Page 6 of Payback On The Ice
He circles behind my net once, slowly. He stops in front of me and takes his helmet off and his hair's wet and stuck to his forehead and his face is red from cold.
"Again," he says.
"Tomorrow."
"I'm warm now. I'm good now. Give me five more."
"That's not the deal."
"It's a stupid deal."
"You said yes to it." I stand up out of my stance. "In front of everybody."
His jaw works. For one second there's something on his face that isn't cocky and isn't angry. It looks a lot like the thing I see in the mirror.
Then it's gone, and he grins.
"Fine. Zero for five. Write it down. What do you want, Kovač? My lunch money? Want me to wax your car?"
"Tape my sticks."
He laughs. "That's it?"
"Every night. All of them. Black on the blade, heel to toe, overlap by half. Seven wraps on the knob. Wax the blade after. Then you hang them back on my rack, left to right, the way you found them."
"You have an equipment manager."
"Now I have you."
"Doug's going to be so hurt."
"If one of them's wrong," I say, "you redo all of them."
He doesn't look away. Neither do I. I'm good at this part. I've stood still in front of better shooters than him while they tried to make me move.
"You're a real piece of work," he says finally.
"Tomorrow. Six."
"Yeah. I heard." He puts his helmet back on and pushes off toward the tunnel, and halfway there he stops at the boards and picks up both coffees and drinks one while he skates.
I don't watch him go. I do my posts. Left, right. I stand in the crease until the door bangs shut behind him.
Zero for five.
It should feel like something. It's what I wanted. He came in here yesterday and stood in my brother's locker room and laughed, and he's going to keep coming in here every morning until he learns there's a price on that. It's fair. It's the most fair thing that's happened since April.
I pick up the pucks one at a time and drop them in the bucket.
My phone has two texts on it when I get back to the bench.
Nico: sooo
Nico: how's the new guy
I look at that for a while.
Me: Fine.
