Page 96 of The Trade Deadline
“However,” Anders continued, “my son will be on the bench with us, so watch your language. Other than that, have fun, and let’s win some games.”
There was a semi-enthusiastic round of applause. There was absolutely nothing on the line in this exhibition tournament: no advantages were awarded for their teams or division for winning, and there were barely any bragging rights, since no one ever really gave it their all. Ryan wouldn’t phone it in, but he couldn’t afford to go all out, either.
While players chatted and got dressed, Lars went over to inspect the lines.
“Are we doing a top line, second line, third line?” he asked. It was the most polite Ryan had ever heard Lars be when addressing Anders. It also sounded like a student talking to their teacher.
Anders hesitated a fraction of a second. “With a roster of All Star players, they’re all top lines,” he said diplomatically.
Ah. He didn’t want to offend anyone.
Lars nodded. He picked up a marker. “May I?”
Anders raised an eyebrow and gave a slight nod. Lars uncapped the marker and made a few changes. Ryan held his breath when Anders leaned in to inspect his handiwork.
“Speed Line,” Lars said and pointed. “Shut-Down Line. Possession Line.”
Anders read it over, his lips moving faintly as he did so. “Hmm,” he said with an air of approval. “Doyouwant to coach?”
Lars shrugged with an air of indifference that Ryan could almost believe, except for the proud glint in his eyes.
When Lars sat down next to him to get his gear on, he leaned over to whisper conspiratorially, “I got us on a line together.”
“I’m guessing we’re not Speed Line,” he teased. His heart beat faster in his chest. Would they have chemistry on the ice when actually on a line together? Would it mean something if they didn’t?
“Possession Line. We’ll have the puck the whole time for sure.”
“Where’d you put Anders? Shut-Down Line?”
Lars stood to pull on his hockey pants. “Possession Line. With us.”
Ryan froze. He’d misheard that, surely.
“We’re really the top line,” Lars said, confidently but still quietly. “But if Anders refuses to label it, the score sheet will.”
“You…wantedto be on a line…with Anders…?” Nope, even out loud it didn’t make sense.
“I don’t like him,” Lars said, sparing a glare at his brother, one that immediately softened when he noticed his nephew. “But he’s a good player. Best defenseman here by far.”
“Then shouldn’t you balance out the lines?—?”
“This is a scoring tournament. So the three of us will get enough goals to even out anything else. Besides”—he stopped briefly to pull his jersey on, an ugly, neon blue monstrosity that hurt your eyes if you looked at it for too long—“that’s what people want to see. Me and Anders. Together.”
He didn’t sound particularly happy about it. More like he was resigned to making a spectacle of himself. Or maybe he saw it as a necessary evil. The only way to finagle the two of them on a line together. A way to please his nephew and temporarily appease the rest of his family after years of fighting.
“Okay,” Ryan said, because he had zero clue what else he could say. “Cool,” he added lamely.
Ugh.
The game itself was…surreal.
The speed of the play was intense. Playing 3-on-3 felt faster than regular games, mostly because of the open ice, but also the higher talent level (and lack of defense). It was like an NHL team distilled down to its fastest, most showboating members.
And somehow Ryan was with them.
He’d never clicked so well with linemates. Anders really was a solid defenseman, even by himself. He and Lars made it look easy; despite their animosity towards each other, they barely needed to speak a word to know where each other were and what they wanted. And maybe watching Lars all season had put Ryan on a similar wavelength, because after a shift or two, Ryan fell into step with them. He knew when Anders was going to pinch and covered him defensively. He knew when Lars wanted him to spring him for a breakaway and sent the pass. He knew when both were buying time for him to get open and set him up for a one-timer.
And it waseasy.He’d rarely skated so hard, but didn’t feel nearly as tired as he should. In fact, he left the ice at the end of his shifts refreshed; he even had a fleeting moment where he felt he could do this forever.
