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James spends the first day of free agency on the lake with his family. His contract isn’t up this year, nor are the contracts of any of the Whalers he’s particularly close to, so unlike last year, when it was his linemate on the block, he figures he can catch up whenever he gets a reliable signal, read a book on the dock, and enjoy the summer.
Grant MacMannis’ memoir about his NHL career is fascinating, particularly revealing in just how much the culture’s changed. James knows there are still players who are following up booze soaked lap dances by doing lines at after hours clubs, but thankfully that’s the exception rather than the rule, or at least it is on the Whalers. He’s heard certain rumors about other markets. They’re all, not coincidentally, on his no-trade list.
Chelsea starts laughing from her own Adirondack. “Jamie,” she says.
James ignores her and continues to read. He doesn’t care about a funny cat or toddler she found, though he is impressed that she somehow found a signal strong enough to load gifs.
“Jamie,” Chelsea repeats. “James.”
“I’m trying to read, Chelsea,” James says.
“Guess who your new teammate is,” Chelsea says, still laughing.
James immediately looks up from his tablet.
“Are you going to tell me or are you going to keep laughing?” he asks, when she just silently shakes with mirth.
“Holden Chase,” Chelsea says.
“That’s not funny, Chelsea,” James says.
“It is so funny!” Chelsea says.
“Please tell me you’re making a terrible joke,” James says.
“100% legit,” Chelsea says. “Six years, 39 million. Your face right now.”
James buries his face in his hands.
“On the bright side he’s not your opponent anymore?” Chelsea says. “Maybe he’s nice when you aren’t the one playing him.”
“I highly doubt it in this particular case,” James says.
“How’s your book?” Chelsea asks, when she’s finally finished laughing. It took some time for her to get it out of her system.
“Enlightening,” James says, though he hasn’t read a word of it since Chelsea told him the news.
“Make you pine for the olden days?” she asks.
“Absolutely not,” James says, and Chelsea starts laughing again.
*
James is a professional athlete playing in a league of professional athletes, every single one of whom is vying to win games. There are players with different strategies and different roles: forward, defenseman, goaltender. But also specializations: there are players who are there to punish the competition physically or deter them entirely, to draw penalties or kill them, to shoot pucks or block shots. There are players on every team expected to drop the gloves if something happens, though fighting is finally falling to the wayside as evidence on the lifelong repercussions of head injuries mounts.
There are veterans and protectors and snipers and grinders and bruisers and character guys. They’re all necessary for a competitive roster. Someone has to do those jobs. James understands that, and he values every one of his teammates for the roles they play.
Then there are the instigators. James has little respect for the role, finds it unsportsmanlike, outside the bounds of what he considers the the game to be. But James understands that it’s a viable strategy, and they wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t effective. Not every team has one, and most teams don’t have a consistently effective one, but those that do, well, every other team in the league would sign them up in a heartbeat if they were available for a fair price. James understands that too. He’s had instigators on his team, and he certainly prefers to play with them than against them.
But here’s the thing about Holden Chase: he’s an instigator, yes. But he’s a talented player, instigation aside. He skates well, has good hands, a sneaky wrist shot, and a nose for the net.
He’s also a dirty player. He’s unsportsmanlike, he’s chippy, he never shuts up. He gets away with things he shouldn’t because he’s top six, arguing the whole way to the box on the calls he does get. He’s everything the game should have moved on from by now. After years of sharing a division with him, James gets angry every time he has the misfortune to play him, and Chase would probably consider a sign he’s done his job.
An opponent is usually just an opponent to James. It’s a game, he understands that, understands that everyone has a role to play, that they’re just doing what they need to do to stay on a roster. It’s not personal, not usually.
Except James doesn’t think it really is just a role, with Chase. And he isn’t just an opponent to James, not after the things he’s done, the things he’s gotten away with, the teammates of James’ he’s hurt without the slightest flicker of contrition on his face. At this point, James genuinely loathes him. And right now he thinks he might loathe Whalers management a little too.
*
James really hopes Chelsea’s right, and that Chase is a completely different person off the ice. It’s not likely, judging by the media James has seen of him — he comes off as an arrogant asshole without a single repentant bone in his body, and James doubts that’s a persona, because who would want to seem like that on purpose? — but James has known guys who played on the edge but were some of the kindest teammates he’s ever had. Some players leave it on the ice, and Chase may be one of them. In the months since the signing, James has decided he needs to give Chase a chance, the same as he would any other player. It’s only fair.
James swears he can feel his blood pressure spike when Chase walks into the locker room on the first day of training camp.
It’s not even a walk — it’s a saunter, like he’s coming in for a routine practice with his team and not walking into a room full of people who have all wanted to punch him in the face at one time or another. James keeps his head down, asks after Cale’s summer, making the appropriate noises when Cale whips out his phone to show him his newborn daughter, and thankfully he doesn’t have to do anything like shake Chase’s hand before they head onto the ice.
Unfortunately the the second he does take the ice Chase is skating over to him, stopping so close that James finds himself instinctively skating backwards, hitting the boards. Chase closes the distance again, and this time there’s nowhere for James to go.
“Hey, Jamie,” Chase says, chewing on his mouth guard. James wants to rip it out of his mouth. “Excited to be lineys?”
“You’re not going to be on my line,” James says. “And it’s James.”
“Excited to be lineys, James?” Chase says, drawing it out mockingly, so even his name becomes a chirp.
James cuts around him and skates away.
“I think he’s excited to be lineys, guys!” Chase calls at his retreating back.
*
James does his best to avoid Chase for the remainder of their ice time, but it seems like Chase realizes what he’s trying to do and is intent on undermining him, because wherever James goes, Chase is following, cracking bad jokes and getting handsy with teammates he’s had for a matter of hours. The only time he shuts up is when the coaching staff talks, and James tries to tune out the constant chatter, fails. Tries to ignore him, but Chase just doubles down whenever he does.
With fifteen minutes to go James realizes that the next time Chase talks he’s going to explode at him, a reaction that will be entirely out of proportion to whatever asinine statement sets it off, and he mumbles a vague excuse to nearest member of the coaching staff and gets off the ice before he does something he regrets.
In the locker room James does the breathing exercises he’s been taught, short inhales, long exhales, until he feels more in control of himself, then starts to strip off his gear. He could go back out, but things were already wrapping up, and him leaving early looks less odd than him leaving only to come back, especially if Chase makes a thing of it, and James has a feeling that he would.
He can hear someone on their way in, and looks up sharply, concerned he’s lost track of time, but the clock above the door reassures him he hasn’t.
It’s Georgie, presumably checking up on him. He was given an A over the offseason, joining James and Finn as team leadership, and while James does think he deserves it, he hopes that doesn’t make Georgie think he needs to be James’ keeper. He genuinely does appreciate how Finn looks out for him, but he doesn’t need another.
“Hey Cap,” Georgie says. “Cut out a bit early, you good?”
“I’m fine,” James says, pulling out his phone and hoping Georgie takes it as the hint it is.
“Did you know I’ve literally fought guys on this roster before?” Georgie says, and James looks up. “One of them knocked out an incisor when I was in my rookie year. Still remember that. Hurt like hell.”
James continues to watch him, wary.
“On the ice, obviously,” Georgie says. “No one’s brawling in the parking lot while you aren’t paying attention.”
“I didn’t think they were,” James says, though he’s likely going to worry about it going forward. “Are you telling me to play nice?”
“Is that what you’re hearing?” Georgie asks.
James blinks at him, then looks back down at his phone, where he now has a text from his sister. Chelsea’s ‘u survive day one with the enemy?’ looks mocking, though he knows it isn’t. She laughs at him, sometimes, not just with him, as she claims, but she doesn’t mock him. There’s a difference between the two. Mockery requires scorn or contempt. Chelsea’s teasing him, that’s all.
Chase, earlier? That was mockery.
“Chin up,” Georgie says.
“Already is,” James says, typing out Of course., and waiting for Georgie to go away. After a moment, he does, and James can put his phone down, focus on his breathing until it goes quiet, even. Until it becomes something he doesn’t need to control.
*
James is juggling a coffee, an orange juice, and his phone, trying to tuck his car keys into his pocket without slowing down or dropping everything when Chase steps in his path, watching with a smirk when James drops his keys onto the asphalt of the parking lot with a bitten off curse.
“Want me to hold your drinks?” Chase asks, but James ignores him, and, while it takes some doing, he manages to put his keys and his phone away without spilling either of his drinks, step around Chase to continue walking to the practice facility.
“Hey, about yesterday,” Chase says, tagging on his heels, and James stops to listen. Doesn’t turn towards Chase, but he doesn’t turn away either, and that’s about as much as he can give him first thing in the morning, about to walk into a very long day. “What was that whole ‘you’re not going to be on my line’ thing about?”
James doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that. “What do you mean?”
“It’s a pretty obvious question,” Chase says.
“It’s a pretty obvious statement,” James counters. “So I don’t understand your confusion.”
“I’m not going to be on your line,” Chase says.
“No,” James says.
“Why not?” Chase asks.
“Honestly?” James says.
“Honestly,” Chase says.
“Because you don’t deserve to be,” James says.
“I don’t deserve to be.”
James is growing weary of the repetition. “No.”
“I bet you say that to all the boys,” Chase says. James is thinks that’s meant to be a joke, but if he had to pick a word to describe Chase’s tone, he’d go with vicious. “You know, you’re really not good enough to be this cocky.”
“And you’re not good enough to play on my line,” James snaps.
Chase laughs, a short, sharp bark James can’t hear any mirth in. “Like I said.”
“Do you need it explained again?” James asks, makes himself take a sip of coffee with a white knuckled hand, the too hot path of it tracking down his throat, spreading into his chest like heartburn.
“Oh no,” Chase says. “You’ve been very clear, Jamie. Explicitly.”
"Don't call me Jamie," James says. Every other point Chase parrots right back to him, but this one he misses. He doubts that’s accidental.
Chase laughs again, just as ugly as the first time. "You know what? Not going to be a problem, dude."
“Don’t call me that either,” James says, though Chase already has his back to him, retreating inside.
Finn’s going to be disappointed in him again. James hates that feeling, hates letting Finn down. But frankly, other than that? The only thing James feels bad about is the fact he’s burnt his tongue.