It was cold in Washington DC. It was a little unseasonable for the end November. There had been small amount of snow on the ground this morning, left from flurries over night. It disappeared quite quickly when the sun rose. The last week had been below freezing and the media acted as if the whole city was frozen. Alex just laughed. Though he has become accustomed to the mild winters in the District, he was still reminded of home when the rare instance of cold occurred. He looked forward to December when the snow would actually stay on the ground for more than a couple of days. He sipped his coffee and stretched out on his long leather couch. It was an off day for the team. They were twenty-three games into the eighty-two game season and had just finished an out-of-town stretch of three games over a week in Florida and Texas. It was nice to be home. And he was more than happy to welcome any cold after experiencing November in the South. To Alex it was still summer down there. There was supposed to be snow in November, not 85 degrees. They had won in Florida, first against the Panthers and then against the Lightning in overtime. They did not fare so well in Texas, as Dallas sniper Loui Eriksson rifled one in the net with 5 seconds left to put the Stars up 3-2. Texas left a bad taste in Alex’s mouth. They only played them once a season. He had been very annoyed at this loss. The Capitals were 17-6-2 so far in the season. It was a really good start for them. They were healthy and strong and everything seemed to be going right.
There was a knock on the door. He sat up and winced. There was a twinge in his right knee. It was commonplace for him to have aches and pains. Hockey is a tough sport. He had taken a hard hit yesterday from one of the Stars defensemen. He hadn’t been knocked to the ice, but in bracing himself for the hit, he tweaked the knee slightly. It had not kept him from finishing the game, but it was slightly swollen today. He made his way to the door. His team mate, Nicklas Backstrom was waiting impatiently on the porch.
“Man, you are not even dressed,” he said annoyed, but not really surprised.
“What? What time it is?”
“It’s 12:30, go get dressed, we have to be there at 1:30. You will make us late.”
Alex smiled at his friend. Nick hated to be late, but he was overreacting. It would not take them more than half an hour to get to the zoo. They were meeting defensemen John Carlson and Karl Alzner there. Carlson was bringing his niece and nephew which always proved to be an adventure for Alex. He and Carlson had a brotherly relationship. He was 5 years younger than Alex and had just finished his rookie year with the Capitals. Carlson reminded Alex of himself as a rookie. And John responded to Alex’s child-like enthusiasm with his own. There were more than a few pranks pulled on each other in the locker room, but that wasn’t limited to Carlson. The whole team was like a band of brothers. They did many things together away from the ice. Backstrom was a great contrast to Carlson. He was serious, quiet, Swedish. To Alex, Swedish was the only description that was needed. It summed his friend up perfectly. Swedish meant reserved and respectful. He was also the center, which meant that he used his brain more in the game than anyone else. Centers ran everything, so they had to be more strategic than reactionary. Alex could sometimes imagine the gears working in Nick’s mind as he thought three and four steps ahead. Nick did enjoy having fun with the team, but he was usually the one along for the ride as opposed to the instigator. He was quick to laugh though and Alex considered him his best friend on the team.
“I drive. We will not be late,” Alex assured his friend.
“How many times do I have to tell you? I will not get into a car with you,” Nick laughed.
“Chicken.”
Alex headed upstairs to dress and Nick called after him, “And brush your hair!”
Nick laughed at the Russian expletive that float down to him as Alex disappeared. He helped himself to a cup of coffee in the kitchen and accidentally knocked some papers off the counter. He bent down to pick them up and several pictures fell from an envelope at the bottom of the pile. He gathered them up and thumbed through them perplexed. They were of Alex and a girl that Nick had never met. There were several of them laughing that looked as if Alex were holding the camera up himself to take the picture. There were a few of the girl alone by a lake or pond. She was smiling up at him in one. She looked very happy. They had to be from this summer. Alex looked very much the same in them. Nick wondered why his friend had not mentioned this girl.
Alex bounded down the steps in jeans and a red Capitals sweatshirt, his hair still unruly. His smile faded a bit when he saw what Nick was holding.
“Who is this?”
“You a nosey Swede, you know?”
“You never mentioned her. Why? Who is she?”
“That is Zoey,” Alex said quietly, taking the pictures from his friend. He smiled slightly, remembering the day at the Summer Garden of Peter the Great. He had talked Zoey into giving him her camera for a few minutes. He had taken pictures of her and then wrestled with her when she tried to get the camera back. She ended up beneath him on the grass, her laughter turning into that beautiful smile as she looked up at him. He couldn’t keep from kissing her then. His heart was very full that day.
“Zoey? That doesn’t sound Russian,” Nick said, interrupting the memory.
“It’s not.”
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