“It shows,” Ilya said, because Max had absolutely thrown himself into coaching this camp.
“I just—” Max glanced at the tables of kids all around them. “This is seriously the best. I’ve been mad at the game for a while, and I needed this.”
“I get that,” Ryan said quietly. “I mean, not for the same reason. Your situation is unfair and awful, but I kind of hated hockey until I, y’know, quit.”
Unlike Ryan, Max always spoke loudly and confidently. He pointed a finger at Ryan and said, “The NHL did you dirty, Ryan. I never liked how you were treated, and I like it even less now that I’ve met you and know what a sweetheart you are.”
Leah dropped into the seat next to her husband. “Are we talking about how much we love Ryan?”
“No,” Ryan mumbled to his sandwich.
“We’re talking about how fucked up hockey is. And how we love it anyway,” Max said.
Leah smiled. “Yep. That’s the problem right there.”
Ilya glanced at the end of the table, where Shane was sitting. As Ilya had suspected, Shane looked confused and uncomfortable. Hockey had never made Shane sad for a minute of his life.
Ilya couldn’t pretend to know how it felt to be let down by the game he loved—not in the way Max or Ryan had been—but he was more aware of hockey’s flaws than Shane was. He’d been paying more attention, over the past few years, to the darker side of his sport.
“Hey,” Max said to Ilya, “what do you think of your new coach?”
Ilya shrugged. “Haven’t met him yet.”
“Yeah, but it’s a pretty interesting hire, right? I mean, how old is Brandon Wiebe these days? He must be in his thirties still.”
“He’s forty-one,” Shane said, because of course he knew. Brandon Wiebe had been a forward in the NHL for eleven seasons, before he’d retired nearly a decade ago. He’d never been a star, and had earned himself a reputation as a “difficult” player to manage, though Ilya had never known why. Wiebe had still been playing when Ilya had started his own NHL career, but Ilya had never interacted with him.
“He’s cute,” Leah said. “Like, I watched him being interviewed on TSN. He’s aged well.”
Max placed a hand dramatically over his heart. “I can’t believe you’d say that right in front of me.”
Leah laughed. “Well, he is. Ryan will back me up on this, right, buddy?”
“Nope,” Ryan said. “No comment.”
“There is no way Wiebe is hot enough for Ryan,” Ilya said. “Have you seen his boyfriend?”
“Uh, yeah,” Max said. “Leah and I Googled him last night. What the heck, dude? He’s, like, an actual angel or something.”
Ryan crumpled his empty lunch bag in one giant hand. “You guys are weird.” He stood to leave, but paused and said, with a small smile, “But yeah. My boyfriend is super hot.”
Max slapped the table. “Love it. Be proud of your hot man, Ryan.”
Ryan walked away, shaking his head but probably smiling.
“So besides being cute,” Shane said in a somewhat clipped tone, “what makes Wiebe a good coach?”
“He played in the NHL,” Ilya said. “Might make him good.”
“No offense,” J.J. called from his end of the table, “but Ottawa probably didn’t have a lot of coaches to choose from, y’know?”
“Hey,” Wyatt protested. “Just because we’re bad, and in a city that no one wants to play in, and we have no fans…”
J.J. laughed loudly at that. “See? Your goalie gets it.”
“Just wait,” Ilya warned. “We are turning it around this year. You will see.”
“Sure,” J.J. said. “I believe in you. One hundred percent.”
Ilya was going to say something snarky back, but at that moment Hayden rushed up to the table clutching his own bagged lunch. “Sorry if I missed anything,” he said. “Had to deal with a family emergency.”
“Did your wife have another baby?” Ilya asked dryly.
“Is everything okay?” Shane asked with far more concern.
Hayden waved a hand. “Yeah, yeah. No big deal. Just a missing stuffed alligator.”
“Wow,” Ilya said. “Did you call the police?”
Hayden sat across from him and glared at him. “I know you don’t, like, care about other people, but Arthur fucking loses his shit without Chompy.”
“Did you find it?” Leah asked.
“Uh. Yeah. In the back seat of my car. Here at the rink. So I had to, like, do a FaceTime call so Arthur could see him and, y’know. Talk to him.”
Ilya grinned. “What does Chompy sound like?”
Hayden ignored him. “Anyway. Crisis averted. But I’ll have to check my back seat before I leave from now on.”
“You’re a good dad,” J.J. said.
Hayden sighed as he poked a straw into his juice box. “Sometimes. I barely know what I’m doing most days, but I love them and would do literally anything for them, so that’s something, I guess.”
Ilya glanced down at the remains of his own sandwich. He made fun of Hayden a lot—for a million different reasons—but he secretly admired his ability to parent four young children. He was a good dad, as far as Ilya could tell. His kids were great; his wife, Jackie, was awesome. Ilya probably envied him, but he would never admit it.
“I’m pumped for this afternoon,” Max said. He pointed at Shane. “Our team is gonna destroy you guys.”
Shane smiled. “We’ll see, pal.”
The kids were being divided into four mini-teams, each led by two of the coaches. Shane and J.J. had one team, Ilya and Max had another, Ryan and Wyatt had one, and Leah and Hayden had the last group. They would be playing half-rink scrimmages, and, while officially the coaches weren’t supposed to play, they probably all would. Ilya was looking forward to it.
“Hey,” Max said, leaning over the table and dropping his voice. “Do you think it’s a good idea, putting Glencross and Tremblay on the same team?”
Jordan Glencross and Ben Tremblay had been clashing with each other all week. There always seemed to be two kids who had a history at these camps.
“Sure,” Ilya said easily. “It will bring them together.”
Max put his hands up. “All right. I’m just saying, those two kids are ready to choose violence.”
“Will be fine.”
It wasn’t fine. Less than halfway through the game against Ryan and Wyatt’s team, Jordan had Ben pinned on the ice, and was punching his facemask with his gloved hand.
“Seriously?” Ilya said.
Max reacted more quickly, and usefully, by calling out, “Hey!” and hauling Jordan off the other boy.
“He started it!” Jordan protested.
“You’re such a lying little bitch,” Ben spat back.
“Yo!” Max said. “We don’t use that language at all.” He glanced at Ilya. “Want me to take them to the locker room, maybe?”
“I’ll do it,” Ilya said. “Come on, ding-dongs.”
He heard Max calling out instructions to the remaining kids as Ilya left the ice, shifting their attention from Jordan and Ben being disciplined. Ilya kept his body between the two boys as they walked to the closest locker room. Once they were inside, he made them sit on opposite sides of the room, facing each other.