“You’re Connor Kennedy,” he said, looking me up and down. When his eyes met mine again, there was a hint of teasing in them. “Oh.” A look like he won something crossed over his features. “You didn’t think I knew who you were.”
I hadn’t, which was my own naivety and ignorance. Sure, I knew everyone in the room besides him and they all knew me, butit shocked me that he knew who I was since he looked like he wasn’t from this world.
He gestured around the room, then put his hands into his pockets and leaned against the closed door. “I know who all of you are,” he said. “I had a long flight from Alaska to study everyone’s name and position.”
My eyes lit up. “Alaska!” That explained a lot. “I don’t think we’ve ever had a player from up there at this camp.”
“You haven’t.”
I looked around, trying to spot anyone else who didn’t look familiar. “Is there anyone else from your junior league here?”
He laughed bitterly. “There is no junior league where I’m from.”
No league? Curious, I narrowed my eyes at him. “Then why are you here?”
“Because it was either here or a fishing boat.”
Gavin
Stepping onto the ice for the first team practice I can see not much has changed since my teen years. Connor Kennedy is standing in the middle of the crowd and I’m alone on the outskirts by the net. Well, not entirely alone. Ander Bouchard is here with me, eyeing up the rest of the team as they jostle each other and congratulate Connor on being named team captain. A few of them tug at the captain patch on his practice jersey. Even from across the ice, it’s clear they’re all engaging in the ritual of sucking up to the golden boy. I wonder how many of them actually like him.There’ve been rumors around the league that his teammates in Chicago find the whole father-son schtick to be tiresome and unfair.
“I love how they act like it’s a surprise,” Bouchard says.
“Yeah,” I agree with a half-hearted shrug. “Even if his old man isn’t GM-ing this thing, it’s not like they were going to choose anyone else for captain.”
Bouchard hits me with his heavily padded elbow. “They could have chosen you.”
“I’m still surprised they chose me to be here. I think being named captain would be pushing it.”
“Ye of little faith in yourself. You’re the best damn enforcer in the league. It would have been stupid not to pick you for the team.”
I look over my shoulder at him. “Does it look like they wanted to pick me?”
He grins at me. “Does it look like they wanted to pick me? We’ve been out here for ten minutes, and no one’s even noticed.”
“Oh, they’ve noticed,” I say as I feel our new temporary teammates’ eyes occasionally flick towards us as they skate in casual, nonchalant loops greeting each other.
Bouchard grins at me. “They’re trying to gauge if you’re going to knock any of their teeth out for saying hello.”
I shake my head at him as I take my stick in both hands and hoist it over my head to rest on my shoulders so I can stretch out my chest by straightening out my arms. “It is tempting.”
But truthfully, it isn’t. Despite my grumpy exterior, I genuinely want to be here. Just like I genuinely wanted to be at that junior hockey camp that summer. You’d think things would have changed in the nine years since we were sixteen. You’d think things would have changed in my near seven full seasons in the league. But they haven’t. I’m still an outsider.An outsider with a Stanley Cup win, but an outsider just the same.
“Hey,” Bouchard says with another jab of his elbow into my ribs. “Fuck all of them. You know they’re only mad because us Blizzards are the reigning champs. And they’ll come around as soon as they realize they need us more than we need them.”
“Yeah.” I bring my stick back down over my head and play with a nearby puck, flicking it around in close movements.
Coach Chris from the Chicago Broad Wings, who was selected to lead this team—gee, I wonder why—steps out onto the ice. He gestures for me and Bouchard to come join the group and we do, taking our time as we glide towards the rest of the team. To be fairto us, all the gear Bouchard has to wear doesn’t make him a fast skater. But it does allow him to be effective where it counts. In front of the net, deflecting pucks.
“Alright, boys! I see you’ve discovered your captain.” Coach Chris pauses and holds up an A patch. “I still have this one to pass out. Whoever wears it is going to have to earn it.”
“Unlike Kennedy,” Bouchard says to me under his breath.
I look at him and stifle a laugh.
Coach Chris continues. “We have one week to get used to playing with each other. That’s not a lot of time, but this is an elite group of players and I have faith we can come together.”
“I didn’t think it was gonna be that kind of camp,” Bouchard says for only me to hear. “I wasn’t prepared for a circle jerk.”
