Page 19 of The Off Limits Captain
The drill resets.
Evan leans on his stick near the blue line, smiling like he has discovered a private joke. Ryan does not look at him. He does not need to.
“McKinney,” Ryan says.
“I am a model citizen.”
“You are in the wrong lane.”
“Creatively.”
“Wrong creatively is still wrong.”
Colt laughs so hard he misses the first pass. The puck hits his shin guard and pops sideways. Samantha Cole catches it on camera from the bench tunnel, her lens moving from Colt’s grin to Ryan’s unimpressed profile.
Ryan sees the camera without turning his head.
I write: Knows where every eye is.
Then I cross out every and write most.
Because he has not found mine yet.
That should not please me.
It does.
The next sequence moves faster. Shift-change drill. Forty seconds hard, then off. I watch Ryan control tempo without owning every puck. He points once at Roman, two fingers down. Roman drops lower before the pass arrives. Zach looks over his shoulder before Ryan speaks. Colt adjusts his angle because Ryan’s stick blade opens by half an inch.
It is not command in the obvious sense.
It is gravity.
Even here, on open ice, the team moves around him.
I forget to write.
That is dangerous.
I force my pen back to the page.
Captain as pressure valve.
Below, Evan breaks structure again.
This time it works.
He jumps the middle, steals the pass, and sends a ridiculous backhand feed to Finn, who buries it and immediately celebrates like the drill is a legally binding playoff series.
“O’Sullivan,” Coach Sully barks. “You scored in practice; you did not overthrow a government.”
Finn points at Evan. “He started it.”
Evan lifts both hands. “I inspire excellence.”
Ryan skates past my side of the rink and finally looks up.
Not long.
