Chapter Seven
MASON
The first preseason game of the year always carried an energy that regular practices never quite managed to capture. Nobody earned conference points from an exhibition, and no championship banners would ever commemorate the result, but every player understood these games mattered.
Coaches experimented with line combinations, freshmen experienced collegiate hockey for the first time, and veterans began proving why they deserved to remain where they'd finished the previous season.
More importantly, it was the first opportunity to measure ourselves against someone wearing a different jersey.
This afternoon that opponent happened to be Inland Northwest University, Evergreen's oldest rival and another Spokane institution separated by barely fifteen minutes of city streets.
The rivalry stretched back decades, long before Coach Callahan arrived, fueled by countless close games, conference standings, and enough bruises to convince everyone involved these exhibitions never stayed friendly for long.
This year it was our turn to host, and the atmosphere around the arena reflected every year of that history.
Evergreen students began arriving hours before puck drop, many wearing green and white hoodies or jerseys bearing the names of current players, while others waved homemade signs promising another victory over our cross-town rivals.
They weren't the only ones making their presence known.
Inland Northwest supporters poured through the opposite entrances in a sea of navy and silver, answering every Evergreen chant with one of their own until the concourses echoed with good-natured, and some not so good-natured, rivalry long before either team stepped onto the ice.
By the time warmups began, the stands had become a striking wall of competing colors.
Green and white dominated most of the arena, but large pockets of Inland Northwest supporters had filled entire sections behind the visitors' bench, their banners and flags making it clear they hadn't crossed the city expecting to watch their team lose.
Music boomed through the speakers as arena staff completed their final preparations, and every new wave of spectators only added to the growing anticipation.
It felt less like an exhibition game and more like the opening night of the regular season.
Inside the locker room Coach Callahan refused to let any of us become distracted by the noise gathering outside.
"This isn't about the scoreboard," he began, standing before the whiteboard with his arms folded across his chest. "It's about habits.
Good ones become automatic. Bad ones become difficult to break.
I don't care if we're ahead by five or behind by three.
I want structure. I want discipline. Most of all, I want communication. "
"Mason."
"Coach?"
"First line today like in training. Ryan stays in the middle. Luca remains on the left wing. Keep talking out there. Learn each other's tendencies."
"Yes, Coach," I responded.
Ryan leaned sideways, bumping my shoulder with his own.
"Relax. We've already figured out you're not completely hopeless."
Ben laughed from the other side.
"Give him another week. We might even admit we like him."
The easy banter settled some of the nervous energy bouncing around inside me. It reminded me these guys had accepted me far more quickly than I'd expected. I still had plenty to prove, but I no longer felt like an outsider walking into someone else's locker room.
After Coach finished outlining special teams assignments Assistant Offense Coach Damien Carol gathered the forwards near the offensive-zone whiteboard while Defensive Coach Nolan Pierce reviewed assignments with the defensemen across the room.
Lauren McKenna moved between both groups, offering a few final reminders about foot placement and edge control.
Viktor Sokolov remained with Oscar and the other goaltenders for their last pregame instructions.
Watching Viktor speak fascinated me. He rarely raised his voice.
Instead, he demonstrated every movement himself, his hands recreating situations from memory with astonishing precision.
Oscar, Roman, and Harvey listened intently, occasionally repeating the positioning or reading drills until Viktor offered a brief nod of approval.
When the meetings ended, we stepped onto the ice for our final pregame skate, going through the usual routine of stretching, passing drills, and shooting.
Every seat in the arena had been filled.
Students packed the lower bowl wearing Evergreen green, alumni occupied entire rows near center ice, and families lined the glass hoping for a close-up glimpse of the players during introductions.
I was disappointed Mom and Dad hadn't been able to make it, but they'd promised to come to the first game of the regular season.
Every time our logo appeared on the giant screen suspended above center ice, another wave of cheers rolled around the building until it became impossible to hear individual voices.
I'd played before large crowds at Gulf Coast, but there was something different about Evergreen.
The support felt personal. These people weren't only watching a hockey game.
They genuinely believed they belonged to the program.
Warmup came to an end, but Oscar stayed in his crease for a few extra minutes while Harvey and Roman sent a few final shots his way before Coach blew the whistle and waved us off.
We skated off the ice together and headed back to the locker room where we changed from our warmup jerseys into those worn for games.
Equipment staff made a few last-minute adjustments.
Nobody talked much as we started the walk back to the ice.
We'd prepared all week for this and there wasn't anything left to say.
As we lined up in the tunnel waiting for introductions, I found my gaze drifting toward the Zamboni entrance.
Jack stood beside Graham and the equipment staff, watching us with the same concentration he'd worn all morning.
He was dressed in Evergreen team gear, yet he looked every bit as much a part of the program as the rest of us.
Jack signed something to Graham, who laughed before answering with surprising speed, making me realize just how many people on the team had learned enough to communicate with him naturally.
Jack looked up and our eyes met across the crowded arena. He lifted one hand and gave me a simple thumbs-up. It shouldn't have mattered but did. Far more than I cared to admit.
The arena lights dimmed as the announcer's voice boomed through the speakers, introducing each player individually.
Every name drew another roar from the Evergreen supporters, but when Coach Patrick Callahan stepped onto the ice last, the applause became deafening and I swear the building shook.
Three Stanley Cup rings had earned that kind of respect, even years after retirement, and judging by the reception, Spokane had absolutely no intention of forgetting the Frozen Four championship victories he'd brought to the university.
The opening faceoff arrived before I'd caught my breath.
Ryan won it cleanly, knocking the puck backward to Noah Kessler before Inland Northwest's center could react.
Noah moved it across the blue line to Tyler Rasmussen, and Tyler returned it to Ryan as Luca and I accelerated through the neutral zone.
Ryan carried the puck across center ice before sending it toward Luca along the left boards, allowing him to chip it deep and force their defensemen to turn toward their own net.
Every conversation we'd shared during practice disappeared beneath instinct as the pace exploded around us.
Luca pressured the puck carrier behind the goal, Ryan closed off the passing lane through the middle, and I moved toward the right-side boards to prevent an easy clearance.
When their defenseman tried to send the puck around the glass, Tyler stepped down from the blue line and knocked it back into the corner, keeping our first shift alive for several more seconds before Inland Northwest finally cleared the zone.
The opening minutes became a blur of hard skating, sharp passes, and bodies colliding against the boards.
Their forwards attacked with speed whenever they gained possession, forcing Noah and Tyler to retreat quickly before closing the gaps near our blue line.
Oscar remained composed behind them, directing traffic whenever a player drifted into his sightline and steering rebounds toward the corners rather than allowing anything dangerous to settle in front of the crease.
Inland Northwest had no interest in welcoming Evergreen's newest transfer.
Their captain introduced himself less than two minutes into the game by driving his shoulder into mine and pinning me against the glass after I'd released the puck to Ryan.
The impact rattled my shoulder pads and sent a shudder through the boards, but it accomplished little beyond making the crowd louder.
I pushed away from the glass and turned toward him.
He grinned beneath his visor. "Welcome to Spokane."
I grinned back.
"I already like it here."
His grin disappeared.
The next several shifts became even more physical.
He finished every check he could reach, and I answered by refusing to give him the reaction he wanted.
There was no point retaliating and handing Inland Northwest an early power play.
Coach had spent too much time emphasizing discipline for me to throw it away because another player wanted to test whether the Florida transfer could handle being hit.