“Oh.” She clicked her pen and flipped on her tape recorder. “In the Hockey News’s ranking of the top fifty players so far this season, you are number six, second among goaltenders,” she said, moving the interview away from his private life. “Last year you didn’t make the list at all. What do you think contributed to your startling improvement over last season?”
She had to be kidding. “I didn’t improve. I didn’t play much last season.”
“A lot has been made this year about your comeback from your injury.” She sounded stiff, as if she were nervous, which was a bit of a surprise. He didn’t think there was much on the planet that made her nervous. “What has been the single biggest obstacle for you?” she asked.
“Getting a chance to play again.”
She pushed her hair behind her ear and glanced up at him. “How are the knees?”
“One hundred percent,” he lied. His knees would never be what they had been before the injury. He’d have to live with the pain and worry as long as he played.
“I’ve read that when you started out in the junior league in Edmonton, you played center. What made you decide to become a goalie?”
Apparently she’d researched more than his sex life. For some reason, that didn’t irritate him like it used to. “I played center from about the age of five to twelve. Our team goalie quit midseason and the coach looked around and said, ‘Luc, get between the pipes. You’re goalie.’”
She laughed and seemed to relax a bit. “Really? You weren’t born with a burning desire to stop pucks with your head?”
He liked her laugh. It was sincere and shone from her green eyes. “No, but I got real good real fast so I wouldn’t get a concussion.”
She scribbled something on the notepad. “Did you ever think of going back to your former position?”
He shook his head. “Nah. Once I was in the net, I never wanted to leave. I never even thought about it.”
She looked back up at him. “Did you know that you say aboot instead of about?”
“Still? I’ve been working on that.”
“Don’t. I like it.”
And he liked her. A lot more than he knew was wise, but looking at her, with her shiny hair and pink lips, he suddenly didn’t care about being wise. “Then I guess I won’t work on it-eh?” he said like a true son of Edmonton.
A smile tugged at both corners of her mouth, and she turned her attention back to the notebook on her lap. “Some people have said that goalies are different from other players. That you are a whole different breed. Would you agree?”
“That’s probably true to a certain degree.” He leaned farther back into the sofa and rested his arm along the top. “We play a different game than the other players. Hockey is a team sport, except for the guy between the pipes. A goaltender plays much more one-on-one. And if we mess up, there’s no one to cover for us.”
“Lights don’t flash and the crowd doesn’t cheer when one gets by the wingers?” she asked.
“Exactly.”
“How long does it take you to shake off a loss?”
“That depends on the loss. I review the game tape, figure out how to do it better next time, and am usually over it th
e next day.”
“What are your pregame rituals?”
He remained silent until she finally turned her head toward him, then he asked, “Besides you calling me a dodo?”
“I’m not printing that.”
“Hypocrite.”
She shrugged. “Sue me.”
There were several things he could see himself doing to her, but suing her wasn’t one of them. “I eat a lot of protein and iron the night before and the day of the game.”
“Retired goalie Glenn Hall was quoted as saying he hated every minute that he played. How do you feel about the position?”