By the time the pair skate back to the boards, the entire team has gone quiet - they’re curious.
We’ve all spent the last hour watching disaster after disaster and suddenly someone appears who actually looks like they could belong here.
Coach says something quietly to the assistants before calling the next pair.
But I barely pay attention to the rest.
My eyes drift back toward the bench where the newcomer stands waiting.
He doesn’t talk to the other players.
Just leans slightly on his stick, breathing evenly, his helmet cage still hiding most of his face.
Coach eventually calls for the final drill.
A short scrimmage - five minutes.
The newcomer jumps in again.
This time Coach catches my eye from the boards and jerks his head toward the ice.
My cue.
I hop over the boards and glide into position opposite him, tapping my stick once against the ice. Up close he looks even smaller than I thought from the boards - shoulders narrow under the loose practice jersey.
Not weak.
Just… lighter.
The assistant coach skates in with the puck, and the rink goes quiet around us.
The newcomer lifts his head.
Through the helmet I catch a glimpse of his face - his features are a little sharper than most of the guys out here, almost delicate in the harsh arena light.
Our eyes lock for a split second.
There’s a calmness there that throws me off.
No nerves.
No awkward tension you usually see during try-outs.
Just focus.
Then the puck drops and the moment disappears as the play explodes into motion.
Within ten seconds I’m already chasing him along the boards.
He moves quicker than I expect. He’s cutting the angle perfectly as he pressures one of our defencemen near the blue line.
The puck pops loose.
He takes it cleanly.
No fumbling, no hesitation.
Before the defender can recover, he sends a sharp pass across the ice.
