Page 110 of The Goalie in Room 1

“That explains all those goals you let in.”

Matteo covered a laugh with a cough.

Eli shifted his weight again. Farther this time.

His therapist didn’t celebrate or draw attention to it. She simply said, “Again.”

Eli kept his eyes on me. “What about a left-handed shooter coming down the right side?”

I leaned back against the table. “Now you’re asking the right question.”

Eli spent the rest of his session and most of mine trying to prove me wrong. Every time his weight shifted to his injured side, his therapist adjusted the exercise until he was doing the work without thinking about it.

Finally, she stepped back. “That’s enough for today.”

Eli looked down at his feet as if they’d betrayed him by cooperating. “That was it?”

“That was plenty.”

He grabbed his crutches and stopped beside my table on his way out.

“See you next time?” he asked.

“Probably.”

“Good.” His face reddened. “I mean, I still have to explain why you’re wrong.”

“Bring evidence.”

“I will,” Eli said with a smirk.

He followed his therapist into the hallway without looking back.

Matteo watched him go, then turned to me. “You distracted him into loading his hip.”

“He was talking hockey.”

“He was doing his exercises.”

“He’s a fucking goalie. He can do two things at once.”

“So can you, apparently.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop.”

“I’m thinking you may be good at something besides irritating me.”

“Unlikely.”

“How did you know it would work?”

“I didn’t.” I glanced toward the empty doorway. “He was too busy thinking about everything his body couldn’t do, so I gave him something else to think about.”

Matteo’s eyebrows lifted. “You made him feel like a goalie again.”

The words caught beneath my ribs.

For a few minutes, Eli hadn’t been rehabbing a fucked-up hip. He’d been a goalie arguing hockey with me.