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It used to depress him when he spent holidays alone. Thanksgiving less so, since he’d already missed the Canadian one, and he only noticed the American one because they never had games that day so that fans could focus on family or football or whatever the reason was. It still stung a little when he heard his American teammates gush about the day with their families.

This year, for the first time, he’d had somewhere he could’ve gone. Max Lynwood, one of their defensemen, had invited him to his place for Thanksgiving dinner. The invitation technically extended to the whole team, though its focus seemed to be on giving the single guys a place to go. Henri had been touched by the offer but declined. His social battery was in desperate need of a recharge, and with a road trip starting tomorrow, he opted for quiet solitude instead.

It was pretty fucking nice.

While he chowed down on leftovers and watched The Mandalorian, content with his evening, his phone buzzed. He felt it somewhere in the blankets or sofa cushions, but given his fingers were covered in grease and BBQ sauce, he wasn’t going to dig around for it. There was likely to be nothing important—he’d already talked to his father that morning—so figured he could ignore it for later.

And then it buzzed again. And again. It was the staccato of incoming texts, so he resigned himself to putting his dinner on hold. A few more messages came in as he sucked his fingers clean (ish), re-situated his plate, and dug around for his phone.

Dylan Everett from Hockey

Where you at?

Are you not coming to Lynwood’s thing?

I brought corn bread with jalapenos because new Mexico

But I promise there’s non spicy food too

Most of the Canadians and Europeans don’t like it

But for real where are you

I was going to claim you as a partner for cornhole

Henri blinked at his screen in surprise. Everett was texting him. There was a lot to unpack in that (why him? Just him? Did Everett miss him or like having him around? Was it just because they were linemates, or because he was captain, or maybe in appreciation of the Sokolov thing? Was he standing there, waiting for Henri to respond?). He couldn't really ask any of that, so he settled on the one thing that he didn’t understand at all.

Henri

What the fuck is cornhole

Almost immediately, a response came.

It’s a game

With like... Bean bags and you try to throw them into a hole

It’s fun

It sounds vulgar

Vulgar? What how?

Oh

I wish I could unthink that image

But when you getting here?

They’re starting in 30

I could probably buy you a few minutes

Henri typed out several responses.

//I wasn't planning on going [DELETED]

//I would be terrible partner at this game I’ve never heard of [DELETED]