He wasn’t the problem, and I don’t like him taking the blame for me.
I look at Hoffman. “I have no intention of letting New York beat us. Never been a fan.”
Hoffman chuckles when I point that comment in his direction. He may not have played for the Islanders, but the Rangers were a New York team too, and a damn good one. He always made sure the competition was tight.
“Fair,” Hoffman muses. “And since we have a former Islander”—he looks at Dawson—“we have an insider. If you have any tips on playing their weaknesses, now’s a good time to share.”
I can see the line Dawson’s towing with loyalty as he glances at everybody staring in wait. He started out with the Islanders and still has some semblance of appreciation for them. That’s how I feel about the Penguins, so I get it.
Dawson clears his throat. “Their defense is strong,” he begins, almost hesitantly.
His eyes roam around us and lock on Clarkson, who nods once in encouragement. It’s no wonder that nobody questioned who would captain this team. There’s only one answer when Jesse Clarkson is involved.
Eventually, Dawson hefts a sigh and stands a little straighter. “It’s the goaltenders that aren’t as strong compared to other Metropolitan teams in the Eastern Conference. Their OG starteris out with an injury until at least next year, and the backups have a lot to be desired.”
That’s good to know. “And their offense?” I find myself asking, wondering if there’s a weakness I can exploit.
My teammate shakes his head. “Not as strong as their defense, but still good. During my last season, it was their forward unit that was considered their biggest fault. They’ve done a lot of reworking since then, so I can’t say what it’s like now. We won’t know until we play them.”
Hoffman nods along. “That’s good to know, Dawson. Thank you.”
Someone clasps Dawson’s shoulder when he’s silent, and Hoffman goes on to explain our next formation. It’s simple. I’ve done it a million times before and rarely mess it up.
But when I see Mikhail Yokav with his arms crossed, looking down at the rink with his disdain burning holes into my back, I show him exactly what can happen if he keeps fucking with me.
As much as I love winning, he loves it more.
And if he wants to play with fire, then I’ll hold the goddamn gasoline.
I make a point to meet his eyes, not breaking eye contact until Hoffman blows his whistle. We start the drill. I purposefully fall a few seconds short, letting the puck go past me. The other team gets the goal.
We go again.
I go left when my opposer goes right.
Hoffman stops us for a second time.
Do you get it yet?Is what my eyes say to the man still standing above us.
His arms go to his sides, and he turns to give me his back and walks to his office. He doesn’t want me here. He doesn’t want me in his life at all. The feeling is mutual though.
“Moskins,” Hoffman calls out, sounding exasperated. “Head in the game. We don’t have a lot of time left. I’ve been on the ice with you. I know you can do better.”
I snap my eyes away from where Yokav disappears and skate back to my position. “I’m in it,” I call back, grinding my teeth.
With Yokav gone, I show the team what I’m made of.
Nobody gets past me.
My team wins.
All while Clarkson’s suspicious eyes watch me. When we get to the locker room, he pulls me aside before I can go to the showers. “I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s not fair to the rest of the team if you’re playing a different long game.”
I meet his eyes stubbornly. “Yokav needs to learn a lesson.”
“Well, don’t fuck over everybody else just so you can prove some mundane point. There are rookies on this team who look up to you. They want to follow your lead. Learn from you. Don’t lead them down the petty path. You’re better than that.”
My eyebrows raise. “Am I?” I doubt.
