Greg claps both of us on the shoulder, which I barely manage not to flinch at. Carter, of course, stands up straighter like he’s about to be knighted.
“Team meeting in ten,” Greg says, already backing toward the door. “Then warmups. Let’s have a good day, gentlemen.”
The door clicks shut behind him, leaving us in a silence that feels heavier than before. Carter finally drops onto the bench in front of his stall, fingers idly tracing the edge of the folded rainbow flag. I watch him for a beat—long enough to feel like I’m intruding, not long enough to make myself stop.
“You bring that flag to every locker room?” I ask, trying to sound neutral.
He shrugs. “Since college, yeah.”
“You ever think about not?”
He raises an eyebrow at me. “You ever think about not putting up that Cup picture?”
Touché.
“You hear anything about the new coach?” Carter asks casually, eyes not quite meeting mine.
“Ramsey,” I say, tugging on my jersey. “From Calgary’s system. Quiet. Ran a tight bench up there.”
Carter nods slowly.
A beat of silence passes. Not quite comfortable. Not quite hostile.
I grab my gloves. “Team meeting’s upstairs. You’ll want to be early.”
Carter doesn’t respond, just grabs his water bottle and follows me out the door.
After the usualbeginning of year meeting items, we finally get out on the ice. This first day is mostly checking our conditioning, seeing who slacked off over the summer and who stepped it up a notch.
I skate over to Olli Koskinen, one of the younger members of our defensive corps. We gained him early last year in a trade with New Jersey, and he’s been putting in a lot of work since then.
“Hey, man. What’d you get up to this summer?”
He bumps my fist and slaps my back, executing the perfect bro hug.
“Nothing much. Found a coach to work with in Tampere, spent a lot of time on my footwork.”
I’m happy to hear it. Koski came to us with a very physical style of play, but lacked the finesse to help him defend against the top skaters in the league. We’d spent a lot of time working on it last year, after practices and at optional skates. I was happy to hear he’d made it a priority over the summer.
“That’s great, man. You’ll have to show me after practice, yeah?”
He smiles at that, nodding as our new coach takes the ice.
The boys circle around as Ramsey introduces himself.
“Nice to have you all here, gentlemen. I know some of you have been here for a while, and some of you are even newer than I am. Regardless of who you are or how long you’ve been here, I’m looking for one thing: a willingness to work hard. You show me that, I’ll do my damnedest to find a spot for you here. Let’s get warmed up.”
With that, he headed to the bench on the North side of the arena. He stands to the side, watching us all skate, occasionally making a comment to the assistant coach sitting next to him, then returning his eyes to the rink.
It takes about five minutes on the ice for me to accept it: Jamie Carter is a generational talent. The man skated as though he was born with blades on. His speed was unreal, his lithe body racing around the ice with skill and speed. Clearly he hadn’t neglected his summer training.
When we switch to drills, his stick handling is even better than his skating, if that’s possible. He carries the puck in and out of cones, always keeping his eyes up and alert. I can tell that in a game, those eyes will be tracing the ice, always looking for the next play, the next gap waiting for him to shoot.
In short, he is everything the Huskies need.
Throughout the first day of practice, I start to feel a little ray of hope. Maybe, if he's this good...it won't matter? Will he really get to be the first gay NHL player to actually play in the NHL? Will this franchise — my franchise — be the first to make that a reality?
As we leave the ice for the day, I’m feeling strangely…light? Hopeful? Is that what this feeling is?
