Between the Teeth (Between the Teeth #3)

Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

The first day of training camp always reminds David of the first day of school. The noise, the chaos, everyone hugging and talking over one another, chatting about their summers, while David stands to the side, waiting for an authority figure to tell everyone to quiet down and get them on track.

This year reminds him of his first day in Québec City specifically. The Islanders room had become familiar, even though there was always something new: new teammates, new prospects, new lines, maybe a new coaching staff entirely. But on his first day with the Capitals, the only familiar will be Oleg. It’s a comfort, not just having him there, but knowing he’s new too, the room just as foreign to him.

Still, David doesn’t sleep well the night before. He goes to bed early, but just ends up staring at the ceiling of his new bedroom, the same flat white as the ceiling of his last bedroom, trying and failing to slow his heartbeat.

He’s awake an hour before his alarm goes off, and after he gets out of the shower he has a text from Oleg, want to get breakfast before camp? . David wonders if Oleg is nervous too, woke before his alarm, like David, but it’s more likely that he’s up early because his children are.

David doesn’t hesitate. He types out Yeah, tell me where. then goes to get dressed, grabbing a banana and a bottle of water for the trip, walking into some upscale cafe not far from Kettler Iceplex right as his alarm was set to go off.

Oleg’s already ordered: coffee for himself, tea for David, two spinach and egg white sandwiches. “Nervous?” he asks, when David sits across from him.

David shrugs. “Do I look nervous?” he asks.

“Yes,” Oleg says, and smirks when David frowns.

“You aren’t nervous?” David asks.

“Of course I am,” Oleg says. “I played for the Islanders my whole career, was captain.”

“They’d better give you an A,” David says.

“Already angry this early?” Oleg asks. “Save your energy.”

“I’m not angry,” David says, but he knows he will be if they don’t.

David eats quickly, drinks his tea, watching Oleg eat at a more leisurely pace. He says he’s nervous, but he doesn’t look nervous. David doesn’t know if he just said that so David would feel better, or if he’s really good at hiding it. Either way, David’s envious.

Even though Oleg took his time, they still get to the rink early, only a few people already there. David doesn’t know if that’s better, the introductions spread out whenever someone comes in, or if it would have been better to get them over with all at once. Quincy’s already there, grinning when he sees them. He has a good handshake, firm but not too firm, the kind you’re supposed to have in business, politics.

Quincy says it’s nice to finally meet David, even though they already met in that handshake line. Tells him he’s from the same area, which David already knew. He can count the Ontarian Capital Region players on two hands, he and Quincy two of the fingers.

“Ironic that we swapped one capital for another, hey?” Quincy asks,

He’s from Arnprior, which is forty-five minutes outside of Ottawa, no more Ottawa than, well. They’re currently standing in a rink in Virginia, rather than D.C., so David supposes it isn’t relevant.

“Missed the politics?” David says.

“Fuck, politics of the locker room are enough, thanks,” Quincy says. “Eh, Oleg?”

David wonders if Oleg told him to call him that or he just decided he could. Oleg went back to Virginia on his own a few times while house-hunting, said he had dinner with Quincy and his wife. Said they were nice.

“There are some things I will not miss,” Oleg says.

David knows he shouldn’t stick as close to Oleg as he does during introductions, even though it’s the most efficient way to meet the team. He can anticipate the comments, expects they’ll be something about him clinging to the coattails of his former captain. Oleg is still his captain, and David doesn’t anticipate that changing, but he knows better than to say that aloud. It’s just easier with Oleg there, doing most of the talking for the both of them.

Oleg isn’t outgoing like Jake or Kiro are. Isn’t outgoing like David can tell Quincy is, just from the interviews he watched before he signed with the Capitals, from talking to him for two minutes. But he isn’t shy either, or — that’s not the right word, really. He doesn’t talk too much, but when he does, he always says the right thing, always knows what to say.

David envies him for that, even more, perhaps, than he envies Jake and Kiro’s ease with people, because David knows he could never be like them, no matter how hard he tried. With Oleg, it doesn’t look like it’s easy, just like he’s good at it, like it’s something that could be achieved with practice. Maybe it can be. It feels less difficult now than it did years ago, though David doubts it will ever be easy.

David exchanges another “Nice to meet you,” receiving a shoulder clap instead of a handshake this time. He’s already forgotten the player’s name before he moves on to the next.

Everything is a blur of new people, some who will be there at the end of camp — there are a few David’s sure of, particularly the ones who were a thorn in his side when he played the Capitals — many who won’t be. David doesn’t get everyone’s name, and doesn’t remember most of the ones he does, but he knows he’ll learn them as training camp wears on, or they’ll go down to the A, to Juniors, and David won’t need to remember them. David just knows all of them are smiling. It’s a relief, returning at the start of a season. Even in a new room, David feels that relief too.

Once the introductions are done, the coaching staff comes in to give everyone their assignments, a rough sketch of how things are going to go. David pushes down the fact he’s surrounded by strangers, allows himself to think only about what he has to prove. No matter how good you are, how much conditioning you do, training camp’s never easy. It isn’t supposed to be. And after the Capitals put down that kind of money for him, that kind of term, David needs to show he deserves it.

David hasn’t played anywhere but the first line since his slip, Oleg hasn’t played anywhere but the first line for at least the past five years, but that was the Islanders, and they’re not on the Islanders anymore. The Capitals didn’t have an explosive first line last season, but they weren’t bad either. People assume David and Oleg were signed for centre and left on the first line, but there’s no guarantee, not if one or both of them play badly, if someone else is outstanding.

They put them together a lot, though, through the week, cycle through right wingers until they find someone who clicks pretty well with them. Not as well as Bradley did, but not bad, at least in practices. David knows they’ll be trying again during the exhibition games, seeing whether that holds up in a game instead of a scrimmage.

David’s exhausted by the time it’s over, when guys are cut, sent down, when the Capitals roster is trimmed to the bones of the team and the guys on the bubble, the exhibition games their final tryout.

He hasn’t talked to anyone who isn’t affiliated with the Capitals this week, barely answered his texts, unable to focus on anything that isn’t that locker room, that ice, so he calls Kiro while he’s making himself dinner.

Kiro answers on the second ring. “Davidson, you live!”

“Sorry, training camp’s — hard,” David says.

“Hard for Art Ross winner Davidson Chapman,” Kiro says. “Impossible for the rest of us.”

David winces. “Stop bringing up the Art Ross.”

“Never,” Kiro says cheerfully. “How is Washington?”

“Fine,” David says. “Everyone seems nice enough. How are things with the Panthers? How’s—” Jake, but it’s not really any of his business. “How’s training camp?”

“Good,” Kiro says, then, “a little weird.”

“Weird how?” David asks.

“I was expecting Lourdes to be weird,” Kiro says. David’s tempted to ask how exactly he’s being weird, but suppresses the urge. “But I feel like — he is not the only one being weird. Maybe I am just paranoid.”

“Oh,” David says, stomach turning. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” Kiro asks.

“Who?” David asks. “Is it—”

Is it half the room? Even if Jake never told anyone after the first time, which David isn’t really confident about even though Jake promised, secrets have a way of coming to the surface.

“David,” Kiro says, and David can hear him frowning even through the phone.

“Who’s being weird?” David asks. “Kiro.”

“Forster,” Kiro says. “Gallagher. Parent, maybe, I am not sure if that is just his face.”

“That’s it?” David asks. “That’s—” Better than he thought.

“That’s?” Kiro prompts.

“He told them,” David says. “I mean. About me. Or, us, I guess.” They were still an ‘us’, then, David supposes. “I guess…I mean, I told you, I’m no better.”

Not that Jake ever seemed against David telling people about them, and he came out to his team himself, but that didn’t give David the right. Thinking about it now, he feels like a hypocrite. “I guess he told them about you, or something.”

“Okay, I am completely confused,” Kiro says. “Please help the dumb Russian.”

“You’re not dumb,” David says, frowning.

“I am not understanding,” Kiro says. “So help.”

“Sorry,” David says. “I.”

Kiro waits for a moment, then sighs loudly.

“Sorry,” David repeats. “I guess I — we were together, I didn’t want anyone to know, he did, he told some Panthers about me. That’s it. So they know. And I guess he mentioned you at some point. I don’t know. We weren’t together then, I ended things, after — but. I don’t know.”

Kiro’s quiet. David’s not sure how much sense that made. He hasn’t said it out loud before, and it’s still tangled, ugly, in his head.

“Is it still confusing?” David asks. “I didn’t mean to be confusing.”

“You were in relationship, he told people without your permission, you broke up with him?” Kiro asks. He makes it sound so simple.

“Yeah, I — freaked out on him, I guess,” David says. He’s feeling freaked out now, honestly, heart going too fast. “I don’t know why they’re being weird to you, I’m sorry if it’s because you’re friends with me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” Kiro asks.

“I didn’t know it’d be relevant,” David says. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologising to me,” Kiro says.

David bites down a reflexive apology. “I could text Jake,” David says, though the idea of texting him and getting ignored makes his stomach knot up further. “Tell him to get them to back off. Are they being awful?”

“Just weird,” Kiro says. “I did not understand, but I think I do now.”

“Should I text him?” David asks. “I can text him.”

“No, I can handle it,” Kiro says. “Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” David asks.

Kiro’s quiet for a moment. “How’s Olezhka?”

“Oleg hates when you call him that,” David says.

“That is why I do it!” Kiro says. “He frowns so big.”

“Oleg is good,” David says. “How’s Emily?”

Emily is also good, though Kiro goes into a lot more detail than that, which David was counting on. Kiro catches him up while he finishes making dinner, telling him about Sunrise while he’s eating it.

“It is too hot,” Kiro says. “I am going to die.”

“I thought you were going to get a tan,” David says.

“I am going to burn into a Kiro crisp,” Kiro says, and David chokes on a piece of chicken.

“Not you, Davidson!” Kiro says.

David coughs. “I shouldn’t eat around you,” he says.

“I am a choking hazard,” Kiro says agreeably. “I am going out to dinner with a few teammates soon. But. You are okay?”

“I’m fine,” David says, then, before Kiro can say anything, “Really.”

He finishes dinner around when Kiro has to leave, rinses his plate, looks at his phone sitting on the table.

Kiro said he could handle it, but it’s David’s fault he’s dealing with the situation in the first place. Or, not David’s fault, he didn’t ask for this, but it’s because of David, because he’s friends with David, unless Jake and the guys who know about David and only the guys who know about David are being weird for some other, totally unrelated reason, which seems unlikely.

David picks up his phone, thumbs through his contacts, slow. No matter how slowly he goes, it doesn’t take long to get to J.

Please don’t be weird with Volkov because of me. David sends, then, realising that he has a new number, a Washington area code, It’s David.

He loosely clasps his phone, warm where it was pressed to his cheek. Waiting for an answer, not entirely sure why. Jake could be driving to that dinner with Kiro. Jake could be out, away from his phone. Jake could be planning on ignoring the text entirely.

ok David receives two minutes later. He stares at it, hard, as if staring at it would make it more than two letters. His phone vibrates in his hand again, this time with the addition of im sorry .

David has no idea how to answer that. No problem? It’s fine? You're forgiven? None of them feel right, and none of them are true.

Thank you. he finally writes, and then he puts his phone down. He knows neither of them have any more to say.