“True,” Ramsey said, sounding more cautious than normal. Like he was going to pick every word out of his mouth. But then he didn’t say anything else.
And it sucked, sure, but shutting Ramsey up sucked even more.
“Explain this to me,” Nate said, blindly waving at the screen.
“You want me to explain a power play to you?”
Maybe Nate should be embarrassed, because he actually knew what that was.
“Sure,” he said.
“It happens,” Ramsey said, faux seriousness oozing from every word he said, “when someone from the other team is very, very naughty and gets punished for it.”
Nate barked out a laugh. “Seriously?”
“You seriously wanted me to tell you what a power play is,” Ramsey retorted fondly. “I told you, that stupid football player routine doesn’t work on me.”
“Okay. Fair.”
The Wild’s power play ended, still no score, and to Nate’s surprise, Ramsey spoke up again. “Iwilltell you about offensive zone entries, if you’re interested.”
He said it so casually, like he wouldn’t care one way or the other. But Nate saw it for the olive branch that it was, and there was never going to be any circumstances he didn’t accept it.
“Sure,” Nate said.
He followed about seventy percent of Ramsey’s detailed lecture, which Nate thought was pretty impressive, considering that he’d only been watching hockey for less than two months.
“Why aren’t they trying to do that now?” he asked, gesturing to the screen, after Ramsey finished.
“Oh, that’s the fourth line,” Ramsey said.
“So? Do they not count? Do they not try to score?”
Ramsey shrugged. “Sure, they do. But they eat up minutes. They keep the other team from scoring, but generally those guys aren’t exactly scoring powerhouses.” He turned towards Nate, and he felt fully relaxed now. “You know you have starters, and how sometimes for a play or two a backup comes in to give the starters a breather?”
Nate nodded.
“Well, that’s what the fourth line—and sometimes the third line—is for. The top six, they’re the major players. The starters.”
“What are you?” Nate caught himself just in time from askingwhat were you?
Ramsey barked out a laugh. “Nota forward. I play defense.”
“Legit,” Nate said, squeezing his hand. With someone else he might’ve fist-bumped them, maybe as an excuse to touch them if he liked them, but he was already holding Ramsey’s hand.
“It’s a little different in hockey.”
“You don’t say,” Nate said dryly.
Ramsey grinned. “We’re allowed to score points.”
“So are we,” Nate retorted, though he had yet to do that in his career. But maybe someday he’d hit the end zone with a fumble or an interception.
Somedaysoon, hopefully.
“Not like us,” Ramsey argued. “And we get to run the offense, when our team’s on the power play.”
“Did you do that?”
