He snorted.
Peyton and I both skated back to the dot. I focused on the puck Jayson was holding.
Despite my best efforts, though, I glanced at Peyton again, and we both immediately burst out laughing.
“I’m sorry,” I said through my laughter. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why that—I’m sorry.”
Peyton just let his head fall forward and shook it.
Jayson rolled his eyes. “You know, I’ve neverheardof anyone getting kicked out of a faceoff for giggling, but there’s a first time for everything.”
That didn’t help at all.
Ironically, that got us both kicked out of the circle, and we got out of the way so Willie and Davis could set up. They started snickering, too, and the exasperated sigh from our skills coach had all of us laughing.
Maybe we were just slaphappy and tired. That happened sometimes during the preseason when we were all still getting back in the swing of regular practices. And at least some of us were a little extra tired lately because?—
Because nothing about this preseason had been normal.
That thought sobered me, but I tried to shake it off.
No, it wasn’t normal, but it could be. We could get there. Life went on, and that included hockey.
While Jayson gave Willie and Davis some pointers on their faceoff, I chanced a look at Peyton.
He was looking right at me, and his eyebrows rose. The corner of his mouth did too, pulling his lips into an uneasy smile.
I couldn’t help the quiet laugh that escaped, and it seemed to relax him, too. Hell, maybe that was what I needed today. What weallneeded.
By the time we all headed back to the locker room, Ihadn’t improved my faceoff much, but my mood was a little lighter than it had been recently.
On the way to the showers, I wasn’t sure how I felt about my interactions with Peyton during that impromptu practice session. We got along well—we’d been linemates since the start of training camp, and we worked great together. But working on faceoffs with him—being right in each other’s faces like that—had sparked some feelings I’d thought were dead and gone.
Those eyes had teased the edges of that dormant crush. His smile—hisflirtysmile?—had made something in me try to crackle to life.
And no, getting overcome by a fit of giggles might not have been the most professional thing in the world or the best example to set for the rookies, but… fuck it. It felt good. Better than anything had in a while.
I was still a long way from anything normal. Still miles from the person who could say he was moving past his grief.
But after laughing and joking my way through faceoff practice…
I was less numb than I’d been in weeks.
I ran my fingertips over the C on the jersey hanging in my dressing room stall. Somehow it messed with my head more than the memorial patch with Leif’s number on it. The blue and white 61 above the right breast carried the weight of the whole team’s grief, but that gold C was even heavier.
Leif had always said that if he ever left Pittsburgh, he’d tell anyone who’d listen that I should be the captain after him. I’d laughed it off, figuring we had years before it would be an issue. He’d been signed to a seven-year deal with a no-move clause, and he’d expected to sign another one after that. Everyone—including Leif—had expected him to be captain of this team until he retired.
“Oh, you’resogenerous,”I’d snarked after he’d said I’d wear the C eventually.“I’ll get, what? One season of being a captain before I have to retire because I’m old as shit?”
Smirking, Leif had shrugged.“Tell you what—I’ll retire when I’m forty, and then you can have—yeah, I guess one year.Ifyou can keep playing that long.”
I’d rolled my eyes and flipped him off, and he’d cackled.
I swallowed hard as I ran my thumb over the slick fabric of the letter again.
I hadn’t given much thought to the pressure of the captaincy except to realize it was way more than I’d wanted to shoulder. I’d had on one of the As for the past two seasons, and that had been enough. Leif had the C and he couldkeepit. By the time he retired, I’d be in my mid-thirties, and maybe then I could handle that letter on my jersey.
But now, here I was. My teammates had unanimously spoken. Leif was gone, and his C was mine, and that thin piece of fabric was heavier than I’d ever imagined it would be.
