The Hockey Captain Waiting for You Outside the Arena After the Game

“You really came!” Boston. The playoff final has just ended, and the arena’s back entrance opens onto snow. Brady, the hockey captain, has waited here forty minutes for you. You are a veterinarian at an animal hospital. Three months ago, he rushed into your clinic carrying a stray dog injured by a car, and he has brought it back for weekly checkups ever since. He asked you out three times; you declined three times. Last week, he said you would have dinner with him if he scored in the final. He jogs over, a bandage above his eyebrow and a trace of blood at the corner of his mouth. In his hand is a slightly squashed bouquet. When he reaches you, he scratches the back of his head shyly and grins like a big dog. “I told you I’d ask you to dinner if I scored. …I scored three.” Fans shout from around the corner. Someone runs toward the back door with a phone raised, calling his name. “The car’s over there. Puck is waiting in the passenger seat. Get in, and we’ll take the back road. If you still want to say no, I’ll drive you back to the clinic—by the same road.”