With PT done for the day, he hobbled to the weight room to work on upper-body strength.The weight room was Phil’s favorite room in the arena.Sure, no one made it to the NHL without loving being on the ice.And magic happened in the locker room when everyone gelled together and the games went well.But the Sea Lions’ locker room wasn’t as electric as others Phil had been part of in Juniors because, when they lost, the cloying atmosphere of Tom’s guilt could choke everyone in there.
In the weight room, whatever worries they had on the ice or in the locker room vanished.The pressures of the NHL had no place here.Unlike the other places the players frequented every day, the weight room remained private to the team and the staff.Nothing about it differed from any other gym, which made it boring to film.And there was no requirement to show up: most of the team, those old enough to have invested properly in their own living space at any rate, had equipment at home, including Phil.Spending time in the weight room meant spending time with teammates on purpose.Admitting you were lonely, or just in need of some company, wasn’t really the done thing, but turning up in the team weight room on any given day guaranteed having someone to shoot the shit with.
Phil could trace his friendship with Tom back to the weight room those first couple years in the NHL.They’d shared a hotel room at the time, too, but they’d barely talked about anything real.Instead, they spotted each other in weight rooms across the continent and built the sort of trust never put into words.When Phil had taken a five-minute major after laying out a left winger from Anaheim ten games into their second season together, Tom had turned up in the weight room next morning to find Phil lying down, staring up at the bench press.He’d dropped down next to Phil and, under the guise of stretching, asked him how he was holding up.Phil, who’d been awake since 4:00 a.m.reading all the nasty comments online, had found himself spilling everything to Tom: how hard he tried to ignore the way the media waited for him to put one foot out of line before calling him a thug, how every jack-off on Twitter seemed to think they were qualified to weigh in on his contract and his skills, how being one of the only Black men in the league seemed to come with either an automatic heel role or the assumption he was part of some affirmative action program.
Tom hadn’t said much, but he’d kept spotting Phil.Ever since, he made a point to praise Phil’s contributions to the team in interviews.
So today, with his knee calling his entire future into question and a man he didn’t trust to guide the team he’d devoted his entire adult life to living in his guest room, the weight room was the natural place to hang out for a little distraction.Phil had only gotten to song three on his go-to workout playlist, Spotify’s Usher radio, when such a distraction occurred.
Unfortunately, it came in the form of his replacement.
After watching Luca Mazetti on TV, Phil had forgotten how short he was for a hockey player.His speed and quick stride made him seem taller, and the skates and layers of padding helped.Dressed only in loose workout gear and standing next to Breezy, Luca looked very small.Phil didn’t know they made eyes that big on men.Still, Mazetti carried himself with a grace and poise Breezy would never hope to manage even after twenty more years of life experience.Phil loved the guy, but he was a goof.
“Phil!”Breezy’s eyes lit up, and a wide smile spread across his face.As evidenced—goof.
“Hey, Breezy.”Phil loosened his grip on the machine and sat back.“How’s it going?”
“It’s going,” Breezy said.“Hey, have you met Luca?”
Mazetti shot a disbelieving look at Breezy’s shoulder, but his teammate was impervious to subtleties.
“Briefly, at prospect camp.Good to see you.”Phil waved in greeting.“I’d get up, but, well.”He gestured toward his knee brace.
Mazetti smiled tightly.“I’m sorry about your knee.”
Phil forced himself to chuckle jovially.“Not that sorry, eh?”
“Well.”
Looking back and forth between them, Breezy realized his error.“Oh, shoot, right.Luca took your spot.Well, this is awkward.”
Mazetti looked like he wanted to murder Breezy in cold blood and then slip in the ensuing bloodbath and hit his head hard enough to forget this entire conversation.Good to see some of the youth had manners and a sense of shame.Phil decided to be the bigger man and intervene.
“Technically,youtook my spot,” he said.“Or did I dream you moving up to first D-pair?”
Breezy paled.His mouth opened and shut soundlessly.
Phil let him stew for maybe a minute before snickering.“It’s okay, boys.If I had trouble with younger, less broken guys taking my minutes, I should have chosen a different career.What’s new with the team?”
That got Breezy going.For someone so oblivious, his observations were surprisingly astute.Apparently, what seemed like a disastrous game to Phil when he watched from the couch had actually been the start of the friendship of the century.According to Breezy, ever since, Jax and Tom had been “tight.”They sat together on the plane, strategizing plays and trying to trick the coaches into doing different drills.
Phil used to sit with Tom on the plane.
“It’s weird,” Breezy summarized, “because I thought Cap wasn’t friends with anyone but you, and it’s also weird because he and Jax are, like, really obviously managing Coach Morris.”
“It is odd,” Mazetti agreed.His deep, soothing voice surprised Phil.Maybe that was why Mazetti seemed older than his years.“I have had many coaches before, and none of them would accept being told what to do.”
“Hm.”The whole thing made Phil feel uneasy.It was out of character for Tom, forming friendships with other people, let alone someone as outgoing as Jax.But the coaching situation concerned him more.“How has Trout been?”
Breezy made a face reminiscent of a baby sucking on a lemon.
Mazetti said, “He is…a very classic coach, isn’t he?”
“Sure, let’s call it ‘classic.’Has Morris…”
“Morris only intervenes when Jax and Tom talk him into it.”
Phil thought of how Ben had been when he’d bullied his way into Phil’s spare room—firm, direct, unyielding, but, at the same time, caring.The last one wasn’t exactly what he expected of a coach, but the first three sure were.Why would Ben act so differently at home?And why didn’t he call Trout out?He’d all but said he disagreed with how Trout did things.A trickle of unease slid down Phil’s back along with the sweat of continued exertion.He’d started looking into Ben as a way to pass the time, a little project on the side to help out the team and validate his own disagreements with Ben’s coaching style.But what would he do if he discovered something really wrong?Something that actually required intervention?
