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Instead of just pulling away to sit, Everett first mussed Henri’s hair. He tugged at the strands almost too hard and no doubt left it a complete mess. Henri ran his own hand through his hair, not to straighten it but to put his hand where Everett’s had been.

Everett settled across from him, shifting until he was perfectly centered across from Henri. He flashed that trademark grin and put his elbow on the table. Then he winked. “Ready?”

“It’s a trap,” Novak said, appearing at the edge of the table and pushing Everett’s arm away. “Evers always wins. Stop being mean to the new guy.”

“Evers”—the nickname came out more French than he’d intended, earning a quirked eyebrow from Everett—“isn’t mean. Besides,” Henri said more playfully, “even the Great Dylan Everett needs to lose eventually.”

Novak cackled and stepped back, arms raised in surrender. “Hells yeah, Baps. You’re gonna eat those words, but I love the energy.”

Henri put his elbow on the table. Wrapped his hand in Everett’s and noted how big his hand was. Clammy too. When their eyes locked over their joined hands, Henri was the one who winked.

“Bonne chance, mon capitaine,” he said.

He enjoyed Everett’s blush almost as much as he enjoyed slamming Everett’s hand against the table.

The team lost their shit, all of them screaming and several of the guys hugging Henri as they yelled nonsense. The bar erupted in chaos, with Henri at the center of it. He had tears in his eyes that he hoped they thought were from laughter and smiling, when really it was that for the first time in his NHL career, he felt like he was part of a team.

CHAPTER 18

abqturkeysnhl (October 6, 2023): The Turkeys have won their home-opener! The Turkeys beat the Prowlers 3-0, with 2 goals from Everett and 1 goal from Baptiste. Their line combined for a total of 8 points to start the season. Let’s keep it going!

luc-henri-sourit (October 6, 2023): BAPTISTE SMILED THREE TIMES IN THIS GAME ALONE I’M CRYING MY BABY’S BACK

turkeytalk (October 25, 2023): The turkeys have won their first EIGHT GAMES of the season. Is it too early to say that we’re back? Yes? Well too damn bad - WE’RE BACK BABY

↪ gobblegoals: it’s too early, you’re going to jinx it. DO NOT RUIN THIS FOR US.

Henri was exhausted. A good kind of exhausted. Yes, they’d traveled clear across the country to Toronto, but it wasn’t the plane ride. Henri’s head was pretty clear, none of the jet lag mental haze that typically got worse as the season drew on. It was his body that felt the familiar ache of hard work, both on and off the ice.

The training regime. The games. The practices. In recent years, he’d dreaded this feeling, worried it would make him sluggish and lead to mistakes. The Turkeys were doing well—he was doing well—so he wasn’t as concerned. He chose to see the slight burn in his legs as a sign that he was ‘putting in the work’ as Coach Krzysztofek still reminded him.

And it was paying off, thank fuck. Every time he got a point, every time he ended a shift without getting scored on, it did wonders to chip away at the vice around his chest.

He wasn’t doing spectacularly, though. He was putting up modest numbers, mostly due to Dylan Everett being phenomenal at scoring. It was enough to keep him high among the Turkeys’ points leaders, as his father proudly mentioned each time he called.

“You’re doing well this year, mon ti-loup,” he’d said just that morning. “I am going with the neighbors to the game next week when you’re in town. We are all so happy to see you doing well!”

Which was exactly what nagged at Henri. He should’ve been doing well the whole damn time. He’d had months of goal droughts. Weeks without any points. Benched once or twice out of a frustration that he and his coaches had shared. His father should’ve had reason to be proud of his NHL son all the time, not on rare occasions.

When he’d been drafted, Henri had assumed he’d be doing better than this. Certainly better than he had previously, but also better than he was doing now. His expectations had burst so suddenly, so publicly, as the league liked to drag him through the mud over and over again…

Exhaustion was good. He was earning his keep.

He hadn’t earned his keep in Toronto. He’d been out for two of the Terrors’ goals, including on the penalty kill. They’d lost, narrowly, and Henri was beating himself up because if he’d been just a bit better on those plays, he could’ve stopped that.

So now he was at the hotel bar, knowing they had an early flight to Quebec but needing to mope somewhere less depressing than his silent room.

Henri hated scrolling the NHL website to see how his stats were affected. He hated that he was watching those plays on repeat, his misses and the Terrors’ goals, when he’d already gone over them with the coaches (and no doubt would again on the plane). He needed to put in the work so that this was a blip and not a downward trend.

Maybe if he nipped it in the bud early enough⁠—

“This seat taken?”

Henri pulled his phone close to his chest to hide the screen. “Huh?” he asked.

Everett took the seat next to him. The bar was mostly empty despite it being only 8 p.m., so his choice to sit by Henri was definitely intentional. Did he want company, or think Henri did?

“What’re we drinking tonight?” Everett spun Henri’s beer around to read the label and made a face. “Molson? Babe,” he said with mock disapproval.