Page 9

"You said this morning you'd dedicate a goal to the gays in Rimouski. Is that who it's for?"

"It's for my mom first. She drove two days to be here. But yeah." I shrug. "Some kid back home who's scared to say anything, maybe he watches this and he's a little less scared. So, him too."

The room behind the cameras is very quiet. I can feel it on the back of my neck.

"What did Cody Varga say to you at that faceoff in the third?"

"He said congratulations," I say. "Very sweet. He's always been very supportive."

That gets a laugh too. Priya from media relations says, "Last question," and I answer something about the power play, and then they're gone, and the door shuts behind them, and the room stays quiet.

Brandt's standing at his stall, taking off his shin pads, not looking at me.

"Enjoy it," he says to his stall. "The circus is in town."

Nobody laughs. Nobody tells him to shut up either. Kowal is on his phone. A couple of the younger guys are very focused on their skates.

I look at Hale.

He's sitting in his stall with a towel around his neck and an ice bag on his knee, staring at the floor. He heard it. Everyone heard it. He doesn't say anything.

Okay. Bon. That's fine. I didn't come here for that. I came here to play.

I take my time changing. I don't want to look like I'm running. When I finally pull my bag onto my shoulder, most of the room's already emptied out, and Hale's still there, on his phone now, frowning at something.

"Night, Captain," I say.

"Castel."

I'm almost at the door when he says it again. "Castel."

I turn around. He's holding something out, not getting up, just holding it at arm's length.

It's a puck. There's a strip of white tape across the middle, and in black marker, in blocky, careful capital letters, it says 1ST GOAL. 10/9. CASTEL. He pressed so hard the marker tore the tape on the C.

"Equipment guys grabbed it," he says. "Somebody had to write on it."

I take it. It's heavier than a regular puck, somehow. It's not. It's the same.

"You wrote this?"

"Your mom's mantel," he says, and goes back to his phone.

I stand there a second longer than I should. He doesn't look up.

"Thank you," I say.

"Go home, Castel."

Maman is waiting in the family lounge with her coat already on and her mascara completely destroyed. She grabs my face in both hands and kisses both cheeks, and then kisses them again, and then smacks my arm.

"You slid on your knees," she says in French. "On the ice. Like a crazy person. You're going to break something."

"I'm fine."

"You're going to break your beautiful face."

"Maman."