David’s consistent. David hasn’t gone more than two straight games this season without a point, and he may not have those flashy nights that Lourdes does, but at least he’s still producing. His points are creeping closer to Lourdes’ by the game, the two of them almost neck and neck, and David can practically taste metal against his lips, the Calder Trophy so close he could reach out and touch it.

It’s out of his system, and the only place he’s going to see Lourdes is on the ice, one more game between them this season, one more chance to even the score, for the Islanders and for David, and then he won’t have to see him until the Awards, until he’s snatching that trophy from under his entitled, smirking face.

When Florida comes for their final bout of the season, the Islanders are busy licking their wounds after a long, brutal trip to the West Coast. Metaphorically, because they only managed to pull three points out of the extended mess, but physically too, because Dallas makes up for any lack of skill they have by trying to take out their opponents at the knees. Literally, in Burgess’ case; he’s going to sit out the rest of the season on the IR, and the last thing they needed right now was to lose one of their top defencemen.

Playing the Panthers is a relief after that catastrophe, and they win it. It’s ugly, nothing any of them are going to be bragging about, but it’s a chance to even the score against the Panthers and it gives them two more desperately needed points if they even want to think about playoff contention.

The atmosphere in the room after isn’t one of victory but of a fundamental sense of relief, Kurmazov walking around to share a few quiet words with individual players, everyone taking a deep breath for the first time since they left for that doomed road trip. David lets the relief settle in him while he showers the sweat off, leaning his forehead against cool tile. It was nothing like the rout Florida handed them earlier in the season, but points are the only thing that matter, and they’re square now.

No one’s talking about going out for victory drinks. The West Coast trip has left them all drained, and the fathers and husbands filter out quickly, the single guys making plans for a Madden marathon the next day. No one invites David, which is fine. He’s not much for video games. He’ll use the time off tomorrow to get a little conditioning in — something he doubts anyone else would want to do, unless it’s conditioning their thumbs to better work a joystick.

Benson belatedly starts to talk about going out, but the locker room is half-empty by the time he does. David ducks out as well, stopping short when he catches Lourdes leaning against the far wall, hair damp but otherwise put together, though his tie’s hanging a little crooked.