Page 24 of Puck Your Feelings
But Kane reads it.
He immediately shifts to cover Ace, his stick perfectly positioned. Groover tries to force the pass anyway, and Kane's stick intercepts it cleanly. He's already moving up ice before the puck fully settles on his blade, starting the counter-attack.
"See?" Coach skates over, looking pleased. "Not so hard when you stop trying to out-think each other. Trust your instincts and your partner."
After the drill cycles through a few more times—we successfully defend three out of the next five attempts, which feels like a massive improvement—Kane skates over to me during the water break.
"Nice read on that pinch," he says, and it sounds like the words cost him something.
I take a long drink from my water bottle, buying time to process the fact that Kane just complimented me. "Nice trust on the coverage."
"I figured you wouldn't make the same risky play twice without reason."
"I figured you'd be smart enough to adapt."
We're staring at each other, and there's something almost competitive in it. Like we're both trying to figure out if this is going to work or if we're going to kill each other first.
Wall skates by, close enough to be heard but not stopping. "Now kiss."
"Wall!" we both yell in unison.
He's already halfway across the rink, laughing his ass off.
***
LUNCH IS A blessed relief after the morning's torture. The dining hall is set up buffet-style with all the nutritious, boring food that's supposed to fuel peak athletic performance. I load upmy plate with chicken, rice, vegetables, and enough carbs to put me in a food coma.
I'm sitting at a table with Groover, Mateo, Wall, and Petrov when Kane slides into the seat across from me. He's got his usual depressing plate of lean protein and complex carbs, arranged in a way that suggests he's thought about the optimal eating order.
"You know you can just eat it, right?" I ask. "You don't have to create a color wheel."
"Presentation affects enjoyment," he says, cutting his chicken into precise, equal-sized pieces.
"So does spontaneity. Ever just grab a handful of food and shove it in your face?"
"No."
"Didn't think so."
I pull out my phone and open my recording app, because if I'm going to suffer through this camp, I might as well create content. I hit record and prop the phone against my water bottle.
"Day two ofProject Teach the Hockey Robot how to Human," I announce, keeping my voice low enough that nearby tables can't hear but clear enough for the mic. "Today's subject is morning routines. Did you know some people setthreealarms? Not for emergencies. Just to wake up. This is psychopath behavior, folks."
Kane looks up from his precisely cut chicken, and there's this glint in his eye that suggests he's about to engage. "Did you know some people can't function before consuming an entire coffee pot? That's addiction, not a personality trait."
I grin and angle the phone toward him. "He's learning to banter. I'm so proud."
Kane leans forward slightly, speaking directly to the microphone. "Efficiency is key to peak performance."
"Don't," I interrupt. "Don't explain it. Let the people live in mystery."
"The mystery is how you function at all," Kane says, returning to his meal.
I'm about to respond when my phone buzzes on the table. Group chat notification. Then another. Then five more in rapid succession.
I pause the recording and glance down to find new messages inWolf Pack.
Petrov:They're flirting
