Page 21 of The Tryout

A few don’t come back at all.

And the whole time, I just follow directions.

Focus on the ice.

CHAPTER FIVE

FINN

After the brutal pace of the Huskies’ preseason camp, my first day back with the Pack is a bit of a letdown. At least they’ve given me the best locker, right next to the door to the equipment room. Walking in, I spot Carter’s friend right away, his wavy auburn hair standing out from the crowd.

I ended up looking him up online, looking at his statline to see whether he stood a chance. It seems a little questionable – videos from his sophomore year make him seem like clear NHL talent; the same can’t be said of what I saw from last year. Still, there are plenty of people on this team who might not even be that good. He’s probably got a shot.

Once again, I get settled in at my locker, unpacking considerably more this time. The picture of Nana goes up in the back of the locker, making it look a little less stark.

Lawson surprises me by being the one to seek me out; here I thought I’d been assigned as his babysitter. Now I wonder if he got a similar assignment.

I find it fucking wild when he thanks me for being kind to Jamie Carter, literal NHL superstar, but I’m simultaneously grateful for the callout. After a shitty couple of days, the kind words are…nice.

As expected, training itself is a bit of a letdown. In Minneapolis, I still had players to chase. Here, I outskate every single one, in spite of the fact that I’m coming off of two weeks of NHL training camp. My muscles are sore, but I know movement is the best way to fix that.

I keep an eye on Lawson, interested in seeing what kind of skater he is. I was worried he’d be, well…bad. All sorts of guys try to bring along their friends from Juniors or college, convinced that just because they were fun to play with they’ll be an addition to the team.

It’s obvious pretty quickly that that is not the case for Lawson. He’s not as fast as me, that’s true; but as a defenseman he doesn’t need to be. His strides are sure and strong, and his stick handling is excellent. He’s way better than in those senior year highlight reels.

At the end of the day, we do a full team drill with the forwards going against various defensive pairings. We’ve all got shots we’re supposed to be working on; it’s their job to cut us off. A big part of this will be testing out pairings and lines, figuring out who’s going to play together next year. In the AHL, you hardly ever get to keep a core from year to year; every September, you’re re-inventing the wheel.

It’s quickly clear that Avery has an eye for the game, seeing the little tells that give away my fellow forwards. It’s not a surprise he and Jamie have played together; they read plays in similar ways. For a brief moment, I feel a surge of envy, wishing I could have learned whatever they did at UCLA.

After we break for the day, I rinse off quickly, knowing I’ll save the full shower for when I get home. Looking at the time, I decide to take my skates into the equipment room, still not happy with the edge on the left one. Garrett nods at me as I enter, knowing he won’t be needed for this. Looking at the metal more closely, I’m pretty sure I can still get a few more months of wear before I need a new set. Turning to the grinding wheel, I put on the safety glasses hanging on the wall and turn on the machine.

For the next few minutes, I lose myself in the rhythmic task, dragging the skate back and forth until the edge is just right. Finally, when I’m confident it will catch the ice tomorrow just the way I want it, I power down the machine and head back into the locker room, bumping Garrett’s fist as I go.

When I get there, I’m surprised to find Avery still there, hair wet, his head buried in his phone.

“You, uh, didn’t want to grab drinks with the guys?”

Usually, a good part of the team goes out together after camp. Honestly, the rest of the season, too. There are the old guys – veterans still eking out a few last years of hockey – who need to get home to help with bedtime or whatever. But the guys in their twenties? They’re definitely grabbing pitchers at O’Keefe’s.

He looks up at me, slipping the phone into his pocket.

“Didn’t you?”

I should’ve known he’d have a quick response.

“I just turned twenty last week – not legal to drink. This is the real reason you shouldn’t go pro in your teens.”

He snorts a laugh at that, buying the half-truth without digging too deep.

“Let’s grab dinner, then. You got any ideas?”

And somehow, suddenly, I find myself pulled into Avery’s plans to find, and I quote, “a decent Vietnamese meal”.

Until the Huskies’ camp last year, I had never eaten anywhere more adventurous than a Denny’s. I’ve lived in a lot of different houses in my life, bouncing from Mom to Nana to foster care, but they all shared a passion for cheap homemade meals and fast food.

The thought of money makes me wonder – how much does a “decent Vietnamese meal” cost? Could I still manage to beg off? Unfortunately, Avery seems decided, leading me to his car and urging me to put my stuff in the back and jump in. As he gets in, he connects his phone to the car, putting a map on the screen to lead us to the stretch south of 235 that Yelp has assured us has several good options. It isn’t until we’re nearly a mile out from the arena that Avery brakes hard at a red light.

“Shit! Did you want to bring your car? I didn’t even ask.”