Page 195 of No Line Change

Dylan was a very big incentive to stay in Albuquerque.

Would he want to visit Saint-Jérôme? Would that be possible? Realistic, given that we aren’t publicly out or together? Teammates surely can visit other teammates during the summer…

“You will take two weeks off from training,” his father said. “Two weeks, no skating or weights or running. And I will make sure you are well fed and up ten pounds at least before I will allow you to train.”

“Does sailing count as exercise?”

Dylan stepped out of the bathroom from brushing his teeth and perked up when he heard Henri speak French. “Is that Claude?”

Henri rolled his eyes fondly. Who else would he be speaking French to on the phone?

“Dylan says hi,” he said, to which Dylan beamed.

“Ahh, Dylan. Tell him I also say hello. You are spending a lot of time together.” Not a question.

“Oh, ah.” Henri strained for a reasonable excuse. Fuck, had Henri said he was in his hotel room? “He was just, uh. We have a team meeting soon.”

“Of course you do.”

Not liking his father’s tone, he decided he’d been a good enough son for today. “So I should go. For the meeting. I’ll score for you tonight, Papa.”

“Good luck, ti-loup.” With that insufferable, knowing way of his.

Henri grumbled as he ended the call. He hadn’t quite scrubbed away his annoyance when he turned to Dylan. “He says hi.”

“Wow. I know the words were technically English, but that was super French of you.”

Although it wasn’t meant to, this only agitated Henri more. He put on his most American accent, stronger than the Ontario lilt he’d learned as a kid and perfected on the Ice Owls, that bit of southern that slipped in sometimes with New Mexico natives, and said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Dylan’s nose wrinkled. His whole face said, “What the fuck? Don’t do that.” He was polite enough not to say it out loud, which was what broke Henri’s mood.

“Sorry. I just…” He let out a breath of air through his nose. “My father is worried about me. I don’t want to tell him I’m better than I am, but I don’t want him to think I’m about to keel over on the ice.”

More half-truths.

“I get it,” Dylan said. He grabbed a shirt and pulled it on, then put on his sling. Henri took that as his cue to sip more of his stupid Gatorade. “My parents always want to know how I’m doing, but they freak out if they find out about an injury. My mom figured out years ago that she was happier not knowing the specifics. As long as I’m good enough to play, she doesn’t want the details until after I’m healed. Says it’s easier for her not to worry that way.”

“And your dad and sister?” He had only briefly seen Dylan’s parents before their game in North Carolina. He’d never had a conversation with them, so he could only glean their personalities through that brief interaction and through the pieces of them scattered about their son’s life. His sister Henri understood a little better, though not well enough to hazard any guesses with confidence.

“My dad follows my mom’s lead. She’s the hockey fan, not him, so this is kind of…I don’t want to say it’s new to him, because it’s been a long time, but he barely knows anything about what we do.”

That surprised Henri. “His son is a professional hockey player. No, sorry, his son is one of the greatest professional hockey players of all time, and he doesn’t know anything about hockey?”

Dylan smiled and shrugged. “He knows how to sign checks, which was most of what mattered when I was a kid. My mom’s a fan, but she’s not into the intensity of professional sports. Her eyes started glazing over once I hit Bantam. Mostly it was my sister who schmoozed the coaches and teams for me. A great agent, even when she was still in college.”

“She knows about your injury, right?”

“A little,” Dylan said. “I told you she guessed something was off, but I didn’t go into details. She’d just worry, and her worry wouldn’t change that I’m not sitting out of a fucking playoff game unless I am absolutely required to.”

Henri abandoned his phone to walk over and throw his arms around Dylan. Henri’s recovery was more straightforward, but he worried about Dylan. Every time he stepped onto the ice, he was risking his whole fucking career. For what? A stupid hunk of metal. He burrowed his face into Dylan’s neck and breathed in the clean scent, let Dylan’s beard tickle his cheek, pretended the stupid fucking playoffs were worth it.

abqturkeysnhl (June 13, 2024): Game Five starts in ten… Every game from here on out is a must-win for the Turkeys. Join us live in Ohio to cheer them on!

gobblegoals (June 13, 2024): omg is that lars nilsson in the stands??? i thought he hated his brother

↪ turkeytalk: There to gloat? Turkeys are up 2-1 tonight and the Otters kicked his team out in round two.

↪ gobblegoals: hopefully we can get revenge for him