Pride and Pucks and Prejudice - 11. Chapter 11

Jackson

The first real win felt different. Preseason games barely counted for anything, but for the first time since I'd arrived in Philadelphia, our line looked less like three talented strangers and more like three players who actually belonged together.

Coach Hayes had left the combinations untouched.

Lindholm. Lemaire. Lefebvre.

Apparently he believed in suffering.

---

The first period was uneventful. Noah and I were still trying far too hard to prove we could solve every shift ourselves. He attacked defenders one-on-three. I held the puck half a second too long.

Eddie skated between us looking increasingly concerned for his own wellbeing. During one stoppage he drifted between us and sighed.

"You know..." Neither of us looked at him. "...most line mates occasionally acknowledge each other's existence."

"I passed to him," Noah said.

"It hit my skate," I replied.

"It hit your skate because you were in the wrong place."

"I was exactly where Coach drew it."

"No."

"I literally was."

Eddie looked heavenward. "I miss being an only child."

---
By the second period something shifted, not dramatically, but the timing became easier.

Noah stopped glancing over his shoulder before passing to me. I stopped trying to force plays that weren't there.

The game slowed. Midway through the period Ben chipped the puck deep and their defenseman reached it first.

Noah arrived like a freight train, his stick digging the puck free. The entire sequence lasted perhaps two seconds.

Without looking, he swept the puck towards open ice near the right circle. I was already there, not because we'd discussed it, but because after six years of trying to stop him, I knew exactly where he escaped pressure.

The puck landed perfectly on my tape. The defense collapsed toward me, exactly as I'd expected.

I didn't even look. I slid the puck straight across the slot. Noah was already driving the far post.

Of course he was.

His stick met the pass. One touch, and the puck exploded into the roof of the net.

For the first time since Tampa, hockey felt simple again.

The goal horn sounded. Twenty thousand people leapt to their feet. For a heartbeat the arena simply became noise, a mass of waving purple towels with cheers and music blaring, the sort of roar that vibrated through your ribs.

Eddie threw both arms into the air. "Yes!"

The goal horn was still blaring. Fans were still on their feet.

Noah skated straight at me. "Next time don't wait so long."

I laughed. "There was no next time. We just scored."

"There will be."

"I certainly hope so."

"If you move the puck one stride earlier, I don't have to reach."

"You reached because you accelerated."

"I accelerated because you held it."

"I held it because their defenseman committed."

"He committed because I crossed his face."

I considered that. "...That's actually true."

"I know."

"So..."

"...Next time I move it one stride earlier?"

He nodded once. "Exactly."

"Fine."

"Good."

We stood there for another second.

Eddie finally glided over. "I don't want to interrupt whatever weird hockey TED Talk this is..." He gestured toward the celebrating crowd. "...but they're cheering."

Noah glanced around as if noticing the arena for the first time. "Oh."

I looked up at the scoreboard. "...Right."

We bumped gloves almost absent-mindedly before skating to the bench, still debating whether the pass had been a stride late.

---

The bench was strangely quiet when we climbed over the boards.

Coach Hayes watched us for several seconds, then looked at Assistant Coach Daniels.

Daniels leaned closer. "...Should we tell them?"

Hayes never took his eyes off us. "No."

"No?"

"They'll ruin it."

Daniels considered that. "...Good point."

---

The crowd loved it.

Every time Noah and I hopped over the boards together there seemed to be a little more anticipation.

The scoreboard camera found us twice on the bench, fans cheering before either of us had done anything.

Noah glanced up at the screen. "They're encouraging you."

"Who?"

"The public."

"I don't think they're picking sides."

"They've clearly been deceived."

---

Late in the third period Ben won a battle along the wall and looked up.

Instead of carrying the puck himself, he deliberately banked it into open ice.

I recognized the play immediately. So did Noah. I collected it in stride. Without thinking, I threaded a pass through two sticks.

Tape to tape. Noah stepped into it. Missed the net by inches.

As we circled behind the goal he looked at me. "Terrible pass."

"It hit your stick."

"My stick was innocent."

"I'll apologize to it later."

"You should."

---

We won 4-2. The scoreboard didn't matter much. The feeling afterwards did.

The room buzzed differently, lighter, less cautious.

Someone had music playing. Someone else was already arguing over post-game snacks.

Coach simply nodded once as we walked past. "Better."

High praise.

---

The media were waiting outside.

Noah and I had barely reached the interview backdrop before microphones appeared.

A reporter smiled.

"Lemaire, Lindholm."

We both nodded.

"You've only played together a short time, but that second-period goal looked effortless."

I shrugged. "We've played against each other for a long time."

Noah folded his arms. "We know each other's habits."

Another reporter raised a hand. "It certainly looked like the two of you have developed great chemistry."

"No."

"No."

We answered at exactly the same time. There was a beat of silence. The reporters exchanged amused looks.

One of them actually laughed. "So..." She asked carefully, "...you're saying there isn't any chemistry?"

"No," Noah repeated.

"We're just professionals," I said.

"We happened to be in the right places."

"It wasn't instinct."

"No."

"It wasn't automatic."

"No."

The reporter looked down at her notes. "Coach Hayes described it as 'the most natural give-and-go we've seen all camp.'"

Noah shrugged. "He was mistaken."

"I think he was talking about the play."

"So am I."

Another pause. The reporter tried one last time.

"So if we asked each of you to describe the other's game in one word..."

Noah answered first.

"Annoying."

I smiled.

"Competitive."

He looked sideways at me. "...That's your word?"

"It seems accurate."

He frowned as though I'd somehow cheated. "...Fine."

The reporters thanked us. As we walked back towards the dressing room, I caught Ben leaning against the corridor wall with Aleksander and Eddie.

Ben looked at the three of us. "Well?"

Aleksander folded his arms. "They denied it."

Eddie sighed dramatically. "They always deny it."

I frowned. "Deny what?"

The three of them looked at each other. Then, in perfect unison, they answered, "Nothing."

Noah and I exchanged a brief glance. "...Weird bunch," he muttered.

"I was just thinking the same thing."

Behind us, the laughter started before we'd reached the locker-room door.