Pride and Pucks and Prejudice - 13. Chapter 13

Jackson

Practice had barely ended before half the team disappeared towards the showers.

I headed for the players' parking lot.

The autumn air was cool enough that I shrugged into my jacket as I walked. My car sat three rows over.

Something made me stop.

Noah's truck.

Its front left wheel was off. Noah himself was kneeling beside it, sleeves rolled above his forearms, wrestling with a jack that looked older than both of us.

My first thought was that Noah owned three tailored suits worth more than that truck. My second was that the jack looked crooked.

I wandered over. "Flat?"

He didn't even glance up. "Excellent observation."

I crouched slightly. "You know you could call roadside assistance."

"I am roadside assistance."

"You make seven million dollars."

"And?"

"You don't have to do this yourself."

That finally earned me a look.

He raised one finger without hesitation. "Thank you for your concern."

I laughed. "I deserved that."

"You really did."

I dropped my equipment bag onto the pavement. "Move."

"I don't need help."

"Your jack's crooked."

He frowned and actually looked. It was. He muttered something that sounded suspiciously Scandinavian before shifting sideways.

"Fine."

I knelt beside him. No ceremony. No discussion.

He steadied the wheel while I reset the jack. Once it sat properly, the rest took only a few minutes. One loosened the bolts. The other lifted. One fitted the spare. The other tightened everything down.

We worked without getting in each other's way.

It reminded me uncomfortably of passing drills. Neither of us mentioned that.

Naturally we didn't stay alone for long. Ben appeared first. Then Eddie. Then Aleksander. Like sharks catching the scent of blood.

Ben folded his arms. "Welcome to Flat Tire Town," he chirped. "Population you, bro."

Noah grunted his dismissal.

"Need another opinion?"

"When have I ever asked for your opinion?" Noah said. "Never, that's when."

Eddie pointed solemnly at the wheel. "You should tighten the lug nuts after driving fifty miles."

Aleksander shook his head. "No, before."

Ben nodded. "Good point."

Noah looked up. "Please leave."

Nobody moved.

Ben crouched beside us. "I watched a video once."

"I'd rather you hadn't."

"I remember almost all of it."

"I believe you."

Eddie peered at the tire. "Looks round."

"It is a tire," Noah said.

"Excellent observation." I smiled.

Noah noticed. "What?"

"Nothing."

"You smiled."

"I know."

"You keep doing that."

"I've been told."

Before Noah could reply, another shadow fell across us.

Justin Piatkovich looked down. Looked at the five professional hockey players gathered around one pickup truck. Paused. Shook his head. "Everything under control?"

"Yes," Noah and I answered together.

Justin nodded once. "I don't want to know." He kept walking.

Ben watched him go. "I think that was approval."

"I think," Noah replied, "it was disappointment."

We finished tightening the last bolt. Noah stood, brushed his hands together and looked at the wheel.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

He hesitated. "I would've managed."

"I know."

Another brief silence. Then he nodded once. "I'll buy the coffee tomorrow."

"You don't have to."

"I know."

He climbed into the truck. As I picked up my bag again, I found myself smiling. Nice to help a teammate.

Besides, I'd have stopped for anyone changing a tire.

Probably.

---

The weeks settled into a rhythm after that. Morning skate, meetings, practice, conditioning, film. Repeat.

Somewhere along the way I began noticing something peculiar. Every time Coach Hayes blew the whistle for a water break...I was standing beside Noah. Not deliberately. It simply happened.

Neither of us talked about family. Or weekends. Or holidays. Just hockey.

"Your release looked quicker."

"Changed the lie."

"Hm."

Or...

"That breakout worked."

"Only because you were late."

"I wasn't."

"You were."

"I arrived exactly when I intended."

"Which was late."

"It wasn't."

"It was."

Assistant Coach Daniels skated past one afternoon carrying a bucket of pucks. "There they are."

I looked around. "Who?"

"You two."

He kept skating.

Coach Hayes followed a few seconds later. He looked from Noah to me. "Best friends."

Both of us answered instantly, "No."

Hayes didn't even slow down.

I watched him leave.

Coaches were weird.

---

The game against Columbus was ugly from the opening faceoff. Lots of whistles. Lots of scrums. Very little hockey.

Late in the second period Noah chased a loose puck into the corner. The Columbus defenceman arrived a fraction late. His shoulder drove Noah awkwardly into the boards.

The impact echoed through the arena. Noah didn't get up.

The rest of the rink disappeared.

Officials blew the play dead. The trainers hurried onto the ice.

I waited. One second. Two.

Five.

Too long.

When Noah finally stood, he couldn't put any weight on his left leg. The crowd applauded as the trainers helped him towards the tunnel.

I watched until he disappeared. Then I found the defenseman.

Right.

I was angry. More angry than the situation warranted.

I knew that.

I also kept tracking exactly where the defenseman was.

The next shift he carried the puck through center ice. Head down.

I met him just inside our blue line. Clean.

Shoulder through the chest. The kind of hit that emptied lungs and ended conversations. Hard enough to make the point. Legal enough that nobody could argue.

He dropped to the ice. The puck came free.

A scrum followed immediately.

Somebody grabbed my jersey. Somebody else shoved me. I shoved back.

Officials separated everyone.

Coach Hayes never said a word. Neither did anyone on our bench.

Some things required a response.

---

I found myself checking the tunnel every time I reached the bench.

During intermission I needed fresh tape.

At least, that was why I headed towards the equipment room.

The trainers' room was only a few steps farther along.

Its door stood open.

Noah lay on the treatment table, scrolling through his phone.

Good.

I hadn't realised I'd been expecting something worse.

"How is it?" I asked.

"Bruise."

"Good."

He eyed me. "You punched him."

"Maybe."

"You definitely punched him."

"He'll recover."

Noah snorted. "You're an idiot."

"Probably."

I continued to the equipment room.

---------

We won the game three-two.

By the time I finished showering, the dressing room had mostly emptied.

I wandered towards the equipment room.

I wasn't looking for anyone.

Melissa looked up the instant I appeared.

"Need something?"

"No."

"Forget something?"

"No."

She studied me.

"Looking for someone?"

"...No."

She held my gaze for another second.

Then turned to the assistant trainer beside her.

Quietly, but not quite quietly enough, she said, "No awareness."

The other trainer chuckled, "None."

"You got money on that?"

"Oh, yeah."

Medical staff were strange.

I shook my head and turned to leave. Noah looked up from the treatment table. He gave me a small wave. I nodded back, then headed home.

It had been a long day.

I was glad he was all right.

That was all.