Page 44 of On His Team

Blue and Rowan walk up next.

Rowan glances at my duffel. “First road trip?”

“Apparently,” I say happily.

He says, “Minnesota’s a good one.”

“Good how?”

He steps onto the bus. “You’ll see.”

Blue follows him. “Aren’t you from there?”

Rowan nods once. “Exactly.”

Then they’re on the bus.

I stand there for a second. That explained nothing.

The bus takes us to the airport. The charter takes us to Minneapolis. By the time we land, I’ve learned that a hockey team on a travel day is completely different from a hockey team anywhere else.

They’re quiet.

Not silent, obviously. Stanley still exists. But quieter.

Nobody is throwing anything. Nobody is yelling across a room. Percy has headphones on before we leave the gate, Blue sleeps almost the entire flight, and Benson spends half the trip moving between seats talking to people.

At one point, I watch him crouch beside Owens for several minutes, speaking low enough that I can’t hear him. Owens nods. Benson squeezes the back of his neck and moves on.

I hate that I understand him slightly better afterward.

Fine.

Captain Benson makes more sense than Brother Benson.

I’m seated with one of the assistant athletic trainers while Donovan works most of the flight. Rowan is a few rows ahead with headphones in, looking out the window.

The players go to the hotel when we land.

Donovan and I go straight to the rink. Minnesota’s building is enormous.

Their equipment manager meets us at the loading dock, and he and Donovan spend three minutes talking about skate sharpeners and another two discussing somebody’s kid like they’ve been seeing each other twice a year for twenty years.

Then we work.

Donovan takes odd numbers. I take even.

We unload. Set up. Hang jerseys. Arrange equipment. Check sticks. Check skates. Recheck everything.

Two and a half hours later, my lower back hurts, and I’m hungry enough to be angry about it. I also love it.

That realization happens somewhere between finishing Rowan’s stall and finding a missing helmet clip in the wrong case.

When Donovan finally tells me we’re done, we go back to the hotel. The lobby is busy when we walk in, and I see the Hawthorne guys standing near the elevators with a group of people I don’t recognize.

Benson sees me first. “G.”

I glance at Donovan. He waves me off.