Page 59 of The Trade Deadline
“One of them wasn’t clean,” Ryan offered with a shit-eating grin.
Good. He was having fun.
During the second, Lars entered the zone with both opposing defenseman already in position to block his path to the net. Needing to wait for backup, Lars took the free ice in front of him and went behind the net and circled back around. Everyone had caught up but no one was set up to do much more than he could, so he took another lap. There were some options that time and maybe he should’ve passed it or taken a shot. Instead, with his bet in mind, he took another pass behind the net. It seemed to confuse the other team’s defense and two guys broke off to pursue him, leaving Jake wide open in front. Lars sent a sneaky pass as he faked going behind the net again.
Jake didn’t score, but he ripped a shot right into the goaltender’s mask. The resulting whistle when the puck ricocheted out of play gave Lars the chance to skate leisurely back to the bench.
“Three laps, RJ,” he said as Ryan passed him. “I wanna see three laps.”
“Who in their right mind even does two?” Ryan grumbled. He was smiling, though, and had that determined look in his eyes that often resulted in a goal.
Ryan’s line didn’t score, but he pulled off an impressive four and a half laps before he was forced to do a drop pass to Jordy. While their earlier moves might go unnoticed by the casual observer, there was no mistaking that Ryan was deliberately copying Lars. They must’ve looked exactly the same skating in circles and refusing to pass, the only difference was Lars had to go counter-clockwise to keep the puck on his forehand while Ryan went clockwise.
“Look at RJ,” Jake said and bumped Ryan on the top of his helmet. “He’s out Nilsson-ing Nilsy.”
“We’re tied,” Lars protested in mock offense.
“I don’t know how y’all are keeping score,” Jordy said, “but you need to do a recount. RJ’s lighting it up.”
“I’m not—” Ryan caught Lars’s stern look, then sighed. “I’m holding my own,” he said.
“Fuck yeah, you are,” said Tomas, pulling Ryan into a side hug and shaking him wildly.
“Knock it off,” Thompkins said. “None of you have scored yet, so stay focused. We should be up by three right now.”
Late in the second, Lars was trying a wrap-around for no other reason than that they were relatively simple to attempt but nearly impossible to score with. It probably looked like he was coming in to do some more laps, and the already frustrated and embarrassed Aviators weren’t having it. They crowded too close as he tried to come around the net with the puck, and in the resulting collision, Lars’s stick came up and (allegedly) hit an opponent in the face.
He grumbled in Swedish the whole way to the penalty box. Sitting in the box, he watched the replay and wasn’t one hundred percent convinced it was his stick, plus it looked more like it got the opposing defenseman on the shoulder rather than the head, but there was no point arguing over it. Refs weren’t prone to changing their minds (and even less likely to change their calls).
His expectation was that the Crabs would kill the penalty and then Ryan would tease him for having taken the easy way out of their bet. Unfortunately, only thirty seconds into the Penalty Kill, Ryan also took an unlucky penalty.
“I know I said Follow the Leader,” Lars said when Ryan stepped into the box, “but I thought it went without saying to avoid the penalties.”
Ryan gave him a look. “I hate you.”
Lars scooted over to make room on the bench. “If you didn’t understand the rules?—”
As Ryan sat down, he elbowed Lars in the chest. He also did his best to take up as much room as possible as he took off his helmet and gloves.
“It’s unfortunate that I’m out first,” Lars grumbled a few moments later. The Crabs were nearly done killing Lars’s penalty, and he was ready to head back on the ice. “I hate killing penalties.”
“You have to do what I did before I got the penalty,” Ryan said. Ten seconds until the penalty was done. “You gotta do that or I’m up a point.”
Ryan had slid across the ice on his belly, collected the puck he’d intercepted, and just barely managed to get it out of the zone.
“Give yourself the point now,” Lars said and opened the door. One second left before he had to sprint into the zone to help out. “Never going to happen.”
He did make an effort, but the opportunity never presented itself. Even doing his best, they weren’t able to clear the zone long enough for him to scramble to the bench for a change. They did survive long enough for Ryan’s penalty to end, but made the mistake of icing it.
“I’m gassed,” Lars said, leaving room for Ryan to take the face-off. “Please win this so I can sit.”
“We’re rarely on the ice together, y’know,” Ryan teased. He didn’t go too close to the dot, buying them a few more seconds of rest before the ref lost his patience. “Sure you don’t wanna stay a bit longer?”
It was tempting. If he thought he could physically do it, he might try it, but it took all his effort not to bend over and gasp for air. “Maybe next time we take stupid penalties at the same time,” he managed, a little breathier than he’d have liked.
“It’s a date,” Ryan said, and Lars didn’t have enough time to process those words before he was forced to line up at the wing and sprint to the bench as soon as it was safe to abandon his team.
In the locker room between periods, Lars brainstormed his next moves. What could he try to get Ryan to do that would show off his awesomeness in a way that made it as obvious to everyone else as it was to him? He had a few ideas in mind but most were situational—he couldn’t step on the ice and guarantee he’d get a chance for a breakaway. He’d have to play it by ear.
