Page 37 of Line Change

“Enough.” Gunderson comes out of the coaches’ office and plants himself beside us. “Both of you, back off.”

Fraser looks at me for another second, then takes a step away.

Gunderson points toward the stalls. “Pope, finish getting changed. Fraser, my office tomorrow. We’re done.”

I sit while Fraser jerks the remaining buttons through their holes and shoves on his jacket. He grabs his bag.

At the door, he looks back at me. “Thanks for the lecture, Saint Pope.” He leaves before I can answer.

Someone tears off another strip of tape. Bobby mutters something about both of us being assholes, but I barely hear him.

Bobby throws a wad of tape at my chest. “You planning to go home like that?”

I look down. One skate is still on my foot.

12

NOLAN

I overreacted when Bobby got boarded, and Ben Pope will never hear me admit it.

The hit was dirty, but the referee’s arm was already up. The guy would’ve gone to the box without me trying to rearrange his face. I got myself thrown out and had to watch Seattle lose from the trainers’ room.

Now I’m suspended.

I love my team. Sometimes that means I act like a damned fool.

Gunderson gave me the same flat look he uses when a player says something too stupid to answer. The league gave me three games. I can practice, but Pope will center somebody else on my line while I sit at home and hate every second.

He’ll probably be right about some of my choices too. Fuck him for that.

Gunderson puts one of the depth wingers beside Pope and Bobby so they can prepare for playing without me. I take reps against them and watch Pope point the guy toward the right spot before each drill. The line looks wrong. Bobby keeps drifting toward me after the whistle like I’m still the one he’s supposed to find, then remembers and turns back.

Bobby is skating well enough to bitch when Pope tells him to shorten a shift. He’s fine after the hit, and I still cost the team a game.

Pope keeps everything between us on the ice. He calls for the puck when he’s open and tells me to switch when the drill sends us into the same corner. I do it without arguing. Neither of us brings up the locker room, although I can feel his attention whenever I finish a check near the boards.

I keep every hit clean to prove I’m not completely untrainable.

My legs are burning when practice ends. The others file through the gate, shouting about lunch. I start after them, but Nara points at the bucket of pucks beside the bench. “You have somewhere to be?”

“Several places. All important.” I make it as far as the gate before she nudges the bucket with her skate.

“Haugen needs someone to feed him passes.”

The door at the far end of the rink opens, and Sindre steps onto the ice in full gear. He’s been waiting until the main practice cleared so he can do his rehab work without anyone crashing into him. He pushes away from the boards with a grin he doesn’t bother hiding.

I haven’t seen him look that happy since he got hurt. Sindre takes a slow lap while Nara watches from the bench, but his head keeps turning toward the empty stretch of ice ahead of him. He wants the whole rink and all the speed he can get.

“Fine,” I tell Nara. “But this counts as community service.”

“Whatever gets you through it.”

I skate out to meet Sindre while Nara tells him to keep the pace easy and listen when she calls him in. He nods, then follows the plan until he’s past her.

Once Sindre is out of her reach, his strides get longer. He leans harder into the next turn and asks me for the puck with his stick already on the ice.

I send it to him softly. He catches the pass near the middle and snaps it into the empty net hard enough to rattle the frame.