Carter POV There is a ritual in hockey that nobody explains to you as a kid, which is that after sixty minutes of trying to put each other through the glass, you line up at center ice, tap gloves, and say good game to every man who has just tried to take your head off, and you are expected to mean it. I had been counting since the tunnel. Not shots and not seconds, but red lights, a habit from the back seat of a leased sedan, four between the rink and the house, and every time I felt the cold start to rise in my skull I laid them out one at a time. First light. Second. Third. It is a bad system, and it had worked for twelve years. Coach Miller had cornered me in the hallway before warmups and said, without preamble, "One penalty and you sit. I don't care if he spits in your soup," and then, because he is not a stupid man and had seen the film, he had added, in a lower voice, "I don't know what he is to you, Graham. I know what he is to my scouting report. Keep it a hockey game." I
Última atualização : 2026-11-05 Ler mais