Page 49

"You got his shoulder. He got the puck to the point. The point shot went in off your skate."

"That was bad luck."

"That was you being twenty feet from where you needed to be."

I move it to the third goal. We both watch him standing at the top of the circle with his stick up, calling for a pass, while the winger comes in behind him.

He lets go of the back of the chair.

"Okay," he says, quiet. "Yeah. That one's bad."

I pause it. On the screen, he's frozen with his stick in the air. He looks so young.

"Your offense is ready," I say. "You're the best pure offensive player on this team. Maybe in this league. You know that."

"You never said that before."

"I'm saying it now. Your offense is ready. Your defense is a junior's defense. You get away with it because you're faster than everybody. In this league, you won't be faster than everybody every night."

He sits down on the edge of my bed, right next to the desk. His knees almost touch mine.

"So teach me," he says.

"I'm teaching you now."

"No, I mean really teach me. On the ice. Not in a drill with twenty guys watching." He looks at me. His eyes are very dark in the lamplight. "You're the best defensive forward on the team. Everybody says so. Moretti says so. Teach me."

I should say no. I should tell him to ask the assistant coaches. That's their job. That's what they're paid for.

"We're home Thursday," I say. "There's no practice Friday. Gus can let us into the practice rink."

"When?"

"After everyone's gone. Late. I don't want to do it in front of the team."

"Why not?"

"Because they'll talk."

He tilts his head. "About what?"

"About the captain giving the rookie private lessons." I close the laptop. "Midnight. Friday. Don't be late."

"I'm never late."

"You were an hour late in Phoenix."

"That was a taco emergency." He stands up. At the door to the bathroom, he stops and turns around. "Owen."

I look up. It's the first time I've looked straight at him all day.

"Thanks," he says. "For wanting to."

He goes into the bathroom. I sit at the desk with my hand flat on the closed laptop and wait for my pulse to settle.

It's gratitude. He's grateful. I'm grateful. We're two grateful people sharing a hotel room.

The practice rink is dark at midnight.