Pride and Pucks and Prejudice - 15. Chapter 15

Jackson

The game in Detroit had finished just after nine. By midnight we'd finally reached the airport. By one in the morning we still hadn't left. Something about a mechanical inspection.

Coach Hayes had accepted the news with the resignation of a man who'd spent twenty years living at the mercy of airlines. The rest of us scattered across the charter lounge. Ben, Eddie and Aleksander had somehow found a deck of cards. A handful of the younger guys were asleep with their feet propped on their equipment bags. Someone in the corner was watching a movie on a tablet.

Most of the coaches had coffee. None of them looked particularly optimistic.

I wandered the room carrying my own paper cup. Every seat seemed occupied. Except one.

Next to Noah.

He was sitting by the window, headphones around his neck rather than over his ears, staring out at the runway where our aircraft sat with its engine panels open.

I stopped beside him. "Taken?"

He looked up. "No."

I sat. Neither of us said anything. There didn't seem much need. Outside, a baggage cart crawled across the tarmac. Inside, somebody laughed loudly at the card game before being shushed by Daniels.

The coffee tasted burnt. It usually did.

Ten minutes slipped past without either of us speaking. Strangely, it wasn't awkward.

Eventually I nodded towards the windows. "You ever get used to airports?"

Noah shrugged. "No." A beat. "Feels like my apartment with worse coffee."

I laughed. "I didn't think your coffee could get worse."

"It can't."

"So this is an achievement."

"It really is."

Silence settled again. Comfortable this time. Noah took another sip anyway, immediately regretted it, and stared accusingly into the cup as though it had betrayed him personally.

"I keep hoping it'll improve."

"It won't."

"I know."

"Then why keep drinking it?"

He considered the question. "...Habit."

"That's a terrible reason."

"So's playing hockey."

"Fair point."

He finally threw the cup into a nearby bin. "No saving that."

"I was rooting for you."

"You were rooting against my digestive system."

"I was curious."

He shook his head. "You're strange."

"I've heard that."

"Frequently?"

"More than you'd think."

He gave a quiet snort.

For a while we simply watched aircraft taxi through the darkness. The airport looked oddly peaceful after midnight. Like the whole world had decided to whisper.

Noah broke the silence. "Do you actually enjoy flying?"

"Not particularly."

"Me neither."

"I like arriving."

"Hm."

"But getting there..."

"...Feels like losing a day."

"Exactly."

He glanced sideways. "I thought everyone else liked it."

"They're asleep."

"They're always asleep."

"I've never understood that."

"I can't."

"You can't sleep?"

"Not on planes."

"Me neither."

He frowned thoughtfully. "...Huh."

There was something oddly satisfying about discovering we shared yet another insignificant habit. Neither of us commented on it.

Across the room Ben won whatever game they were playing and celebrated far louder than the achievement deserved. Eddie accused him of cheating. Aleksander demanded evidence. Within seconds they were arguing over rules none of them appeared to understand.

Noah watched them. "We spend our lives with children."

"They're in their thirties."

"Physically."

I smiled. "You know..."

"What?"

"I thought you didn't like people."

"I don't."

"You seem fond of them."

"They're tolerable."

"That's practically affection."

He looked horrified. "Don't tell them that."

"My lips are sealed."

"Good."

"If Ben finds out, he'll hug you."

Noah visibly shuddered. "Exactly."

We both laughed. It occurred to me, somewhere in the middle of that conversation, that we hadn't mentioned hockey once.

Not systems.

Not practice.

Not video review.

Nothing.

Just airports.

Bad coffee.

Teammates.

It felt...

Unexpectedly easy.

I wasn't entirely sure when that had happened.

---

The conversation drifted again. Not because either of us was trying to keep it going. Neither of us seemed particularly interested in letting it end.

Outside, a mechanic disappeared beneath the aircraft with a flashlight. Inside, the departures board still insisted our flight would leave "shortly."

I wasn't buying it.

I glanced sideways. "You've got siblings?"

Noah nodded. "Two older brothers."

"Close?"

He gave that question a surprising amount of thought. "They enjoy making my life difficult."

I smiled. "That's what older brothers are for."

"So I've been told."

"They still pick on you?"

"They've simply become more sophisticated."

"What does that mean?"

"My eldest sends me photographs from my teenage years whenever I annoy him."

"Blackmail."

"Correct."

"The other one?"

"He calls at inconvenient moments purely to remind me I was an embarrassing child."

"Were you?"

"I refuse to answer on legal advice."

I laughed. "I'll take that as a yes."

"You should."

He thumbed the pages of his book again. "We're close."

"That's good."

"It also means they know exactly which buttons to push."

"I think family gets issued a handbook."

"'How to Irritate Your Younger Brother in Twelve Easy Lessons.'"

"I think mine had illustrations."

He snorted. "My parents just found the whole thing entertaining."

"Weren't they supposed to intervene?"

"They claimed it was character building."

"Was it?"

"I became very good at hiding snacks."

"Useful life skill."

"It has served me well."

I shook my head. "So Minnesota?"

"Mhm."

"You played outside?"

"As often as we could. If it froze we skated." His expression softened in a way I'd never seen before. "Dad flooded the backyard every winter. Nothing fancy. Just boards he'd knocked together and a garden hose."

"Every year?"

"Every year."

"We'd shovel it after school before we could skate."

"Worth it?"

"Oh, absolutely." A small smile appeared. "The ice was terrible. Uneven. Cracked. Snow everywhere. Pucks disappeared into snowbanks. You'd spend ten minutes looking for one. We only had six."

I laughed. "So every puck mattered."

"Exactly."

For a moment he wasn't the relentlessly disciplined player I'd spent years trying to defend against. He was just a kid remembering winter.

"What about you?" he asked.

"My dad practically lived at the rink."

"He coached?"

"Retired player."

Noah nodded. "I figured."

"I grew up in arenas."

"Didn't you get tired of them?"

I thought about it. "No."

"Never?"

"They smelled like home."

He smiled faintly. "I understand that."

I leaned back in the uncomfortable airport chair. "There was always somebody around."

"Equipment guys."

"Coaches."

"Parents drinking terrible coffee."

He looked at my abandoned cup. "Some traditions survive."

"They really do."

We both laughed.

Then the laughter faded.

I found myself staring out at the aircraft.

"When your last name's Lemaire..." Noah waited. "...people start deciding who you're going to be before you've figured it out yourself." He didn't interrupt. "Every tournament."

"Every camp."

"Every interview."

He already knew the question before I said it. "'Think you'll be the next Lemaire?'"

"Something like that."

I rubbed the side of the paper cup between my fingers. "They always meant it as a compliment."

"But?"

"...It gets tiring trying to become someone people have already imagined."

The words hung there longer than I'd expected. I wasn't entirely sure why I'd said them. Noah didn't rush to fill the silence.

He simply nodded once. "That sounds exhausting."

I looked down at the floor. "It was."

Neither of us spoke for several moments. Oddly, it wasn't uncomfortable. He didn't tell me I should ignore the pressure. He didn't say it must have been hard. He didn't offer advice.

After a while he said only, "Makes sense."

That was all. Somehow, it was exactly enough.

Across the lounge, Ben erupted into laughter as Eddie accused him of cheating for what sounded like the fifth time.

The spell broke. Noah glanced over. "I still think they're children."

"They are."

"We're the only adults here."

I looked around the room. "I wouldn't go that far."

He considered it. "...Fair."

And just like that, the conversation drifted onward again, as naturally as if we'd always talked about things that had nothing to do with hockey. The mechanical issue was resolved so we were able to finally board sometime after two o'clock.

---
The captain's voice crackled over the speakers just as Noah was explaining why airport coffee in Seattle was somehow worse than airport coffee everywhere else.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we've begun our descent into Philadelphia. Cabin crew, please prepare the cabin for arrival."

Almost immediately, the conversation stopped.

Not awkwardly.

Just... naturally.

Noah looked out of the window.

I gathered my headphones and stuffed them into my backpack.

He tucked his book back into his carry-on.

The familiar ritual took over.

Seat upright.

Tray table locked.

Bags zipped.

Outside, the first lights of Philadelphia spread beneath the wing.

I realised we'd been talking for almost the entire flight.

Strange.

It hadn't felt like work.

Most conversations lasted a few minutes before they found an excuse to end.

This one had somehow wandered from terrible coffee to favourite films, from favourite films to cities we'd enjoyed visiting, from there to hotel horror stories, parents, childhood, the children we'd met at the hospital a few weeks earlier, and somewhere along the way we'd forgotten to stop.

Nothing we'd talked about had seemed particularly important.

The wheels kissed the runway with a familiar bump.

Noah looked out of the window. "Home."

"Until Tuesday."

"Close enough."

The plane taxied towards the terminal.

Around us the rest of the team began waking from accidental naps.

Ben stretched dramatically.

Aleksander yawned.

Eddie immediately demanded to know whether anyone had seen his phone.

"It's in your hand," Ben said.

Eddie looked down.

"...Oh."

We collected our bags from the overhead bins and shuffled off the aircraft with everyone else.

The terminal was almost empty at this hour.

Just our team weaving sleepily towards baggage claim.

Ben slowed until he was walking beside Eddie.

He glanced back at Noah and me.

Then looked at Eddie.

"See?"

Eddie followed his gaze.

A grin spread across his face.

"They've crossed over."

I honestly couldn't remember when hockey had disappeared from the conversation.

"...Huh," I said.

"...Huh," Noah echoed.

Ben looked unbearably pleased with himself.

"People's Exhibit A."

"I don't know what case you think you're making," Noah replied.

"The correct one."

Eddie nodded solemnly. "It's beautiful to watch."

Aleksander wandered past carrying his suitcase. "What are we talking about?"

Ben pointed at us. "They're becoming people."

Aleksander glanced from me to Noah. "Took long enough."

"They're hopeless," Eddie agreed.

The three of them walked off laughing.

I watched them go.

"Weirdos."

"The absolute worst."

We headed towards baggage claim.

After a few moments Noah said, "You're still wrong about coffee."

"I don't think I am."

"Montreal's better."

"Seattle."

"Montreal."

"The cafés in Pike Place Market alone win."

"They're overrated."

"They are not."

"They absolutely are."

"You've lost your mind."

"So I've been told."

He smiled.

I smiled back.

By the time we reached the carousel, we were arguing in considerable detail about espresso.