Pride and Pucks and Prejudice - 5. Chapter 5

Jackson

The first week of training camp taught me two things.

First, the Philadelphia Bobcats' training center had terrible coffee.

Second, Noah Lindholm genuinely seemed to want me dead.

Not actually dead.

Probably.

But certainly inconvenienced.

I couldn't quite work out why.

I understood not being thrilled about the trade. I'd captained Chicago for four years. I'd knocked Philadelphia out of the playoffs twice. We'd spent six seasons competing for the same awards.

But Noah behaved as though I'd personally stolen his childhood dog.

It was... confusing.

I liked Noah. I always had. The admission surprised me less than it probably should have.

He was one of the few centers in the league who made me better simply by existing. He saw openings I hadn't seen and forced me to find new ones. Playing against him had always been exhausting. Playing beside him was starting to feel exhilarating.

Every summer I'd look through the league statistics and wonder how he'd managed to improve again.

Every season he'd add something.

A quicker release.

A stronger faceoff percentage.

Cleaner edge work.

The man apparently spent his off-seasons training with angry mountain goats.

He'd kept me honest for six years.

Honestly, that was why I'd started calling him "Also Ran."

The nickname had started after he'd finished second behind me for Rookie of the Year.

The following season he'd finished second in MVP voting.

Then second again.

I remember looking across the ice one day after another award announcement and saying,

"Morning, Also Ran."

His expression had been magnificent.

I'd laughed for a solid five minutes.

After that it simply became tradition.

At least...

I'd thought it had.

Looking back...

Perhaps I'd misjudged things.

---

Coach Hayes divided us into groups for sprint testing.

"Blue line to blue line."

Whistle.

Noah and I launched together.

We crossed the finish almost simultaneously.

The trainers compared stopwatches.

"Tie."

Noah frowned.

"I leaned first."

"You absolutely did not."

"I clearly did."

"You were behind."

"I was ahead."

Coach looked up from his clipboard.

"You were both equally irritating."

He wrote something down.

"Again."

---

The next drill measured shot velocity.

Noah's slapshot registered ninety-eight miles an hour.

The room offered appreciative whistles.

He accepted them with the modest expression of a man pretending not to enjoy applause.

I stepped up.

Ninety-nine.

Noah looked at the radar gun.

Then at me.

Then back at the radar gun.

"...Lucky."

"I've always relied on luck."

"Hm."

He loaded another puck.

"Ninety-nine."

He looked at me.

I looked at him.

We both reached for another puck.

Coach Hayes sighed so deeply it sounded painful. "You're both done."

"But—"

"Done."

---

Everything became a competition.

Everything.

Who finished conditioning first.

Who completed more pull-ups.

Who needed fewer recovery breaks.

Who solved Coach's tactical whiteboard puzzle first.

Who hit more crossbars during target practice.

It reached the point where we'd begin competing before either of us consciously realised we'd started.

One morning I arrived at six-thirty to find Noah already in the gym.

He looked up from the rowing machine.

"...Morning."

"Morning."

He checked his watch.

"...Couldn't sleep?"

"I usually get here around now."

He nodded once.

The following morning I arrived at six-fifteen.

Noah was already stretching.

Third morning.

Six o'clock.

Noah was cycling.

Fourth morning.

Five-forty-five.

He was drinking coffee with one of the trainers.

I sat down beside him.

"What time did you get here?"

"What time did you?"

"I asked first."

"So did I."

The trainer quietly stood up and carried his coffee somewhere else.

---

Ben wandered into the weight room halfway through one particularly unnecessary deadlift competition.

He watched Noah and me add increasingly questionable amounts of weight to the bar.

Then he turned to Aleksander.

"They know this doesn't count for anything, right?"

Aleksander shrugged.

"I don't think they do."

---

During faceoff practice, Noah beat me six times out of ten.

He celebrated every win.

I won the next four.

He objected to two of them.

"The puck bounced."

"The puck always bounces."

"It bounced unfairly."

"I'm not sure physics works like that."

He glared.

"I don't appreciate your tone."

---

One afternoon Coach paired us together for a puck-protection drill.

Noah won.

Barely.

He raised both arms.

"Yes!"

I blinked.

"...That excited you?"

"It wasn't the drill."

"What was it?"

"I beat you."

"At the drill."

He thought about that. "...Yes."

"I see."

Truthfully... I understood completely.

I'd felt exactly the same whenever I'd managed to edge him in Chicago.

---

The rest of the team noticed before we did.

Naturally.

"You taking Lindholm today?" Ben asked Aleksander during water break.

"I've got him in the sprint."

"I've got Lemaire in the shooting competition."

"You taking side bets?"

"Obviously."

I walked past.

"What are you betting on?"

Ben smiled far too innocently.

"Scientific research."

Aleksander nodded solemnly.

"We're studying predator behavior."

---

By Friday the betting pool had expanded.

Eddie carried a notebook.

Actual odds appeared beside our names.

**Morning Sprint**

Lemaire 2:1

**Crossbar Challenge**

Even money.

**First To Lose Their Temper**

Lindholm heavy favorite.

I frowned.

"...Heavy favorite?"

Eddie looked up.

"History."

---

The only person who appeared genuinely alarmed was Coach Hayes.

He caught Noah and me racing to the bench after a conditioning drill.

"Why," he asked very quietly, "are you sprinting to a water bottle?"

Neither of us answered.

Because neither of us actually knew.

Hayes looked at Assistant Coach Daniels.

Daniels shrugged.

"I've stopped asking."

---

That afternoon I found myself laughing as Noah argued with a trainer about whether his sprint had really been three hundredths of a second faster than mine.

He was so completely, utterly invested.

I hadn't realized how much fun competing with him could be every day instead of six times a season.

He caught me smiling.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"No."

He pointed at me suspiciously. "That smile means something."

"It doesn't."

"It absolutely does."

I shook my head. "I was just thinking."

"Dangerous habit."

"I was thinking I'm glad you're my teammate."

He stared at me. For a long moment he said nothing. Then he looked away.

"...You're still an asshole."

I laughed. "Fair enough."

As I skated away, I could have sworn I heard Ben whisper to Aleksander,

"I told you. They're flirting."

Aleksander answered without lowering his voice. "Technically, it's hockey."

Neither Noah nor I turned around.

Which was probably for the best.