Chapter 4: Playbook

Surgery went fine, Henrik told me, in the voice of a man reporting a weather delay.

Two days later he sat in a folding chair on the hockey bench in a black boot.

A bag of ice lay on his ankle, and I sat beside him with a clipboard.

"Write this down," he said. "Trent's line is slow on the backcheck."

"You said that already."

"Write it down twice."

I wrote it down twice.

Practice ran on the ice in front of us, twenty men in practice jerseys going back and forth.

Trent Maddox was running it.

He had been running it since Monday, and he enjoyed it too much.

He skated past the bench and tapped the boards in front of Henrik with his stick.

"Don't worry, Cap," he said. "I've got them. Rest the leg."

"Run the neutral zone drill," Henrik said. "The one on the board."

"We did that Tuesday."

"Run it again."

"Sure." Trent grinned at me over Henrik's shoulder. "Hey, assistant. Can you get me a water bottle? Since you're not skating."

The bench went quiet.

Two of the players pretended to adjust their gloves.

Henrik's hand tightened on the clipboard until his knuckles went white, and I put my hand over it before he could say anything.

"I'll get you a water bottle," I said.

"Right after I finish writing down that you've run the wrong side of the red line for twenty minutes."

Trent's grin held for a second.

"What?"

"Your D-men are covering the wrong winger. Every rep, the same one."

I turned the clipboard around. "Cap drew it on the board and you flipped it. I have the times."

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