“Enough about me, what have you been up to?”
He spills the juice he’s pouring. “Shit, I’ll get the paper towels.”
“What are you hiding?” I ask, pausing mid-serve of the chicken pieces as I eye him.
“Nothing,” he replies, sopping up the spilled juice. He’s always been a shit liar. Ever since he was small, he would practically fall over himself trying to avoid the subject, too afraid he’d slip up and give himself away. Just like he’s doing now.
“Seriously, spill. Please tell me it’s nothing to do with my birthday.”
“Stop, Benji,” David calls from the hallway before barreling through the door, red-faced and panting. “Don’t say anything.”
“I wasn’t going to,” he replies.
“Now you’d both better. I said I didn’t need anything for my birthday this year.”
“Yeah, but you say that every year,” Benji says.
“And every year you ignore me, so I guess we’re right on track, then. Sit down and eat your dinner before it gets cold.”
***
I get to warm up early, and no surprise, Luka is already here. So I stand in the shadow of the walkway to watch him for a little while as he moves over the ice. It’s hard to believe I was ever as smooth as he is out there, but I swear I was. Or at least, in my memory I was. Now . . . well, let’s just say I can hold my own, but I don’t look anywhere near as graceful doing it.
He’s not working himself too hard, just skating laps as he skims the blade of his stick back and forth over the glass-like surface. Every now and again, he’ll throw in a spin, head tilted back, eyes closed, a peacefulness to his expression that will soon be gone. As much as any of us love hockey, it’s about as far from peaceful as you can get.
Luka skids to a stop at the side, grabbing his water bottle and drinking it down for a few seconds before heading back out. But before he can pick up where he left off, he pauses and turns my way. I press my back up against the cold cement wall, hoping he didn’t catch me watching, and then the echoes of more of the guys’ voices reach me.
Shit. How long was I actually watching him?
I lean a little forward to check if Luka’s attention is still up here, but he’s back circling the net at the far end.
“You coming?” White says, nudging me on his way past, and I startle.
“Yeah, umm, I’ll just be a second.”
I pretend to retie my laces as a few of the other guys pass, and then I follow them out.
Warm-ups on game days are the most chill. Lots of stretching and getting our muscles all loose and ready for the game. A few early-bird fans are in the crowd watching, their voices carrying across the ice, not clear enough to actually know what they’re saying, but it’s still kind of nice. Soon the stands will be full, and the noise will shift into a monotonous hum for the most part. At least that’s what it mostly sounds like to me. I think I spend just as much mental energy trying to block them all out as I do physical energy when I’m out here anyway. That’s the job of a captain, to be the example, to ignore the countless people in the stands wishing for you to fail, even if it means also blocking out the ones cheering your name. Besides, out here it’s not just about one player. It’s the team that wins games, and today we get another shot at Boston, and I want that win badly.
I’m taking shots on Colt when Boston skates out in a line, moving in a figure eight down the middle before fanning out to start their pre-game program.
Then I spot Luka heading their way. At the same time, Boston’s rookie, Cosmo Parkes, skates over to join him. I know they played together at Boston U, and really fucking well too. They had this chemistry out on the ice that some skaters never find with another player. It was almost like magic. Then they got drafted to different teams, and suddenly all the things they knew about each other that helped them win games they can now use to beat the other.Cosmo is definitely still attuned to Luka’s moves out on the ice. He intercepted him on so many plays last time we were up against each other.
“Hart, stop fraternizing with the enemy,” I call, and Cosmo tilts his head past Luka to frown at me before rolling his eyes like a child and returning to his conversation as though I didn’t say anything. I’m about to break them apart myself when Luka’s laugh rings out like a bell. He punches Cosmo in the chest, in a playful way, and turns around, shaking his head, with a wide, happy smile on his lips.
What did he say? Was it some joke about me? Probably laughing at how I broke my nose the first day I tried Luka’s trick play. I bet they have a dozen or more plays they could pull off together perfectly.
“You okay, Cap?” White asks, drawing my attention.
“Fine, why?” I ask, trying not to follow Luka with my gaze, but my eyes automatically track him.
“You sure? Cause you kind of look like you want to beat someone up, and we haven’t even started the game yet.”
“Yeah, well, maybe these guys should be worried about how hard we’re coming for them tonight,” I say, and he wraps an arm over my shoulder.
“Fuck yeah, they should. Tonight is our night.”
***
