I caught her scent, floral and sweet. It made my tusks ache. If she left Boston, I’d follow her until my skates wore down to the boot.
Mark, the other team analyst, boarded next, taking a seat behind Crim, near the front.
Brashe strode up onto the bus and walked down the aisle, dropping into the seat across from Haley’s. He glanced at me, at the back of Haley’s head, then at his phone, saying nothing. We’d been teammates long enough that silence functioned as its own language.
More players filed on. Mikael passed Haley’s row and slowed for half a step. Crim sat in the front like he had the day before. Two rookies moved past me, talking about something that didn’t matter.
The bus rolled out of the lot, heading toward the highway.
The overhead bin above Haley’s seat had been packed too full. Someone had shoved their bag in at an angle that left hers pressed against the side. I noticed it about an hour into the ride.
It would hold until the first solid bump.
The bus driver slammed on the brakes, and the vehicle lurched forward.
Her bag shifted.
I was up before it could fall. I repositioned both bags so they sat flat and secure. Then I returned to my seat.
She glanced up and back at me. “Thank you.”
I nodded, and she faced forward again.
The bus settled into highway speed, and I let pre-game focus take over completely, the mental preparation that made the physical preparation possible.
Haley opened her laptop. The faint click of keys told me she was working.
I tipped my head back, closed my eyes, and pretended to doze.
Away arenas felt wrong in small ways.
The ice was regulation, but every surface had its own personality. I did my read during warm-up, taking the corners at speed to test the edge grip and working through the neutral zone to feel where the puck would move clean and where it might skip.
The Crushers’ building was much older than ours. The boards had more give, and the glass showed wear at the bottom where sticks had scraped for years, details that mattered if you knew to look for them.
I felt good. The work from the first exhibition game had carried. My reads were clean. I was starting to know where my teammates would be before they got there. The hesitation I’d brought from my old team was fading into nothing.
The tape session had shown me what I’d been protecting. Seeing it from the outside had given me enough distance to work past it.
The press area sat high on the north side, the standard configuration for most buildings. I didn’t look up at it directly. That distinction mattered, though I wasn’t sure why. Perhaps because I didn’t play to the roar of twenty thousand people anymore. Only one.
The horn sounded, and we cleared the ice.
I was ready.
We played the first period well. The Crushers came out aggressive like I’d expected, their forechecks fast and targeted. They hit each of us early, testing for weakness. I adjusted my timing and held my position. The plays developed, and I put myself where I needed to be.
Crim took a hit along the boards and came out with the puck. Three passes and we were in their zone. No goal, but the structure felt right. It was just a matter of time. The team was coming together.
Between periods, the assistant coach gave me a positioning note that made sense. I noted it and went back out for the second period.
The Crushers adjusted their forecheck, coming in rough on the weak side. I read it in real time and communicated the shift to my defensive partner.
Six minutes into the period, their forward drove into the neutral zone with speed.
I recognized the sequence. Haley had shown me this exact play in the tape session. The forward’s angle and the way he’d cut toward the high slot. Where the passing lane would open if I didn’t close my gap.
I knew what to do.
