But I also know there's no way of doing that if the captain isn't willing to make eye contact with me. Tremblay is also staring into his stall, taping a stick before he heads out onto the ice. Lindholm follows my eyes.
“Hey, uh, Cap sometimes takes some time to warm up to people. But I'm sure once he gets to know you, he’ll start to…thaw out.”
Somehow I doubt that.
“Anyway, excited to see you on the ice. Maybe you can make a sweet goal happen for us.”
“I'll certainly try.”
On the ice,things are chilly. Literallyandmetaphorically.
We start again with skating drills, which I breeze through. Over the past four years, I've known I'd have to be the best – theverybest – to even have a chance at the NHL. And so for four years, I've drilled morning and night, sharpening my footwork and honing my endurance so that I am not just fast, I amprecise.
On the other side of the ice, Tremblay is making conversation with Murphy. He’s the youngest here by a mile, and the look on his face says he can’t believe the team captain is speaking to him. Tremblay seems to notice something on one of his turns – something about his knee, I think – and makes a comment to him. They pause for a moment, Tremblay demonstrating something, and then start again. If I’m not mistaken, Murphy’s turns are a little cleaner.
When we get our first water break, I realize I have no idea what to do. As the guys form groups of two and three to chat, I stand off to the side. Nate Sutter, Tremblay’s assistant captain, is standing with the rookies and AHL players. I consider going over to introduce myself, but sometimes it’s better to just suspect you’re not wanted without going ahead and confirming it. The cluster of players close to my age on the active roster - a defenseman named Koski and the backup goalie among them - have their backs turned to me, removing any question of being welcomed there.
Lindholm pats my back at least, commenting on my execution. He seems to be the only one who understands the vested interest the team has in making this – makingme– work out. Meanwhile, Zach Price, one of the veteran wingers, keeps side-eyeing me. He hasn’t said anything to me yet, and he doesn’t seem to want to. Still, his eyes follow me, as though he’s worried I’ll attack at any moment.
After the quick break, we start to run through some more forward-specific work. Coach has us cycling through all sorts of different lines, trying to see where the chemistry may click — or not.
When it’s just the offense, the drills seem to go fairly smoothly; Lindholm and I set up a couple of good plays, although we’re still missing the center to anchor the line.
But once we start to add in the defense, the wheels fall off. We try a simple play; Mac starts with the puck behind our goal, passing it to Tremblay who’s supposed to get it to one of the forwards — Lindholm, Gagnon, or me. Several rookie defensemen are supposed to block the play, giving them a chance to show off their skills.
The first few runthroughs are okay, if a bit rusty. Tremblay clearly prefers Lindholm, but Gagnon gets a couple of passes, too. They each score once.
I get no passes. Eventually, the d-pair we’re up against seem to see exactly what I’m seeing and stick to Lindholm and Gagnon like glue. At that point, it all falls apart, Tremblay still trying to pass to them instead of me, even though I could easily one-touch it into the goal.
An uncomfortable tension can be felt around me, eyes meeting one another meaningfully. I feel about three inches tall, the gay kid nobody wants to pass to.
A sharp whistle blows, and Ramsey yells louder than I’ve heard him yet.
“That is certainly enough of that. Get to the showers, crew. We’ll pick up here tomorrow.”
We head to the locker room, shoulders hunched and eyes to the ground. Tremblay changes quickly and grabs his bag, heading for the exit. Next to me, I hear Kovalenko swear under his breath.
“Jamie, have a good night. I am very happy to have you on team; shutouts are more useful when we actually score goals.” With that, he walks out of the locker room, still in his practice gear.
The rest of the group starts to break off into the same groups I’d seen all day — and once again, I’m in none of them. The other rookies seem to discuss a place to grab dinner. I notice Finn looking over at me, and he smiles softly at me. I’m torn — I could probably walk over and invite myself to join, and I don’t think they’d say no. But I also think it would damn me to another couple of hours of awkwardness. As nice as it would be to have someone to eat dinner with tonight, I don't want to make the kid's life any harder. If I'm going down – and after that practice, it seems like I am – I don’t want to drag him with me.
CHAPTER FOUR
ETHAN
Shit.Shit, shit,shit.
That wasnotgood. That wasexceptionallynot good.
Things were going fine — good, even. But then we ran thatfuckingdrill and I just…I couldn’t…
“Ethan! Slow down you fucking asshole!”
I hear Alexei’s booming voice behind me and I don’t slow so much as pause from shock. The difference doesn’t matter — with his long strides, he easily catches up to me.
“What the fuck was that, Ethan?“
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
