I feel a small flash of satisfaction.
Good.
That’s the whole point of this weekend.
Another voice speaks up. “Who’s number nineteen?”
My hand pauses halfway to the glass.
Shaw.
“That kid’s been everywhere,” the first voice says. “Fast. Smart with the puck.”
Of course they noticed. How could they not?
“Where’d he come from?” another man asks. “Was he on the roster before this year?” He sounds curious.
“No idea,” someone answers.
“Transfer from another college?”
“Maybe.”
“What’s his story?”
There’s a small pause.
“No idea,” one of the others admits. “Didn’t see much tape before this tournament.”
I glance down the bar just enough to catch sight of the man who asked that question.
Mid-sixties maybe with graying hair and a lean build.
Someone beside him says his name. “Craig, you scouting him too?”
Craig.
“Trying to figure him out.”
Something about how he says it feels… different.
Most scouts talk about players like numbers on a spreadsheet.
This guy sounds like he’s solving a puzzle or investigating something. He’s not acting like a typical scout.
I look away quickly before anyone notices me paying attention.
It’s none of my business.
Just scouts doing their job.
Still - there’s something slightly strange about the way he was asking those questions. Almost like a journalist.
I shake the thought off and grab my drink. I slide into the booth and raise my glass.
“To Chen,” Russo announces.
“Hockey legend,” Mercer adds.
