The first game after the win he gets knocked down three times in the first period alone.
By the second period he’s already adjusting his angles again.
The next night he barely goes down at all.
It’s subtle enough that you only notice it if you’re watching closely.
Which I am.
The next game is away. Shaw travels with Tara, the physio, again on account of the medical exceptions which apparently would make it too difficult to travel with his team.
Still, I forget about that when I step onto the ice.
It’s a small rink but a loud crowd. It’s the kind of arena where the boards feel closer than usual and the glass rattles whenever someone gets checked. Those places are never easyto play in, especially when your season has been teetering on the edge of disaster for weeks.
But Shaw plays like the noise doesn’t exist.
Midway through the first period, he picks up the puck along the boards and two defenders close in immediately. A week ago, that situation would have ended with him flattened into the glass.
Instead, he pivots sharply and slips between them.
Not super-fast. Just… precise.
The puck lands on my stick a second later and we nearly score.
Mercer skates past Shaw afterward and bumps his shoulder.
“Okay, rookie,” he mutters.
It’s the closest thing to approval Mercer has offered yet.
By the third game of our new winning streak, the rest of the team has stopped pretending Shaw is temporary.
Grant is still injured, still expected back in a few weeks. Shaw is still the replacement. But that’s not how people treat him anymore.
Russo starts including him in the quick strategy conversations during line changes. Coach yells instructions at him across the ice the same way he does with the rest of us. Even Mercer, despite his constant needling, begins passing him the puck without hesitation.
The locker room remains… complicated.
Shaw still doesn’t change with the rest of us. He still disappears immediately after practice. And he still skips every team dinner or drinks session, every pointless hour spent sitting around complaining about referees and other teams.
Mercer complains about it constantly.
“Guy acts like we’re contagious,” he says one afternoon while re-taping his stick.
Russo shrugs.
“He’s playing well.”
“That’s not the point.”
“That’s exactly the point.”
Mercer snorts but doesn’t argue.
And he’s not just playing well - he’s improving. I even see improvement within a single game at times.
It’s like watching someone solve puzzles in real time.
