skate fast, win pucks.”
He gives Karro a forehead kiss before he slips his protein drink from the fridge and a banana from the hook. Then he heads for the door. As soon as I hear it click shut, my phone starts buzzing on the counter. I check the screen to see Brad Brady’s face smiling up at me. I tap the green button. “Hey, Brad, what’s—”
“Help!” he shouts over me. “Ted, you gotta help me out, man.”
My heart leaps into my throat. “My god, what happened? What do you need?”
“I need you to cover for me at the game. Like, now. Like, pronto. Pregame stuff is starting, and Cassidy already called off. She’s in France or something. Without me, they’ll be scrambling for PTs. Please, Ted.”
“What happened?” I say again. “It sounds like you’re in your car.”
“I am! My stupid husband only just got himself into a stupid motorcycle accident. I hate fucking motorcycles!”
“Oh my god.” I sink down onto one of the island stools. “Well, is he gonna be okay?”
Brad groans into the phone. “They think he broke his clavicle. And he all but degloved his right elbow from the road rash.”
“Jesus.”
“Well? Can you do it?”
I take a deep breath, thinking through all my options at warp speed. “I mean, I have Karolina with me, and Hanna’s in Orlando—”
“Just bring her! Come on, you know one of the WAGs will take her. Please—”
“I’m coming,” I say over him, rising to my feet. “It’s all good. We’ll get ready now and go.”
“Oh god, Teddy, you’re a lifesaver.”
“Not a problem. Just go take care of Dylan.”
“Yeah. Hey, why did I have to fall for a biker, huh? Why couldn’t I find myself a nice birdwatcher or a guy who collects stamps?”
I laugh. “We can’t help who we love.”
“Can’t we? If this man tests my heart like this one more time, he and his leather pants are gonna take a long freaking hike back to Nebraska.”
“Uh-huh.” We both know Brad is crazy about Dylan. I shift the phone to my shoulder as I start cleaning up the cinnamon roll mess. “Look, I need like fifteen minutes here to get organized, then I’ll head to the arena. Tell the others?”
“Thanks, Teddy. You’ve really saved my bacon.”
“Shut up. You’d do the same for me. Hanging up now.”
We both hang up, and I turn to Karro, now busy on her tablet playing a finger-painting game. “Well, min lilla honey bun, I guess it’s take-your-niece-to-work day.”
“Yay!”
“Feeling better?” I say. “Nice and loose?”
DeGraw rolls his shoulders. “Right one is still feeling a bit tight, Doc.”
I give him a little more deep-tissue stimulation, pressing in with my thumbs. I haven’t had much one-on-one time with our new starting goalie. He’s having an amazing season, with no injuries, so he’s been off my table. “How are you adjusting to life as a Ray? The other guys treating you well?”
“Yeah, everyone’s been great,” he says, speaking in a thick Australian accent. I read somewhere that he’s only the second Australian to ever play in the NHL. His recruitment was all down to Mars Price. Something about a chance encounter in Japan, which led to the team flying DeGraw out for a trial.
Tess ducks her head into the PT room, waving to grab my attention. “Hey, we’re heading out,” she calls. “Just pick her up whenever tomorrow.”
“Thanks,” I call back. “It’ll be early. Cast is coming off!”
“Cast is coming off,” she echoes in a singsong voice.
She came straight over with Emma when I called her from the car. The Langley girls will take her home for another slumber party. Which means I now get to watch my man play hockey and I get a child-free evening with him after the game.
I shift my hands to DeGraw’s other shoulder. “Are you going out with the guys tonight?”
He just shrugs. Some players, especially goalies, get way inside their heads as part of their pregame ritual. But DeGraw isn’t like that. He always seems happy to chat. “Yeah, probably. Cap says he wants us all there, win or lose.”
The “win or lose” threat is valid. Apparently, Jake worked it out with the Hawks’ team captain that the teams are going out together. It’s karaoke night at Rip’s, which is practically a religion with the Rays at this point.
I pause my massaging. “Any better?”
DeGraw rolls his shoulders again, then his neck. “Yeah, Doc. Wow, you’re good.”
I smile. “Well, they didn’t give me a DPT for nothing.”
He chuckles.
“Need anything else? Help stretching?”
“Nah, I’m good. Gonna go get kitted up.” He hops off my table, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He has nothing like Ilmari’s massive 6’5” frame, but he’s still a big guy. Most goalies are these days. DeGraw is easily over six feet tall, but he has more of a swimmer’s physique, compared to Ilmari’s thick rugby build.
He turns slightly. “Hey, do you know if any of the other staff are going out tonight?”
I raise a brow. “What staff? Like the PTs and the equipment managers?”
“Yeah, them. Or others.”
I shrug. “I mean, maybe. Caleb Price is kind of the king of karaoke night. He’s usually always there. Who were you hoping for exactly?”
“No one,” he replies quickly. Too quickly.
My gossip antenna perks up. “Come on, you can tell me.”
“I’m all good, Doc. Thanks.” The poor guy is actually blushing.
“Hey,” I call as he walks away. “Maybe if you ask, I’ll know the answer … or I can find you the answer.”
He stops, his shoulders stiff. Slowly, he turns back around. Then he walks back over to me, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Okay, do you know Roshni?”
I scrunch my brow, trying to place the name. “Is she …”
“Analytics.”
With that point of connection, a face flashes before my eyes:pretty, bespeckled, and oh so serious. Roshni Varma is one of the Rays’ new statisticians. They review game-day tapes and come up with stats for the team’s shooting and save percentages. They also handle the draft and playoffs, and they calculate zone start ratios. It’s all very technical, and number-crunchy, and way over my head.
I don’t want to paint with a broad brush, but the analytics department here is just … well, they all fit the stereotype. There was a stats intern back when I was an intern. His name was Travis, and he arranged his Cheetos from largest to smallest before he ate them. The last head of their department retired as a multimillionaire, having invested early in the cryptocurrency craze. The only other guy I know designs his own video games and sells them to developers. He only keeps this job because he’s such a big hockey fan.
Roshni only just started. She’s a gorgeous South Asian woman, with curly black hair, walnut-brown eyes, and a little diamond stud nose ring. I should reserve judgment, right? Until I learn whether she categorizes her socks by fabric type?
I look to DeGraw. “Want me to see if she’s going tonight? If not, I’ll try to invite her.”
His eyes go wide. “I—no. Thanks, Doc.” Spinning on his heel, the poor guy flees the room like his ass is on fire.
I don’t get a moment to ponder his odd behavior before Paulie taps me on the shoulder. “You free, Doc? I could really use some help stretching my hammies.”
“Sure.” I pat the empty table. “Hop up.”
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