“Guy barely spoke the whole practice,” he says. “Didn’t even sit with anyone before warm ups.”
Someone shrugs. “Maybe he’s shy.”
Mercer snorts. “We’re not running a book club. If you’re on this team, you’re part of the team.”
A few guys nod.
“He didn’t even come into the locker room,” someone adds.
“Yeah,” Mercer says. “All that stuff about a separate changing room. It’s extreme.”
No one disagrees.
Medical privacy happens sometimes, but this level of separation is unusual. It makes the new guy feel… removed. Like he’s not actually one of us.
“That’s not what we need right now,” Mercer continues. “Last thing we need is some mystery guy who doesn’t want to be part of the group.”
I finish pulling my skates off.
“Your hit was unnecessary, though” I say.
The room quiets slightly.
Mercer looks over. “Unnecessary?”
“You flattened him.”
“It was a check.”
“It was the last shift of practice.”
Mercer shrugs. “Opposition won’t care what shift it is.”
He pushes off the locker and grabs his water bottle.
“If he’s going to play in this league, he needs to know what it feels like. “It’s not going to be easier in an actual game.”
From the other side of the room Chen runs a hand through his hair.
“Still,” he says casually, “he did set up a pretty good shot -it got past me, anyway. Kid’s got hands.”
“Yeah,” someone else mutters. “Hands don’t stop a body check.”
A few guys laugh quietly.
The overall mood in the room isn’t exactly welcoming.
More like cautious. Suspicious even.
Finally, Russo speaks up.
He’s been quiet this whole time, sitting on the bench taping his stick with slow, deliberate movements.
“We’re missing the point,” he says.
Russo glances around at all of us. “Yeah, he’s weird.”
That gets a few smirks.
