Chapter Sixteen
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
It’s a day before David learns what ‘talk to you later’ means to Jake. It means, well. A day.
It isn’t like it's — it really is just a professional text, despite the text speak.
neone u think shd b on team hearst? said id send him my list tday.
David isn’t one of Hearst’s As, and it’s unlikely that Jake can’t figure out a shortlist himself: he seems to personally know half the league, not just how they play.
Still, a second opinion is probably helpful, and David does think Hearst needs to opt for at least a few defencemen before the other team thinks to do so themselves. In a high offence game like that, they’re the only barrier to the goaltender getting shelled, and since it’s the All-Star game, defencemen tapped are all offensively gifted as well.
David narrows his list down to three and sends them Jake’s way.
jordy’s also a so we alredy got him! :) Jake sends back, which means Hearst is picking strategically, at least, if perhaps also nationalistically.
Good. David texts back.
man im like stupid excited for this Jake says.
It’s a trumped up marketing ploy, a spectacle that lacks anything concrete at the end. It’s everything that David hates being required to do just to play the sport he loves.
Me too. David replies, then feels embarrassed by his honesty.
*
The last time David went to the All-Star Game, he remembers every mention of it stirring up animosity in the room. Never from Oleg, who would actually have a good reason to resent him, but from players who wouldn’t have gone even if David hadn’t been chosen. David learned quickly that he shouldn’t mention it, and that if someone did, he should quickly change the subject, or disengage from the conversation entirely.
At first, he does the same with the Capitals, but between Quincy congratulating him and Crane in front of the team after the announcement, which got a round of applause and several shrill whistles, Crane brainstorming what tactics he should use during the shootout with half the roster, then subsequently trying to figure out how to get a rearview mirror on his mask, and everyone talking about what they’re going to do during their time off, David starts to think it isn’t a topic he needs to avoid.
“Matty’s taking me to the Bahamas,” Robbie says when it comes up once again. “So you enjoy fucking Cleveland and your time as a Chapsicle.”
“God help me, what did I agree to,” Matthews says.
“Don’t front, you are so up for our romantic getaway,” Robbie says, getting on his toes to smack a kiss to Matthews’ cheek then wandering across the room to hang off Whelan’s shoulders.
Georgie, sitting beside the stall Robbie’s just vacated, has paused with a white-knuckled grip on his elbow pad. He catches David watching him, and shoots him a tight smile before getting back to undressing. David looks away.
“I need a girlfriend,” Matthews says sadly.
“Robbie not pretty enough for you?” Quincy says. “Answer for you is dim lighting, my friend.”
“I’m telling your wife you said that,” Crane says.
“She flourishes in fluorescent,” Quincy says.
“Lame,” Crane says, throwing his blocker at him, which Quincy catches and tosses back.
Matthews heads for the showers, and David wants to follow, but first he walks over to Robbie’s stall, hovering beside Georgie.
“Are you okay?” David asks.
Georgie looks up. “Fine, why?” he asks, the grin on his face so easy you’d think nothing bad has ever happened to him.
“Just checking,” David says.
“You want me to text you a list of good places?” Georgie asks.
David frowns at him.
“In Cleveland,” Georgie says.
“That’s fine,” David says.
Georgie looks the most uncomfortable David’s ever seen him without Robbie around. “I don’t want—” he starts, low enough that David has to lean in to hear him, which is good, because he follows up with, “About that night — if you want it forgotten, it’s forgotten, I don’t want this to make things awkward, or like, make you think you need to avoid me or something.”
“It’s not about that,” David says, though the fact he’s gone red probably betrays him. He hasn’t avoided Georgie, exactly, he’s just made a point to not necessarily be around him. Which is probably the definition of avoidance. “I’m just going to go where everyone goes.”
“Well,” Georgie says. “Casey knows what’s good. Listen to him over some rando who plays there once a year and thinks House of Blues is where it’s at.”
“Okay,” David says. “I will.”
“Jake knows the drill too,” Georgie says, and thankfully doesn’t comment when David goes redder.
“Um,” David says.
“You know I’m not going to tell anyone, right?” Georgie asks. “Like, you trust that?”
“Yeah,” David says.
“Okay,” Georgie says. “Just wanted to make sure.”
“I’m just,” David says, then hesitates. “Embarrassed,” he says finally, which is embarrassing just to say, but it’s not like it’s Georgie’s fault David did something stupid.
“Don’t be,” Georgie says, and then, “I know that’s like, an incredibly simplistic thing to say and you have no control over it, but like. Don’t be.”
“Okay,” David says.
“Hey, out of my way, Chaps,” Robbie says, hip-checking David out of his spot in front of Robbie’s stall. “And take a shower already, you reek.”
“Thanks, Robbie,” David says, but he takes the cue to go.
*
The last game before the All-Star break is a loss in Dallas. Less than half the team return to Washington on the charter – most of the guys headed south are flying out of DFW to save time, and David and Crane have seats on the same flight up to Cleveland. It means an extra night in Dallas, but David would rather do that than fly home tonight just to tack on another four hour flight tomorrow, and Crane seems to feel the same way.
“Can’t believe I’m stuck in fucking two degree weather all weekend,” Crane says, as they wait for their flight out the next morning. “Robbie’s going to be tan and intolerable when we get back.”
“Aren’t you from Saskatchewan?” David asks.
“Yeah,” Crane says.
“Where?” David asks. “Saskatoon, right?”
“That the only place in Saskatchewan you’ve heard of?” Crane asks, and when David starts to stutter out other places, “But yeah, actually.”
“What’s the weather in Saskatoon?” David asks.
“Minus thirteen,” Crane says after checking his phone. “Hey, it’s nice out for once.”
“But you’re complaining about two?” David asks.
Crane points at him. “Point,” he says. “You got your priorities straight.”
“Also you’re an All-Star,” David says.
“Yeah, but,” Crane says. “Obviously.”
That would seem cockier if he weren’t holding onto the league lead in goals against and wins. It’s still cocky, but it isn’t like he’s wrong.
“You’ve been really good,” David says.
“Hey,” Crane says. “Not like you aren’t going around giving me a cushion every game.”
“Well,” David says. “I mean, Kurmazov and Gibson—”
“Seriously though,” Crane interrupts. “I have a good feeling about this year.”
“Me too,” David says.
“You’re one of the reasons,” Crane says.
“You too,” David says.
“Fucking All-Stars,” Crane says.
“Yeah,” David agrees.
“Stupid shit,” Crane says. “But it’s a compliment or whatever so let’s be gracious. We’ll see how I’m feeling when I’ve let four in. Feel free to make fun of my tantrum after. Unless you scored one of them. Because then I’ll kill you.”
David smiles.
“What?” Crane asks.
“I like you,” David says.
“You too, my brother,” Crane says.
*
The room assignments are apparently decided before the draft. Most of them need to use the rooms to change, so David understands why that’s the case. Still, it seems odd to potentially share a room with an opponent, though nobody but David seems to mind.
Perhaps it would be more impactful if any of them seemed to care about the final score, but beyond the typical competitiveness that emerges in NHL players over everything from Mario Kart to rock-paper-scissors, there seems to be a general acknowledgement that this is a necessary farce, an acknowledgement that David didn’t share in his rookie year, but does now.
An hour before the draft, he hears the door open while he’s in the bathroom fixing his hair, and comes out to find Casey Hearst in the doorway.
“Just popped in to see who my roomie was,” Hearst says. “Hi.”
“Hi,” David says.
“This is pretty much going to be your room,” Hearst says, handing his keycard to David. “I know the whole thing’s for bonding and camaraderie and shit, and I’m all for that, but my daughter’s got a hockey game at eight tomorrow morning, and I don’t miss those unless I’m out of town. Just heading home Saturday too. Nothing against you but I’m on the road enough, I’d really just prefer to spend time with my family.”
“That’s fine,” David says. “It means I get my own room, right?”
“True,” Hearst says. “That’s cool, then.”
“Of course,” David says.
“Okay,” Hearst says. “Don’t rat me out? I don’t think it’s against the rules, but—”
“I won’t rat you out,” David says.
“Cool,” Hearst says. “Hope you’re on my roster. Lourdy thinks you’re the shit, so.”
“Um,” David says.
“Not saying I don’t,” Hearst says. “But he’s been pushing for you.”
“Oh,” David says. “Well.”
“I’ll see you later, I have to meet with my As,” Hearst says. “But nice to meet you properly.”
“You too,” David says.
*
David is aware that the draft is generally one of the audience’s favourite parts of the All-Star Weekend. He doesn’t understand the appeal: there’s very little that’s more nerve-wracking than waiting to be chosen, and when only the elite are invited, someone talented is going to be last. Amends are made to the last man chosen in the form of a car, but it isn’t much of a salve to being considered the worst on offer when everyone there could buy that car with a single game’s salary.
David spent the previous draft planning what he would do with the car, figuring he’d ask Dave to find a worthy charity, before he was chosen in the middle of the pack. This year he isn’t as concerned, considering what Jake said. Perhaps it’s reckless to put all his faith in that, but Hearst is picking first, and he can’t imagine Jake not stepping in if the final two included him. Maybe that’s arrogant, or foolish, or just — hoping too much. Even so, he doesn’t think he’ll be last.
David clutches a red Solo cup of water someone’s handed him. He’s fairly sure it isn’t water in the majority of the other cups, but he has no idea where he’d even find alcohol, though he’s sure if he asked, someone would point him in the right direction. It doesn’t really matter. They’ll be going out for drinks after the draft, and he has no interest in drinking in the public eye, deniable or not.
Still, he wonders if he’d be more relaxed if it weren’t water in his cup. Maybe if he was drinking the popularity contest might sting a little less, but as it is, entirely sober, sitting between players sipping something that certainly isn’t water, all he feels is out of place.
Crane’s a row behind him, and he leans forward. “Hope you’re with me,” he says, from close enough that David can personally confirm he’s one of the many not drinking water. “You embarrass me enough in practice.”
David fights a smile, aware the camera might be on them. “You stop more than you let in,” David says.
“High bar to clear,” Crane says sarcastically, nearly sloshing his drink on David’s suit before David carefully steadies his cup.
“See,” Crane says. “That’s good defence. Hope you’re with me.”
“Crane, you pouring drinks over everyone?” Connors asks.
“No,” Crane says. “Got my D handy.”
“Got the D,” Boucher says under his breath, elbowing David in the side.
“Ow,” David says, shooting him a glare.
“Like that hurt,” Boucher says unapologetically. It didn’t, but it was still rude.
“It’s starting, shut up,” Connors says, which David appreciates.
There’s an inordinate amount of pageantry before the draft, considering they’re picking players for a game everyone will forget within a week. “Here we go,” Crane says before Hearst makes his first pick, leaning forward to breathe in David’s ear, and David makes an effort not to cringe away.
“Yes,” David says. “Good luck.”
“You too,” Crane says, and then thankfully quiets as Hearst starts talking.
Hearst’s first choice is Boucher, and he makes a spectacle of himself, throwing up his arms victoriously as he runs down to meet Hearst, who offers a hand and receives a hug in return. Several players around him chuckle, and David, reminded of Kiro telling him to show a sense of humour during Boucher’s Rocket Richard speech, forces a smile as well.
David ends up being the fourth pick for Team Hearst, after Boucher, another forward, and one defenceman. David doesn’t think that’s the best strategy, but Hearst has an additional D in his leadership, and it’s better than the forwards first mentality David typically sees. He wonders if it was Jake listening to him, but figures that’s too self-centred; more likely than not Hearst is calling the shots.
But David being picked fourth? That feels like Jake. That feels like Jake advocating for him.
Hearst hands over the jersey, shakes David’s hand while David thanks him. Hearst’s other A Davies does the same, and then there’s Jake, who doesn’t offer a hand at all, pulling David into a hug instead, the loose, deniable sort that they always exchange unless they’re behind closed doors.
“Allie sent me something yesterday,” Jake says as he pulls back. “Apparently we’re like, mortal enemies and are going to try to injure one another this weekend? Figured I’d nip that shit in the bud.”
“You hugged me to shut people up?” David asks, though, honestly, he understands the urge to silence the worst of the comments, understands how hard it is to ignore them.
“Mostly I just wanted to hug you,” Jake says, and David looks away, cheeks going dark.
“Shouldn’t have said that,” Jake says. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” David says. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Okay,” Jake says. “Good to have you.”
“Good to be here,” David says, and when Jake grins at him, he can’t help but smile back.