Page 88 of Hockey Bois
Nick (9:16 a.m.)
you’re right i already have an entry level contract with the caps after a scout saw the live barn footage of last night’s game
but hey as the guy with the first hat trick on the jagr bombs i’d be happy to give you some pointers
Brady (9:20 a.m.)
actually I take it back you definitely need it
your celly game is lacking
we gotta work on that so you don’t continue to embarrass us post goal
Nick (9:22 a.m.)
shit you’re right
guess i’ll be there
*
Nick nearly tripped as he transitioned from normal skating to riding his stick like a horse. He even did a mock lasso motion as he tried not to crash into the boards.
It earned some applause from the kids who’d crowded around to watch their slapshot exhibition. While there was technically shooting involved in their practice, it was more about the celebration after. They went through the motions of sending passes and taking shots, but it was all a buildup to see what celly Nick tried next.
Brady, however, looked unimpressed. “Nope.” He scooped up another puck with his stick, moving it back and forth. “Try again.”
Nick did a big arc back to the blue line, paused, then rushed into the zone. Brady sent the puck perfectly, an hour of practice making him an expert at where Nick needed it, and Nick ripped the shot.
It went bar-down, a real beauty of a goal that he wished had been in-game, or at least on video, and he transitioned into The Bird. Up on one leg and flapping his arms like wings, he felt two parts ridiculous and one part smug.
That got a mix of cheers from the gathered kids… and a loud boo from Brady.
“You fucking dare pull that shit in front of me?” Brady asked.
Nick flashed a shit-eating grin. “Bet that one’s real popular in Pittsburgh.”
“You’d get beaten up if you did that shit up there.”
They were dangerously close to talking about the tournament, so Nick immediately skated off. “All right, all right. I got another one for you. Queue up for me!” Nick called.
The goal wasn’t nearly as good this time—Nick would have been embarrassed if he’d actually missed—but it was good enough for him to celebrate. This time, he broke into the Mile-High Salute. He stood rigid as could be, expression carefully blank, and saluted the empty stands around them.
That earned him an amused look from Brady, though not an outright smile, which was disappointing.
“Are you Jagr-baiting me right now?” Brady asked.
“Depends. Did it work?”
“…it didn’t not work. I can maybe forgive that Kuznetsov garbage.”
“Sweet. Next I can do the Ovi Burning Stick one—”
“It’s like youwantme to murder you.”
“I gave you vintage Jagr!” Nick could barely contain his laughter. It was unfortunate how adorable Brady looked when he was grumpy. “You got any better? Lot of talk for a guy who hasn’t done a single celly today. Don’t you just pretend you’re above noticing the goal went in? Or that youknewit would, so why would you celebrate something so basic?”
Brady rolled his eyes at the challenge, and Nick worried he wouldn’t rise to meet it. He was pleasantly disappointed when Brady skated out to the blueline. “You want to see a celly? Get one ready for me.”
