Page 184 of Slapshot Baby

"Maybe he had somewhere to be."

"At nine-thirty? Jordan?" Wyatt snorts. "The man thinks last call is a personal challenge."

Fair point.

"He doesn't hate leading us," Wyatt says. "He hates being our captain."

Wyatt shrugs. "Jordan's a good guy. Best partner I've played with on the blue line. I'd go to war for him any day of the week. And the guys listen when he talks. But every time someone calls him Captain, he looks pissed."

"You've thought about this a lot."

"Had plenty of time while you were busy forgetting who the fuck we all were."

"Wyatt."

"See?" He grins. "That's captain energy. You just did it and you weren't even trying."

Brennan's whistle cuts across the ice.

Wyatt starts to peel away, then turns back.

"Take it or leave it, Cap. Jordan might be wearing your C, but I don't think he ever decided it belonged to him."

He pushes toward the far boards.

I start skating again, falling into the drill rotation, but his words stay with me.

Jordan is good enough to wear the C. That's almost worse.

Because if Wyatt's right, Jordan has spent weeks doing a job he never wanted in the first place.

And I'm done letting someone else carry what's mine.

I'm taking back my C.

I find Jordan in the tunnel before the team takes the ice for the next session.

He's leaning against the concrete wall with his helmet off, running a strip of tape between his fingers. His hair is damp, and when his eyes meet mine, one eyebrow lifts.

"What?"

"I'm going to ask you something straight."

"Sounds dangerous."

"Do you want the captaincy?"

That wipes the smirk off his face.

He studies me for a second. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because it's yours."

The answer comes so easily that I don't know what to do with it.

"You've been doing the job."