Carter hops over the boards, smiling at me before he turns and plops down on the bench. Two minutes later, he lines up for a face-off, bending over, stick across his knees, perfect hockey butt in the air. And he smiles at me. He skates by the bench. Smiling at me. Squirts water into his mouth. Smiling at me. All I can focus on is his tall, broad body moving fluidly across the ice, the quick, effortless cross of his feet, one over the other as he tears down the ice, his stick in front of him, puck on the tip. He’s constantly yelling, commanding attention, leading his team, cracking jokes with
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