Page 99 of Line Change

“Thanks,” I say, because somebody is behind us and that’s what I’d say to any teammate.

“Yep.”

His voice is flat. I keep going.

The cold hits my face as soon as I step onto the ice. I push hard through the first lap, letting my legs take over. My body is tired from last night and tight from sitting in the car, but neither matters once we start moving.

Ben is ahead of me when we round the far end. He digs into the turn and accelerates down the boards. I know that stride well enough to see the exact moment he opens up, because I’ve spent most of the season learning how to arrive at the same piece of ice.

We usually pair off during the passing warmup. Today he sends his first puck to Bobby instead. I take one from Sindre and keep moving. Nobody notices anything except Bobby, whose head swivels between us until the assistant coach bangs his stick against the ice and tells him to pay attention.

Gunderson runs us through breakouts first. Ben, Bobby, and I take our usual spots for the line rush. Bobby doesn’t say anything while we wait, although I can feel him looking at both of us now.

The puck comes around the boards. I pick it up on my backhand and hear Ben call from the middle.

“Wall.”

I send it up without looking. He’s already there.

Ben takes the pass in stride, carries through the neutral zone, and leaves the puck for Bobby before the defense closes on him. Bobby gives it back across the slot. Ben could shoot, but he knows where I’m going to be.

The puck reaches my stick beside the far post. I put it into the open net.

“Again,” Gunderson calls.

We circle back into line.

Ben doesn’t tap my pads or say anything. He doesn’t need to. The play works because none of us has to check where the other two are anymore.

Breaking up with him over breakfast hasn’t changed the moment I expect him to cut toward the middle.

The next rush is just as clean.

During the small-area drill, Ben takes a hit along the boards to keep the puck alive. I collect it below the circle and send it through two sticks to Bobby. He scores before the goalie can get across.

Bobby shouts and bumps my shoulder on the way past. I let him. Ben is already skating back to retrieve the next puck.

On our next turn, Bobby loses the puck at the blue line. Ben covers for him before the rush can go the other way, and I swing low enough to give Ben somewhere to send it. The pass hits my stick clean. I carry it back through the middle while both of them drive the net, pulling the defense apart.

Ben gets my rebound and buries it.

I take one stride toward him, stop, and turn toward the line instead. Behind me, Bobby hits Ben’s shoulder with his glove in celebration.

Ben doesn’t call after me.

For the rest of the drill, we play like nothing happened this morning. Ben calls for the puck, and I give it to him. When I get trapped against the boards, he gets close enough to offer an outlet. Bobby keeps finding the gaps we open.

Nobody watching would know anything is wrong. That’s good for our playoff chances and shitty for me.

Gunderson blows the whistle and sends us for water before the scrimmage. I skate to the bench and squeeze a bottle into my mouth. Ben stops farther down with Caleb and one of the defensemen, listening while Caleb talks with his glove tucked under his arm.

Bobby glides up beside me.

“Pope’s fast,” he says.

I lower the bottle. “What?”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “I’ve never seen a naked guy move that quick.”