“I wanted to. Figured you could use the company.” His voice softened. “Like old times.”
My chest felt tight in a good way. “Yeah. Like old times.”
As I worked, Marco talked me through Dallas’s weaknesses. “Their first line center, Allard, watch his feet. He telegraphs his passes. When he plants his right skate, he’s going left. When he shifts weight forward, he’s looking for the cross-ice pass to his winger.”
“Got it.”
“And their goalie, he’s slow on the glove side high. You get a clear shot, go top shelf glove.”
I finished the second layer of tape and tested the grip. Perfect. “Anything else, Coach?”
He laughed. “Just play your game. Trust your instincts. You’ve got this.”
“Thanks for calling.”
“Anytime. Now go kick some ass.”
I hung up with a smile still on my face. Around me, guys were finishing their prep, the usual pregame energy building. I felt… steady. Grounded.
Coach called for us to head out for warm-ups. I grabbed my helmet and stick and headed for the tunnel.
When I stepped onto the ice, I looked up at the team suite. Marco was there in the front row, easy to spot even from this distance. I raised my stick in a salute.
He saluted back.
The game was tight from the start. Dallas came out hard, physical, testing us in every zone.
But for the first time in months, I felt like myself out there.
Not perfect. Not the player I’d been last season. But better. Marginally better.
My reads were quicker. My positioning more sound. Inthe first period, I picked up a lucky assist—a clean cross-ice pass to Jensen, who buried it short side.
Second period, I made a defensive play that broke up a two-on-one. Blocked a shot in the third that kept it a one-goal game.
We won 2–1.
Not a spectacular performance. Not the kind of game that would make highlights. But solid. Consistent. The kind of game where I did my job and helped my team win.
In the locker room after, Coach Wilson nodded at me. “Better game, Savard. That’s what I need from you.”
“Thanks, Coach.”
Kinnunen found me in the showers. “See? I told you. Whatever you worked out—it’s helping.”
“Yeah,” I said. “It is.”
Marco was waiting on the couch when I got home. “Good game,” he said.
I shrugged and tossed my bag by the door. “Not good but better.”
“Better is progress.” He smiled. “And Allard did exactly what I said, didn’t he? Planted right, passed left. You read it perfectly.”
“Your scouting report helped.”
“That’s what I’m here for.” He reached for my hand as I sat beside him. “Among other things.”
I laced my fingers through his. “Thank you for calling. For the routine. It… it meant a lot.”
