So, he's trying to be humble in his post game locker room interview. But his whole team is on cloud nine pulling faces behind the men with the microphones, and the blood coursing through his veins is like Niagara Falls. And that goal he pulled out of his ass in the last five seconds in overtime? Well, really. It was nothing short of a miracle. One second he was screaming at his left wing to take the shot, and the next, he finds the puck trapped by his own stick. He thinks he sees an opening and Derek takes the shot, figuring no one else was going to anyway.

Then, next thing he knows, the opposition's goalie is on the ground and his teammates are in his face, sticks in the air, and the cheering in the arena around him—so loud he can't hear a thing.

"Well, you know," he's saying to the interviewer, "when no one else can get the puck where it needs to be, sometimes I just gotta skate over there and put it in the net." He smiles, "No, really. It was all of us on the offensive line, in the zone, passing it back and forth until someone found a scoring lane." His jersey is soaked, and his hair is plastered to his forehead. Derek drags his fingers through his hair and chuckles, "Guess I just got lucky tonight." Eyes meet the camera, self-deprecating smile, and cut.

Twenty minutes ago, he was taking his victory lap around the rink, player of the game theme song ripping out of the speakers. Really, it couldn't have gone better if he scripted the entire game himself. They were down when it was 1 to 0, and again when it was 2 to 1. They tied the game again, and the fans were on the edges of their seats for the entirely of the last period. Then they go into overtime, and everything is riding on last next five minutes. Coach pulls all of the defensemen, and then it's the four of them staring down the opposing net, with a goalie who's been matching them shot for shot. He hears the music like a march home from battle, and he knows, like he's always known, that he was born for the NHL.

But on that victory lap, when he should be all smiles and handshakes with the fans, he finds himself wishing it was still high school, cause when he looks up into the stands, whether it's after a win or a mind numbing loss, home or away, among the thousands of faces, there is one he never sees.

...

"You're a hockey fan now?" her best friend, Kate, who has somehow managed to get her hands on a spare key to Casey's apartment comes barreling though the front door. Casey herself looks up lazily from her position on the couch. "No, not really. Nothing else was on."

"So then you flip on the home shopping network or something."

"And depress myself with all the things I can't afford? Yeah, I've had enough masochism after my last date with whoever that prick was you tried to set me up with."

"Oh, so what. He was a fine piece of ass, and you, missy, haven't had a night off since your boss put you on that new assignment, chasing around that tennis player last month," Kate throws down her purse on the kitchen counter and joins Casey on the couch. "Like anyone in New York even gives two shits about tennis. You should really get the hell out of here and into some guy's bed."

"Just so you can steal my apartment for the evening? Roommate's bad habit acting up again?"

"She says she's depressed at how fat Lindsey looked hosting SNL last week. I tried to tell her it was just all the Botox, but she won't believe me. Now all my Reese's peanut butter cups are missing and she's crying herself to sleep. It's a nightmare—the both of us pretending like we don't know."

Casey rolls her eyes, "Really, you should be getting the poor girl some help, not trashing her like last month's issue of Cosmo."

"Well, we can't all be little Miss with a minor in Psychology."

"Whole lot of good that did me too, since I'm chasing around athletes for a living, trying to string together heartwarming stories about their latest match. I swear, if I have to write about one more over-privileged white girl from Connecticut," she threatens, and then loses steam. "I just thought I'd be doing something a little more interesting with a degree in Literature."

Kate laughs, "What about that idea for a novel you told me about?"

"Dead end. The characters just got up and left me. I kept putting them in depressing situations."

"Ugh." Kate sigh, over dramatic, as always, "Look at the two of us. It's Friday night. We live in New York Fricking City, and we're watching hockey."

"Oh, hey. It's career research. I could be writing about one of these buffoons next."

Kate laughs, deep and low and kind of haunted. "God help us all."

On the television, the buzzer goes off, signaling the end of the second period. The network switches to what's going on in the rest of the league to fill the fifteen minute break. Casey launches off the couch and propels herself into the kitchen. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"Wine," Kate demands, "We may not be going out, but it's the damn weekend. Give me some of the good stuff."

"I got two buck chuck from Trader Joe's."

"That'll do."

Casey busies herself pulling wine glasses from off the top of the fridge, cursing that she can't afford a place bigger than four hundred and a half square feet. She remembers when she moved here, fresh off the campus of Queen's. She had hopes and dreams then.

"Oh," Kate cat-calls from the couch. "Lookee here at this one; he's kinda sexy."

"Still got all his teeth, then?" Casey doesn't even turn around.

"Hah-hah," Kate drolls, "No, really. Get a look at him."

Casey scoops up the wine glasses from the counter and glances up at the television.

"Case?" Kate turns round when her friend doesn't answer.

All of the color has drained from her face, and one of the wine glasses falls from Casey's hands, bouncing like a comedy sketch off the linoleum floor. The wine splashes up, staining the bottom of her jeans.

"Casey? Something wrong?"

It's been five and a half years, and his smirk is exactly the same.

...

The boyfriend has totally wrangled me into the world of hockey, and I just can't keep the bunnies from biting my butt about Derek and Casey. So, let's see where this one goes, and please, do please push that pretty little purple button and leave me a review. It'll make my day!