Page 36 of The Trade Deadline
it’s true and they need to hear it
you’re a great center.
unfortunate, because if you were a winger we’d be leading the league in points rn
He put his phone aside so he could relocate to his sofa with his dinner, seltzer water, and Advil. All of his things had arrived safely, and over the last month or so he’d slowly unpacked and gotten everything in a semblance of order. There weren’t any boxes anymore, anyway, except for the Prowlers mementos he refused to look at. Maybe after a few years when he’d finished processing what had happened (and wasn’t pissed off about it), he’d hang some of them up next to his Frölunda and Team Sweden memorabilia. Maybe being the key word.
As he settled in and waited for Netflix to load, he unlocked his phone to set an alarm—he fully expected to fall asleep on his sofa—when he saw Ryan had responded.
feel free to change positions whenever.
you’d probably make a great left wing
better than Tomas what was that attitude
To his delight, he saw Ryan immediately respond.
lots of snark. always quick to whine
but doesn’t like to own his mistakes.
glad I’m not centering him this year
??
?? sorry not sorry
and thanks again, if only because I don’t
have to skate at practice tomorrow
The Netflix music played. Lars didn’t even glance up.
you’re still going to skate at practice tomorrow aren’t you
He couldn’t imagine Ryan skipping an optional skate unless he was sick or injured. That was probably why he was the capable player he was and others…well, others weren’t as capable.
probably but I don’t *have* to
just be ready to call a medic for me after Coach skates me into cardiac arrest
??
I’m rooting for you
Get some sleep, it’s your only hope
??
Bruises and bad game aside, Lars was pretty happy with how the night had gone.
* * *
Lars skated aimlessly around the ice before warm-ups, mentally bracing for a rough practice when he was already tired and hurting. He knew from experience that long-term, it would make him a better player; short-term, he was going to need a nap.
Coach Thompkins blew a whistle as he stepped onto the ice, the shrill sound shattering the fragile calm. Everyone winced and followed him to the benches. Lars took a knee up front—no point in hiding, and it might be the last time he got to sit for the next two hours—and met Thompkins’ hard expression. Thompkins didn’t look angry like he had the previous night, but there was a determination there that meant he had by no means forgotten how the Crabs had performed…or that Lars had challenged him in front of the team. Before he could open his mouth to speak, though, the door to the rink opened and two late arrivals joined them.
First came Vorny, skating lazily towards them with an air of a man gracing them with his presence; next came Ryan, dutifully closing the door behind them and quietly blending in with the back of the team.
