The rush of adrenaline sharpened Davis’ reflexes and helped keep his eyes on the black puck in front of him. He batted it back and forth with his stick, using his shoulder to bulldoze his way past the player trying to block him. Out of nowhere, he found himself slammed against the boards from his blindside, Stan Denney, a junior from Michigan State, who glared at him and pinned him against the boards with his stick. Still charged with adrenaline, he fought free, taking Stan’s skates out from under him and sending the man flying. He skated forward and reclaimed the stolen puck with an ease that looked rehearsed. Positioned exactly where he wanted to be, he raised the stick and swung hard, a slapshot that sent the black disk hurtling toward the net at nearly a hundred miles per hour.
As the puck tipped off the goalie’s glove and hit the net behind him, the buzzer sounded, ending the period. His teammates cheered, sticks raised, as the score went from 2-2 to 3-2. The blue team, white team scrimmage ended with team blue on top. Davis raised his stick and his other hand and hooted into the air.
Some of the players began to celebrate on the ice. The assistant coach for Team USA blew his whistle for the first time since the game began. “This isn’t Youth League, gentlemen. Save your unprofessional partying for the frat house. Hit the showers.”
They gradually made their way to the bench and gathered bags and gear. Davis fell forward as someone knocked into him from behind. As he righted himself, he saw Stan Denney standing right behind him, arms folded over his chest like a guard.
“Problem?” he demanded, slipping his helmet off and tossing it into his bag.
“Sorry, bro. Total accident.” The way Stan glared, Davis could tell that the other man lied. He and Stan had never had a history. They’d met for the first time on the first day of this training camp, so his attitude confused him. Stan had dark brown eyes, black hair kept in dreadlocks, and skin the color of mocha.
“No problem, then.” Davis watched him. Stan smirked. Davis continued, “But just know, if you want to go, I’m up for it.”
He contemplated provoking Stan further, intentionally ramming into him as he went to the locker room, but refrained. That would break his personal code that his altercations got settled in the rink. He wanted to settle whatever this was on his own terms. Instead, he very carefully walked past him so as not to touch him and possibly get himself into trouble. On the outskirts of his brain, though, he could feel a little bit of temper, and he silently started praying for calm.
He went into the dressing room with the rest of the team, no longer two teams separated by the scrimmage, but brothers in arms who all fought for the same team. They joked and talked and chatted with each other as they stripped their gear. Davis winced as he pulled his jersey over his head. Rubbing his hand over his ribs, he prodded and thought he’d likely have to go to bed with an ice pack tonight.
“Denney!” Everyone paused and looked up as the assistant coach called Stan.
“Yo!” Stan hung his skates on the hook in his locker and turned.
“Coach wants you. Now.”
As soon as the message was delivered, the conversations around the room resumed. Davis finished getting undressed and grabbed a towel and his shower kit. Once showered, he finished packing his gear and hefted his bag off the locker room bench just as his phone rang. Without thinking about it, he answered his mother’s call in Korean. “Ann-yeong.”
Speaking in Korean as well, his mother said, “Hello, Davis. We are calling to let you know that we bought our tickets for Korea.”
“Eomma, you should probably have waited until the official team roster is announced.” Speaking to her in her language came naturally to him, and he didn’t even notice the people around him while he talked.
“That’s true, but that’s too close to February. Your father was worried that we wouldn’t be able to get good flights. So, we went ahead and did it now. We’d have gone anyway. Now we just wait to see if we have a reason to be in PyeongChang as well as Seoul.”
He laughed and shut his locker door with his shoulder. “I’ll make sure you have a hotel room in PyeongChang, if necessary. It will be something that VelTech will do because I’ve done this contract with the phones. I know as a sponsor, they’ll have several rooms to give out.”
“That will be very nice, but we can always stay with family if we need to. Davis, we are so proud of you. Do your best. We’ll see you soon. I love you.”
“Bye, Eomma.”
As he hung up the phone, he found Stan staring at him, blocking the exit of the locker room. “Who you talking to?”
“My mother.” He walked forward and stopped in front of Stan. Behind him, he heard conversations slowly come to a stop. “Move, please.”
Stan outweighed him easily by forty pounds, and he had four inches on him. “You gonna make me move, yellow boy?”
For a minute, the words didn’t make sense coming from the mouth of one of his teammates. Some part of him wanted to believe that he didn’t really mean it that way, that Davis himself mistranslated. The insult started stirring anger inside him, but he cooled it off with thoughts of PyeongChang, the Olympic team, and the men slowly stepping up behind him. He would not risk his position here. He would be the better man and not react.
As these thoughts flew through his mind, Stan stepped forward, an angry, aggressive light in his eyes. Davis’ environment slowed around him as the adrenaline increased in that heartbeat. He noticed Stan’s clenched fists, the vein throbbing in his temple, and the sweat on his brow. He also noticed, for the first time, that he wasn’t in a towel or civilian clothes. He still had most of his uniform on. What had he been doing for the last twenty minutes?
Something had just happened. He could see it in the other man’s eyes. Davis just happened to be the first person he came across. Stepping back, he held up his free hand. He also, in the process, stepped closer to the team at his back.
“You want to go? I’m not fighting you here, Stan. I save it all for the ice,” He set his bag down and crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t know what the problem is, but it won’t be me you fight.”
“Don’t want to fight, huh? Well, that’s because you’re yellow in more ways than one.” Stan charged forward, and it took intentional and specific willpower to stand firm. “You’re the problem, you slant-eyed—”
Before he could say another word, starting center John Crist stepped between them. “Save it for the ice, Denney.”
The assistant coach appeared in the doorway behind Stan. “That’s the dinner bell, gentlemen. Denney? What are you doing? Coach told you to clear out your locker. Pack your gear. Let’s get it done.”
Pack his gear? Davis knew the coach planned to start making cuts. No one person was guaranteed a spot, but the fact that the cuts had begun after just one scrimmage match was daunting. Clearly, the rest of the team thought so, too, because the atmosphere around the room changed from charged adrenaline to somber quiet. No one spoke as they all watched Stan walk to his locker and open it, pulling out a duffel bag. Though every eye followed him, no one said so much as a single word. A thick silence replaced the joking and teasing of moments ago.
The assistant coach looked at the lot of them and gestured behind him with his thumb. When he opened his mouth and started speaking, his voice echoed in the silent room. “Dinner, gentlemen. Move it,” he reminded them, and in silence, everyone but Stan Denney filed out of the locker room.
Cora walked up to Ruby and Ivan on the Virginia beach, adjusting her hat more securely on her head. Ruby saw her coming and raised a hand. Ivan whistled and waved and a pair of women who drilled on the other net grabbed their ball and rushed forward.
“Hey,” Cora said, setting her bag next to Ivan’s chair. “Going to be hot today.”
Ruby snorted. “It’s hot now, and it’s seven. Noon is going to kill it.”
“Best drink up, girls,” Ivan said, handing each of them a bottle of water. “We’re going until three today. In addition to beating everyone you face today, I expect you to make every effort to combat dehydration. Got it?” Cora rolled her head on her shoulders and drank half the bottle. He looked her up and down. “How’s the knee, young lady?”
“I ran on the sand this morning. Feels good so far.”
“That’s good.” He nodded and checked his watch. “Clementine? Lead the warm up. We’re going to play full matches.”
The tall brunette stepped in front of them and started counting off stretches. While Cora stretched her shoulders, she thought about the late-night text from Davis last night. They’d started making team cuts already. One other player who played the same position as him had already gotten cut, so she hoped that meant Davis was safe. He clarified that no one was guaranteed a spot until this training camp was over. She knew how it worked. She’d battled her way through tryouts and teams and national competitions her entire life.
It didn’t make it easier.
She realized in the last several days away from him how often she thought of him. What would happen, she wondered, when, on Valentine’s Day, that first hockey match of the Winter Games took place and they officially fulfilled the VelTech contract? Would they lose each other’s number? Or would they come back together in the fall as a couple on the Virginia University campus?
Did she want that? As she stretched her calf muscles, she seriously thought about it and decided that, yes, she definitely wanted that. How to go about letting Davis know, though? As an incredibly pragmatic person, he would want the direct approach. “Hi, Davis, I really like you and want to keep dating you for realz.”
“What did you say?” Ruby asked from her bent over position touching her toes.
Had she said that out loud? Where was her head? Blood rushed to her face that had nothing to do with being bent over at the waist. “Nothing. Just, uh….” Just what? “Just song lyrics.”
They shifted to the other leg and her knee twinged as she stretched.
“Uh-huh. Don’t think I know that song.” Ruby grinned skeptically. They strained through a few more bouncing stretches that made her hamstrings burn. “Maybe leave off the ‘for realz.’ Try to sound like an adult,” Ruby offered.
Cora smiled in embarrassment. Thinking about saying it like that made her chuckle out loud, even as she and Ruby took their places on the court. Digging the balls of her feet into the sand and watching Clementine prepare to serve, she smiled and contemplated what she could do for Davis to make him feel appreciated and respected. As the ball flew through the air, she mentally counted down the days until the Fourth of July when she would see him again.
Davis tapped on the coach’s door and forced himself to cross the threshold at his beckoning. So far, everyone called to the office ended up cleaning out his locker twenty minutes later. He walked up to stand before the coach’s desk, but it felt like this was happening to someone else.
“Elliott. Good. Please, sit.” The coach gestured at the man leaning against the window sill. “I don’t think you’ve had the pleasure. This is our attorney, Mr. Ariel Kaplan.”
Davis lifted his chin in greeting. “Hello, sir.” His voice sounded hoarse. He tried to make enough spit that he could swallow some and clear his dry throat. He wished he could just get on with clearing out his locker without sitting through the humiliation of the cut and the whole ‘take one for the team’ pep talk.
“We’ve had a complaint.” The coach picked up a piece of paper and held it out to him. “We want you to know about it because you’re a popular guy these days, so it’s going to get out there.”
He noticed the tremble in his own hand as he took the paper from the coach and read the letter. At first, the words didn’t make sense, then he started back at the beginning and read slower.
Dear Olympic Committee:
The Team USA hockey team has a player who is only there because he is Korean. This inferior player is being kept on for the purely political reason of his nationality. He is only there to be a poster boy for these games taking place in Korea. I am in the process of filing official charges.
“What?” he skimmed the signature and saw Stan Denney’s name.
Mr. Kaplan straightened. “Please understand, Mr. Elliott, that you are on this team because you are one of the best, if not the best, forward in the country.”
“Kaplan,” the coach scolded. He held out his hand and took the letter back from Davis.
“My apologies,” Kaplan offered. “I got ahead of myself.”
Davis could barely shift gears from the letter to what the men had just said. “I’m on the team?”
Coach shook his head. “No, son. Not yet.” He stood and walked around his desk. Davis found himself standing as well. He had no idea what might happen next. Coach extended his hand and Davis took it. “Davis Elliot, as head coach for Team USA, it is my duty and my great pleasure to inform you that you are the first player identified to represent this great nation in the upcoming Winter Games. You have been added to the roster.”
Coach released his hand and walked back to take his seat behind the desk. He plopped into his chair with a sigh and gestured for Davis to sit back down as well. Once Davis settled back into the chair, he said, “Now you’re on the team. Okay?”
“Thanks, Coach. You won’t regret it.”
Coach sighed again. “I know that, son. I can’t imagine you doing anything to make me regret my decision. Now, just because you’re on the roster doesn’t mean you’ll play. I know you get that. I just want to be very clear about the criteria I used to arrive at our decision to put you on the roster.”
Kaplan interjected, “It has nothing to do with your race.”
Coach nodded. “That’s true, Elliott. This….” He gestured at the letter and his face scowled as if swallowing something that tasted just awful. “This will be investigated. No one who knows you like we do will believe for a second you haven’t earned the right to be here based on every drop of blood you’ve spilled out there. Keep doing what you’re doing, and you have nothing to worry about.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Maybe you do.” Coach sat back. “The entire purpose of the games is unity. It is designed to overcome the kind of bigotry that exists in our world. This… love note here… this is a disgrace and an insult to everything the games represent. It flies in the face of everything I’ve dedicated my life to. We wanted to inform you that this kind of thing is going on and make it very clear to you where we stand.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“No need to thank me. Just give me all you got both on and off the ice.”
Understanding that sentence served as his dismissal, he stood and nodded to the men. The tightness in his chest loosened and he felt much lighter than when he walked in the door. “Count on it, Coach.”
“One last thing,” Mr. Kaplan added. “Please don’t make this a public campaign. Believe it or not, this isn’t the first time we’ve dealt with this kind of thing. Just let us handle it.”
He had no time for social media right now anyway. All excess energy off the ice was spent eating or studying. Even if he wanted to launch some defensive or even offensive campaign, he couldn’t. “Yes, sir.”
“Good,” Coach said. “Go grab some dinner. See you in the morning.”
When he walked down the hall toward the dining room, he encountered John Crist. “You’re not under escort, so I assume that means you’re not cut?”
Davis smiled. “Nope. It was something else.” He looked at his watch. “I know you weren’t out here waiting for me while our dinner hour is fading fast.”
“Nah.” They both knew he was. “I was just getting something I’d forgotten out of my locker.”
Davis slapped him on the back of the shoulder. “Thanks, brother.”
They stepped out of the hockey complex and crossed the yard to the dining facility. He thought about Cora and wondered if he should tell her what happened. Would she even care if it wasn’t about the campaign? A part of him believed she would very much care. Was that just wishful thinking again? Was he projecting who he wanted her to be in his heart instead of the person she really was again, like he’d done when they first met? Or was something really there?
“What was that about?” John asked.
“I’m not sure I can talk about it.” Davis shrugged. “But they didn’t say I couldn’t. It was about bad blood.”
After a second, John asked, “Denney?”
Tightening his lips, Davis considered the question. Finally, he said, “I don’t know what I’m allowed to say, John. Coach wanted me to know he has my back.”
John shoved him off the sidewalk. “At least someone does,” he joked, then slipped his hands into his pockets and sauntered toward the door.
Davis laughed and raced past him, opening the door for him and gesturing with exaggerated movements. Following John into the dining hall, he breathed through his nose and recognized the smell of pasta and red sauce. His stomach growled as he picked up a tray.
Hours later, he lay in his bunk and stared at his phone screen, his eyes burning with exhaustion. He saw nothing so far. Sending a quick status update without a picture, he said:
Deciding that he’d sacrificed enough sleep over a situation over which he had no control, he rolled over and closed his eyes.