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“The puck hit your ass,” I said.

“Exactly the right part of me.”

Varga leaned forward on his bench. “Did you practice that over the summer?”

“Years of work.”

“Show us the technique.”

Heath started to stand.

“Please stay seated,” Kieran said from the next stall. “Some of us have to live with you.”

“You saw it,” Heath said.

“I saw their defenseman try to move you three times. Then I lost sight of the puck.”

“So did the goalie,” Heath said, pointing at him. “Thank you.”

That part was true. Heath had held his ground while a man considerably bigger than him tried to clear the crease. I’d seen enough space to get the shot through and trusted him to stay there.

“Good screen,” I said.

Heath looked over, pleased. “Good shot.”

“We were getting along better before you described it.”

“I’m telling my mother we planned it that way,” Heath said.

“She’s going to watch the replay,” I said.

“She’ll be proud of both of us.”

Varga slapped his thigh. “That’s the interview. Tell them that.”

Across the room, someone called for Heath to explain it again. He went willingly. Kieran watched him go, shaking his head.

“He’s going to be unbearable tonight,” I said.

“He scored the only goal.”

“With his ass.”

“I was there, Trier.”

Mark passed through the interview area while I was still in my gear. A reporter had planted herself in front of Larsson with a question about line combinations.

“He’s not on that line,” Mark said, arriving beside her. “You want Mathers, and he’s two stalls down and dressed, which around here is a limited-time offer.”

She laughed and moved. Behind her, another reporter started asking Cross the question Cross had already answered twice.

“He covered that at the top,” Mark said. “I’ll send the transcript to everybody tonight. Ask him about the penalty kill. Nobody’s touched it, and it won the game.”

“We kept them outside and gave Pratt a clear look at the shots,” Cross said. “Trier got his stick on a pass late in the second that would’ve left a guy alone at the back post.”

Everybody got what they came for, and Mark kept moving down the row, stopping to listen whenever someone called his name. When he reached me, I asked what time the bus left in the morning.

“Nine thirty to the plane.” He looked at me. “You’ve had the itinerary since Tuesday.”