Ilya glanced at the end of the table, where Shane was sitting. As Ilya had suspected, Shane looked confused and uncomfortable. Hockey had never made Shane sad for a minute of his life.
Ilya couldn’t pretend to know how it felt to be let down by the game he loved—not in the way Max or Ryan had been—but he was more aware of hockey’s flaws than Shane was. He’d beenpaying more attention, over the past few years, to the darker side of his sport.
“Hey,” Max said to Ilya, “what do you think of your new coach?”
Ilya shrugged. “Haven’t met him yet.”
“Yeah, but it’s a pretty interesting hire, right? I mean, how old is Brandon Wiebe these days? He must be in his thirties still.”
“He’s forty-one,” Shane said, because of course he knew. Brandon Wiebe had been a forward in the NHL for eleven seasons, before he’d retired nearly a decade ago. He’d never been a star, and had earned himself a reputation as a “difficult” player to manage, though Ilya had never known why. Wiebe had still been playing when Ilya had started his own NHL career, but Ilya had never interacted with him.
“He’s cute,” Leah said. “Like, I watched him being interviewed on TSN. He’s aged well.”
Max placed a hand dramatically over his heart. “I can’t believe you’d say that right in front of me.”
Leah laughed. “Well, heis. Ryan will back me up on this, right, buddy?”
“Nope,” Ryan said. “No comment.”
“There is no way Wiebe is hot enough for Ryan,” Ilya said. “Have youseenhis boyfriend?”
“Uh, yeah,” Max said. “Leah and I Googled him last night. What the heck, dude? He’s, like, an actual angel or something.”
Ryan crumpled his empty lunch bag in one giant hand. “You guys are weird.” He stood to leave, but paused and said, with a small smile, “But yeah. My boyfriend is super hot.”
Max slapped the table. “Love it. Be proud of your hot man, Ryan.”
Ryan walked away, shaking his head but probably smiling.
“So besides beingcute,” Shane said in a somewhat clipped tone, “what makes Wiebe a good coach?”
“He played in the NHL,” Ilya said. “Might make him good.”
“No offense,” J.J. called from his end of the table, “but Ottawa probably didn’t have a lot of coaches to choose from, y’know?”
“Hey,” Wyatt protested. “Just because we’re bad, and in a city that no one wants to play in, and we have no fans...”
J.J. laughed loudly at that. “See? Your goalie gets it.”
“Just wait,” Ilya warned. “We are turning it around this year. You will see.”
“Sure,” J.J. said. “I believe in you. One hundred percent.”
Ilya was going to say something snarky back, but at that moment Hayden rushed up to the table clutching his own bagged lunch. “Sorry if I missed anything,” he said. “Had to deal with a family emergency.”
“Did your wife have another baby?” Ilya asked dryly.
“Is everything okay?” Shane asked with far more concern.
Hayden waved a hand. “Yeah, yeah. No big deal. Just a missing stuffed alligator.”
“Wow,” Ilya said. “Did you call the police?”
Hayden sat across from him and glared at him. “I know you don’t, like, care about other people, but Arthur fucking loses his shit without Chompy.”
“Did you find it?” Leah asked.
“Uh. Yeah. In the back seat of my car. Here at the rink. So I had to, like, do a FaceTime call so Arthur could see him and, y’know. Talk to him.”
