“No. The whole team’s timing was off, and it was a mess, but I could still see who was trying to make things happen. Arvy and Twos—they’re both promising. I suspect we’ll lose them both permanently to Vancouver in the next couple of seasons.”
Lous seemed to consider that. Then he nodded. “I agree.”
“What about you?”
He folded and refolded his long fingers. “I’ve been up several times. But… I think this is the level where I’m strongest.”
I tilted my head. “How do you figure?”
“I’m good,” he said. “I won’t tell you I’mnot. I’ve led the team in points for three seasons running. But every time I’ve gone up…” He chewed his lip, then shook his head. “I think the younger guys have more potential up there than I do. And the boys here need me as their captain.”
The answer surprised me, but it also didn’t. I’d encountered plenty of hockey players with hubris to spare—hell, I’d been one when I was still in my prime—but there were also those who saw themselves as a piece of the whole picture. Even while they dreamed of glory and of one day kissing the Cup, they were pragmatic enough to believe it was better for the whole team to say“no, this guy is better than me.”
“Of course you’re great as the captain,” I said. “But don’t sell yourself short. You’re only twenty-eight—you’ve still got plenty of time to go up and stay up.”
Lous gave a subtle shrug. “Maybe. And if they need a left winger, well, I won’t say no. But if they do, don’t overlook Kulie.”
I pursed my lips. Sasha Kulakov played on the second line, and he was good, but he was also a rookie. Barely nineteen. A short stint in Vancouver would do wonders to help him develop. If a Vancouver player went down day-to-day, then maybe I’d send up Kulie. If they were week to week, then Lous would probably be better.
I was curious why Lous was encouraging me to send other players—rookies, for that matter—over him. If he was worried he lacked the talent or skill (he didn’t). Or maybe he was scared to go back up. Some guys were; I’d played with a kid who’d been terrified the first time he’d been called up, and he’d blown it. It had taken another two seasons before the coaches were willing to try him again, and one more after that before he had complete confidence in himself. He went on to win a Cup before he retired.
Lous—I wasn’t sure. But I was still getting to know him andthe team. Maybe time would show the cards he was keeping close.
“All right, so…” I highlighted Arvy, Twos, Kulie, and Lous on my list of forwards. Then I turned the page in my notebook to a different list. “Let’s talk blueliners.”
“Devs is ready,” Lous said without hesitation.
My stomach somersaulted at the mention of Devon’s name, but I schooled my expression. “You think so?”
“Absolutely.” The captain nodded. “He’s an incredibly strong player. We’ve needed a two-hundred-foot defensemen for ages, and there he is.” He made a face. “I don’t even get why he’s playing at this level. He belongs up there.”
I straightened, startled by the vehemence. “So you see it too.”
“I can’t imagine how anyonedoesn’tsee it.” He scoffed, shaking his head again. “I don’t know what Toronto was thinking, keeping him on the farm teamortrading him when their blue line is such a shitshow. No wonder they’re losing.”
I snorted. He wasn’t wrong—Toronto was in dire need of some actual defense this season, but for whatever reason, they’d been wasting a potential star on the farm team before punting him someplace else. And they hadn’t even gotten all that much for him. Devon had been part of a larger trade—Vancouver’s backup goalie and a fourth liner, plus a couple of draft picks, in exchange for Toronto’s second line center and Devon. It had seemed like a lopsided trade to me (not to mention Toronto’s fans), but maybe they’d been trying to free up cap space or something. I had no idea. Not for the first time, I was glad I didn’t have to make—or answer for—those decisions.
“Well, let’s just be glad Toronto squandered him,” I said.
Lous chuckled. “Agreed. But I can’t imagine he’ll be playing in Abbotsford for long. Once the coaches and GM in Vancouver have watched him play… Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if they took out one of their own players just so they could call him up.”
I barked a laugh. I got it—no, a club wouldn’tactuallykneecap one of their own players to bring up a minor league star. But in their shoes, seeing Devon’s raw talent and hockey IQ, I’d probably be salivating for an opportunity to call him up.
Or I might’ve been biased.
That thought made me cold all over.
Trying not to fidget in my chair, I asked Lous, “So you think Devon is our best defenseman. Vancouver calls up for one…”
“I can’t imagine they’d ask for anyone but him. Even if they need someone on the right. Gards is good, but if I’m a coach who needs the best defenseman available, right or left—I’m asking for Devs.”
I whistled. “That’s a hell of an endorsement.”
Another shrug. “He’s that good.”
He was. Objectively, Devon was the best player we had. Full stop. His defensive stats were top notch. His offensive stats rivaled that of some of our forwards. If we asked him to throw on pads, he could probably tend goal like the best of them. Lous was right—Devon wasthatgood.
Which was all the more reason to keep my hands off him. If anyone caught a whiff of anything unprofessional between us, every call-up Devon received would be filtered through that lens. It would leave an indelible stain on his career.