Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Ari
I shove down my mixed emotional response that I don’t want to examine too closely right now and ask, “What did I get wrong?” I legitimately thought I had that right. I watched them do that stuff in training camp. How can I be wrong?
Felix gives a one-shoulder shrug, his gaze sliding away from my face and back to the ice. “There’s no ball in hockey. We use a puck.”
Fuck, I knew that. Sort of. I don’t think I actually registered what it’s called, but I knew it wasn’t a ball. English might not be my first language, but my grasp of it is good enough for that.
“Puck,” I repeat, because what else do I say? How am I always unprepared with this man? “Thanks. But, uh, I know you’re busy. I can watch some televised games and pick up the important stuff. I don’t want to take up your time.” And make even more of a fool of myself than I already have.
Frustratingly, he shakes his head. “I said I’d teach you about the game, and I will,” he insists stubbornly. “It’s no trouble at all.” He mutters something that I’m probably not supposed to hear, but I catch a couple of words—something about “impress” and “team player.”
Who’s he trying to impress? Surely not me. The DEA, maybe? But he’s a felid shifter—why would he care what my government thinks of him?
But then, he’s also friends with Jared, who’s consort to the king. Maybe he wants to impress his friend’s boyfriend?
Or maybe it’s something else entirely. Either way, his motivation doesn’t really matter to me—it’s not going to change the fact that I’m being forced to learn about a game I have no interest in from a man I’m sure must despise me in an attempt to redeem myself in the eyes of my boss and king.
Racking up the wins, Ari.
“Are you sure?” I press. “Because—”
His head jerks around, and he glares at me. “I fucking said I’d do it.” The hard words bounce around the rink, and his shoulders drop. “I mean… Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I’m happy to teach you about the game I love.”
My mind races, magic vibrating under my skin.
For a split second there, my danger instinct kicked in, and I was on the verge of taking defensive action.
I’ve witnessed Felix’s temper on the ice and in that long-ago footage from his ex-boyfriend’s doorbell camera, but this is the first time I’ve seen it directed at me personally.
Even when I was being an ass to him during the interview at the DEA, he didn’t snap like that, and I was giving him far more provocation than today’s simple question.
Was I right all along about him being a danger to others? The evidence didn’t seem to support it, but maybe I need to dig back into it from another angle.
Not right this second, though. For now, my priority needs to be the job I was assigned by Eoin, and if that means I need to learn about hockey… fine.
“Very well, then. Where do we begin?” The stilted tone draws his attention back to me, and I wish, not for the first time, that I was a better actor.
Anytime I’m even slightly off-kilter, the formal speech patterns of my childhood rear their stupid heads and I sound like someone shoved a stick up my ass.
Felix seems like he’s going to speak, then stops, takes a deep breath, and forces a smile. “Let’s start here,” he suggests, gesturing out to the rink. “Do you see the lines painted under the ice?”
They’re impossible to miss, but I bite back my instinct to say something snarky. He’s doing me a favor, and he’s trying to be nice about it.
“Yes.”
“Okay, so—wait. Are you familiar with any team sports? Here on Earth, I mean.”
“I’ve watched some basketball,” I admit. I’m not an expert, by any means, but I can mostly follow the game. Some of my counterparts at CSG have a hoop in one of the offices, and I got interested after they challenged me to “shoot some hoops,” a phrase that is inexplicable without a demonstration.
“Great! Okay, so hockey is like basketball only in the sense that they’re both team sports and both require you to have five players on the ice—or court—at a time. In hockey, we also have the goalie.”
“Who stays at the net to block goals,” I volunteer, wanting to make up for the ball comment earlier.
Felix beams, and something unfurls deep inside me.
Something… surprising. The wide smile makes him look different—young and carefree.
He’s young, even for a felid—the Earth species may have finite lives, unlike us, but forty years is nothing to a species that lives more than twenty-five times that—but I’d somehow forgotten.
Every time I’ve seen him, he’s been so serious, so focused…
and sometimes so angry. The smile transforms him from that person to someone I can understand Consort Jared being friends with.
“That’s exactly right,” he agrees. “Okay, so let’s start with the goalie, then. They stay in front of the net to block goals. Do you see that blue rectangle?” He points toward one of the goals, and I look. “That’s called the crease, and it’s the goalie’s domain.”
“They have to stay there?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “They don’t have to, but I don’t want to go into too many technical details just yet. The goalie is generally going to stay in the crease, because that’s the best way for them to do their job of blocking goals.”
“Makes sense.”
He snorts. “Yeah. Anyway, the goalie is the only player who’s on the ice for the entire game. The rest of us play in shifts, rotating on and off.”
“You take turns? Like subs in basketball?”
“Kind of, but not really. So, aside from the goalie, each team has five players on the ice at any given time, right? Three forwards, and two defensemen.”
The terminology isn’t hard to figure out. “You’re a forward, right?”
He nods. “Yes. Left wing.”
I look back out over the lines on the ice. “That red line in the middle divides offensive and defensive zones.” I say it slowly, more to give myself time to think than because I need confirmation. I may not know anything about hockey, but that one’s pretty obvious.
“Actually, no,” he corrects. “That’s center ice, yeah, but… See those two blue lines on either side of it?”
My gaze tracks across the ice. The lines in question are about twenty or thirty feet from the red one. “Yes.”
“The space between those is called the neutral zone. The offensive and defensive zones begin once you cross the blue lines.”
Ah. “And that red line on either side of the goal? Is that out of bounds?”
“Nope. We call it ‘out of play’ in hockey, but anything on the ice is in play. If you hit the puck over the glass into the crowd, it’s out of play. Otherwise, we can go anywhere on the ice, including behind the goal.”
I think about it. “That must be fun for the goalie.”
His laugh surprises us both and cuts off abruptly.
“Ah, yeah. I guess.” He rubs the back of his neck, looking away.
“So, anyway… back to shifts. Forwards work in lines of three—the center, and left and right wings. Each team has four lines rotating time on the ice. The idea is to skate balls-out for short shifts, then take a minute or two to get your breath back before it’s your turn again. ”
I remember the speed I saw during training camp and how much stamina would be needed to play like that for an entire game. Rotating makes sense. “How long are the shifts?”
He shrugs. “It depends. In our league, the average is about a minute. In the human league, it’s a little shorter—but they’re only human, right?
There’s no set interval. We change shifts when we need to and when the play allows.
Sometimes it’s not possible to just leave the ice, so you’re out there for longer than usual. ”
This seems like it might be one of those things that makes more sense when I see it in action, because the idea of players randomly coming and going from the ice with nobody knowing when it’s going to happen seems… chaotic.
“What about the defensemen? You said there are two per shift, right?”
“Yeah, they work in pairs.”
“Do they change when the forwards do?”
“No, it’s not a matter of all five players changing shift at the same time. Defense shifts are usually a little longer anyway.” He pulls a face. “This is a lot of information to just throw at you without a visual example. You need to see a game to put it all into context.”
“Yes.” I seize on the excuse to leave and put some distance between us so I can get my thoughts in order—and not the ones about hockey.
“I can watch some games. The league has a YouTube channel, doesn’t it?
” I’ll watch as many games as needed to put an end to this awkward encounter and minimize how many we have in future.
“It does,” he says. “But it’s not… Like, watching streamed games is good for newbies because the commentary helps you keep track of things, but you miss a lot of other stuff with the camera focused only on the play.
” He hesitates. “Are you free on Thursday night? Come to a game with me, and I’ll talk you through it. ”
My voice freezes in my throat.
“It’ll be the human league, of course,” he continues, “but that’s probably better anyway. They don’t play as fast as we do, so it’ll be easier to follow.”
“Uh,” I croak.
“Actually, why don’t I call Jared and Dáithí, and we’ll get a group together? Jared knows a lot about hockey, so he can help to explain too, and with more people along, it’ll be fun.”
Fun. A group. What?
“Sure,” I say weakly. Because how the fuck do I refuse? Dáithí’s boyfriend is my boss, and Jared’s is my species leader.
Oh, crap.
“Great. Trust me, this is a good way to learn. You should also plan to be at our first game next week—no, wait, we’re away. Come to the second one. That’s actually better, because we’re up against the Glaives then, and they’re really good. You’ll see a lot of skill in that game.”
That snaps my attention back to the present. “What do you mean? Are you not usually skilled?” The second the words are out, I wish I could call them back. Could I have been any more tactless?
Felix grimaces, a pink flush burning on his cheekbones.
He clears his throat, glances around, then finally says, “The Warhammers aren’t known for playing with finesse.
Not yet, anyway. We’re working on it.” He clears his throat again.
“Anyway, I’ll set things up for Thursday.
Are you going to be around this week, or should I pass the details on to…
” He trails off awkwardly and stares at the floor.
Dammit. How did I end up in this position? “We should exchange numbers,” I suggest, the words a little stiffer than I want them to be.
He lifts his gaze. “I mean… I don’t want you to feel like I’m invading your privacy. I can just leave a message for you at the DEA, right?”
That would only make Dáithí wonder why I didn’t give him my direct contact details, which would probably lead to me having another uncomfortable conversation with Eoin about professional behavior. Besides, it’s not like Felix is going to use my phone number for evil.
“That would be inefficient,” I reply, and yep… there’s that stick up my ass again.
I hold in a sigh. This day needs to end soon.