Page 112 of Thoroughly Pucked

I stare at him like he’s nuts.

“Fine, fine. A water with no carbs and a salad or what-the-fuck-ever,” he says.

At least he understands me.

Later, we’re at The Great Dane. That’s the restaurant/bar Stefan owns. Hayes is there, too, along with Fisher, who joined the team recently. Hollis is here too and he’s telling us a story of a guy he knew in college who was tired during a game from an all-nighter. “So then Brody says to the captain, ‘Well, it’d be helpful if I could get an espresso during intermission.’”

Wait. That perks me up. “Did he get one? Did he actually order an espresso during a game?”

“Said he was feeling a little sluggish,” Hollis recounts, “and that an espresso would do the trick.”

This I have to know. “And did it?”

Hollis’s eyes widen as he nods. “He fucking attacked the puck after that. Went on a tear.”

Hayes tilts his head, seeming to consider this. “Are you saying we should get an espresso cart rink-side?”

“I was promised espresso when I was traded so I say yes,” Fisher puts in dryly.

I say nothing, knocking back some seltzer as Stefan looks my way. “What do you think, Brick? Next time you’re sluggish during a game, want a cup?”

I roll my eyes, then grab onto the trash talk. “I’d think a whole jug for you.”

Hollis smiles as if he likes the idea. “Nothing wrong with a little caffeine.”

“When are you ever tired?” Stefan counters to the laidback new guy who’s magic with cats.

Hollis draws a deep breath, seems to give it some thought. “Fair point. It’s rare. But that’s because I’m married to sleep.”

“What hockey player isn’t married to sleep?” Hayes asks.

“This is like a serious devotion to it. I’ve got a sleep mask and a special pillow,” Hollis says, as if he’s proud of his bedtime accouterments.

Stefan sits up straighter, blue eyes twinkling. “Wait. You bring a special pillow on the road, Hollis? That’s fucking gold. Your new name is Mister Cuddles.”

Hollis groans, leans back in his chair. “I don’t bring it on the road, and I’m not Mister Cuddles.”

“Mister Cuddles,” Stefan says, having a grand old time, pointing to Fisher next. “Because Fisher’sother new guy.”

There’s too many new guys to keep track of.

Fisher grins with relief. “Glad I got that one.”

The nickname wars perk me up. I meet Stefan’s gaze, a little accusatory. “We agreed Hollis’s nickname was Magician. Fight me on this.”

We spend the next hour arguing over the nicknames for Hollis and for Fisher, and in the end I win.

When we leave, Hayes, Fisher and Hollis walk ahead and Stefan hangs back with me, a paper bag of leftovers from the restaurant in his hand. We’re shooting the breeze about the season and the city, then Stefan tells me he wants to take a detour. We say goodbye to the other guys and swing by the park. It’s dark and late, and I’m not sure what’s up but he finds an old guy on a bench doing a crossword puzzle by the duck pond.

“How’s the puzzling going, Henry?” Stefan asks the guy.

“This one’s easy. A five-letter word for penance. Atone,” Henry says, answering it before we have the chance.

Stefan gives him the bag. “Chicken risotto special tonight. Not too shabby.”

The grizzled man smiles. “Thanks, kid.”

“Henry, this is my buddy, Dev.”

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