Page 142 of The Long Game
“Probably,” Ilya agreed. “But I would do it again.”
“Me too.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
February
“Where have I seen you before?” Ilya asked.
The Detroit defenseman, Kerr, looked confused. “The fuck are you talking about, Rozanov?”
Ilya pointed a gloved finger at him. “Oh! I know. From that gif. I see it all the time. From last season when I deked around you like you were a fucking statue and scored.”
Kerr shoved him. They were behind the Detroit net, after a stoppage in play. “I wouldn’t be fucking bragging if I played for Ottawa.”
Ilya leaned back against the glass, still smiling. “Weird because it’s like 3–1 for us right now.”
“Whatever.” Kerr skated away.
“Rozanov,” an exhausted-sounding ref said, “could you give it a rest for once?”
“Anything for you.”
Bood joined Ilya as he skated toward the bench. “Are we sure we’re in the right building?” he said over the roar of the crowd. “This can’t be Ottawa.”
It was midway through the second period of the first home game since the All-Star break and the arena was packed. Andloud. Even now, when nothing was happening on the ice, the crowd was fired up.
“I guess we just had to start winning,” Ilya said.
“Damn, we should have tried that sooner,” Bood joked.
Ilya laughed, because he was in a great fucking mood. Hockey was fun again, and he was happy for Bood, who had been with Ottawa for his entire career and had never known how it felt tobe on a good NHL team. He was happy for Wyatt, who was way too good to be the goalie for a losing team. He was happy for the rookies, and Coach Wiebe, and for Troy, who had been smiling a lot lately, though that probably had more to do with Harris.
Ottawa ended up winning the game 5–2 after Troy scored an empty net goal with less than a minute to go. A great effort all around. And definitely worthy of a team outing to Monk’s to celebrate.
Ilya was sitting at a table with Troy Barrett, Evan Dykstra, and three pitchers of beer. He was already most of the way through one of the pitchers. “Do you know why I think we are winning so much?” he said, his words a bit sluggish as he drunkenly stumbled through the English language. “Because Dykstra has not been the DJ. In the locker room.”
“Hey!” Evan said. “My music is totally fucking good.”
“No,” Ilya groaned. “Is terrible.”
“Where’s Hazy?” Evan said, looking around. “He’ll back me up.”
“Does not count. Hazy likes everything.”
Bood approached the table, holding a beer in one hand and a pool cue in the other. “Who wants to get destroyed at pool?”
“Sure,” Evan said. “Ilya’s being a dick.”
“No!” Bood said, feigning shock. “IlyaRozanov?”
“Isn’t your wife having a baby right now?” Ilya asked.
“Not yet, but I’m leaving after I kick Dykstra’s ass. Y’know. Just in case.”
Evan left with Bood, and Troy, who’d been quiet all evening, said, “Dykstra’s music really is awful.”
“Right?” Ilya took a long sip of beer. “Are you okay?”
