Page 24 of The Save

The woman at the counter held up our sandwiches, and Chase stalked forward to take them. He smiled and thanked her, and I followed him to the door.

We walked through the main entrance and down the hall. Chase unlocked the door to the hockey offices with a grunt and a shoulder nudge. The door stuck a little in the frame, and there was no receptionist to greet us this time. What time was it? "Do you need to be at practice?"

Chase glanced at the clock above the door. Four fifteen. "It's fine if I'm a bit late, but we still have forty-five minutes."

We passed the front desk and entered one of the small offices in the short hall. He flicked on the light even though there was plenty of sunlight coming in from the full window in the door. This was a welcome change from the study room.

A corkboard hung on the wall crowded with player schedules and tournament flyers, and a hockey stick leaned against thefiling cabinet like it might be called into action at any moment. Was it his?

Chase dropped his sandwich onto the desk and rifled through a drawer. I took the rolling chair in front of the desk and opened the lid on my salad. Normally I'd wait until whoever I was with started eating, but my stomach lining was beginning to digest itself. I took a bite, and the crisp lettuce and tangy dressing sent a flavour burst through my mouth.

"Good?"

I glanced up. Chase held a thick folder in one hand. "Mmhmm," I mumbled while chewing.

His mouth quirked as he pushed the folder toward me on the desk. “Shot counts, time on ice, zone entries. Last six games.”

I brushed my hand on my jeans and flipped over the cover, taking in the highlighter markings and cramped handwriting. He was thorough, I’d give him that. There wasn’t a single missed entry.

I swallowed and scanned the data. It was messy, but the patterns started to jump out fast. “Do you have baseline numbers?”

He grabbed a second folder. “First semester. November and December.”

I nodded, flipping pages, salad temporarily forgotten. “You’ve got Axel starting in the offensive zone way more than anyone else." I tapped the page. “But you’re not adjusting for that. It makes his possession look way better than it is.”

He blinked. “Should I be?”

“Only if you want accurate data.”

I scribbled a quick adjustment on the edge of the sheet, showing how weighting by zone starts gave a clearer picture of who was driving play.

Chase sat and unwrapped his sandwich. "I didn't know I could feel so useless in such a short amount of time."

"Hm. Not useless." I gestured to my salad.

He chuckled. I was already halfway back inside the numbers. I frowned at one of the sheets and tapped the top corner. “Wait—what’s this column? Plus-minus?”

Chase leaned over, a piece of lettuce stuck to his thumb. “Yeah. It’s the goal differential stat—shows how many goals were scored for or against while a player was on the ice. Doesn’t include power plays or penalty kills, just even strength.”

I blinked. “So . . . if your team scores while you’re out there, you get a plus. If they get scored on, you get a minus?”

“Exactly. People say it’s flawed, but it gives a snapshot. Tells you if a player’s generally on the ice when good or bad things happen.”

I nodded, letting that click into place. “So you could play solid defense and set up beautiful plays, but if your goalie lets in a soft one, you get dinged?”

“Pretty much. But over a season, it starts to show patterns. Scouts pay attention to it, especially when they want to know who’s reliable in close games.”

I glanced back down at the page. “Huh. Then Bear’s getting screwed.”

“What?”

I shifted the paper so he could see. “He’s got a rough plus-minus, but look at who he’s out with and when. He’s starting nearly every shift in the defensive zone. No support, no momentum. Of course his numbers are trash.”

Chase blinked. Bear’s plus-minus was deep in the red, but it didn’t take long to see why—he was constantly deployed in the worst possible scenarios. Late shifts, heavy forecheck from the other team, and line changes that left him stranded. He wasn’t sloppy. He was set up to fail. With a better rotation, he could hold the blue line better than half the roster.

“Damn.” Chase’s brows pinched.

I picked up on other patterns. Nick and Bear had solid synergy, but only when paired together. Their shot suppression went up dramatically when they were on the ice at the same time. Split them up and their efficiency tanked. I circled it and made a note: keep them as a unit.

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