"That 'I'd rather be getting a root canal' thing."He grins, somehow already in performance mode. Lou's always been good at this part—the showmanship, the connecting with fans. Me… not so much.
I force my features into something resembling a smile, but Louis shakes his head."Maybe dial it back a notch. You've got a bit of a deranged serial killer look going on."
Before I can respond, a wave of cheers erupts from the crowd as Jamie Pirelli steps onto the ice, his whole face lighting up as he acknowledges the fans. He flips a puck over the glass to a kid in a Sasquatch jersey and one of the local network's cameras swings to capture the moment.
"He's good at this,"Louis observes.
I grunt in response, trying to focus on my warm-up stretches. But my eyes keep drifting back to Pirelli.
Nick used to thrive on stuff like this too. He was such an amazing talent that he had other kids coming to watch him play hockey by the time he was thirteen years old. I push the memory away and focus on Coach Shaw as he calls us to center ice.
"Alright, gentleman,"Travis says, his voice pitched low enough that the media can't pick it up."Let's show 'em what Sasquatch hockey looks like."
We break into drill groups, and I try to lose myself in the familiar rhythm of practice, but it's impossible to forget about the audience. Every time Jamie touches the puck, a ripple of excitement moves through the crowd. When he and I connect on aparticularlynice pass, the cheers are immediate. The media people are leaning forward, their cameras capturing everything.
"Looking good, boys!"Charlie calls after we score a beautiful goal on Louis. Jamie grins and raises his stick in a subtle acknowledgment to the fans who are cheering. It's kind of a perfect gesture: he connects with the crowd, but he doesn't disrupt practice. He'sclearlya natural at this kind of stuff. Yet another thing he has in common with my older brother.
"Collings."Coach Shaw's voice snaps me back to reality."Run that power play setup again."
I nod, grateful for something else to focus on. This is what I'm good at: the technical aspects of hockey, the precise execution of plays. Pirelli can handle the showmanship.
As we work through the drills, it's impossible not to see the way he elevates everyone around him. He's got Olivier Gagnon looking more confident already, setting up perfect one-timers for the rookie. The kid'spracticallyglowing under the positive attention.
"Pirelli's got good instincts,"Louis says during a water break, jerking his chin toward Jamie."And not only with the puck."
He's right. Jamie seems to knowexactlywhen to push the pace and when to dial it back. When to play it straight, and when to add a little flair for the fans. Even Austin's starting to thaw,especiallyafter Jamie sets him up for a booming slap shot that draws appreciative gasps from the crowd.
"Okay, we're going to wrap this up with some three-on-three,"Coach calls."Show them some real hockey."
As we line up for the scrimmage, Pirelli catches my eye. He's got a look on his face that makes my stomach flip."Ready to give them a show, Cap?"
I should say something professional about focusing on execution. Instead, I find myself caught in his gaze like a fly caught in a spider's web. The only difference is that I'm not sure I want to fight my way out of it.
When the scrimmage starts, everything else fades away. There's just the ice, the puck, and the impossible way Jamie Pirelli anticipates my every move. We're scoring on Lou almost at will, connecting on plays that shouldn't be possible for two players who've only been linemates for a few hours.
When Coach blows the whistle to end practice, the crowd erupts in genuine excitement. Jamie raises his stick to them again, that million-dollar smile lighting up his whole face. The cameras are eating it up, and I can hear the reporters alreadystarting their commentary about our"explosive chemistry"on the ice.
"Good show, boys,"Travis says as we gather one last time."Hit the showers, then stick around for autographs and meet and greets. The PR team has everything set up in the lobby."
Jamie's already moving toward the boards, tossing more pucks to kids as he skates past. Every gesture looks genuine and unforced. Natural as breathing.
"Coming, Cap?"Louis asks, waiting at the bench.
I nod, squaring my shoulders. Time to put on the public face, and be the leader everyone expects. But as I follow my team into the locker room, I can't shake the feeling that Jamie Pirelli is about to complicate my life in ways that have nothing to do with hockey.
JAMIE
Most of the guys head right into the showers, but I take my time removing my gear. My hands are shaky as I unlace my skates, the post-practice high already fading as I think about the media scrum waiting for us.
In Florida, I learned the hard way that reporters aren't your friends. Fans are one thing, but reporters are vipers. No matter how casual they act, how much they smile and joke and act like they're your friend, they're always looking for an angle. And I've given them plenty of ammunition over the years.
Riley from the PR department pokes her head into the room."Hey, Pirelli? Media wants to talk to you and Collings about your chemistry out there today."
"Great."I try to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. Riley's just doing her job.
"Don't worry,"she adds with a kind smile."Rylan's great with them. Follow his lead."
Speaking of our captain, he's ready to go, of course, dressed in his Sasquatch-branded workout gear. He looks more at ease than I've seen him all day. Not like he's about to walk into a nest of snipers.
