Caldwell suggests an icebreaker to start, more like summer camp than training camp, everyone going around in a circle and talking about what their expectations are, what they specifically want to improve.

“This is fucking stupid,” Merchant, sitting to David’s left, says under his breath. David agrees, but says nothing. Partly because Caldwell has a reputation, and partly because Merchant does. David doesn’t particularly want to get involved with either.

“No one fucking asked you, dickwad,” Vopni mutters back, and Merchant shoves him.

“This is not preschool,” Caldwell snaps. “Grow up or I’ll throw you out. We’ve got a waiting list, it’s not too late to replace you.”

Merchant rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say anything else, and they get around the stupid circle, saying what they want to improve — everything, in David’s case — before Caldwell tells them to pair up and learn five things about their partner before ten minutes have passed.

“Is he sure this isn’t preschool?” Merchant mumbles.

“Can still kick you out, Merchant,” Caldwell says without even looking at him, and Merchant’s teeth click shut, a look of panic on his face that has half the room laughing.

“We may only be here a month, but you’re going to be a team while we are. Maybe you hate a guy you’re about to play on a line with. Maybe he sprained your ankle, or you insulted his mama. But I will be damned if Majors beats me this year, so you will act like a goddamn team. Do you understand? You don’t want to do this, that’s fine, it’s your money and we can replace you within the day. But if you do, you’ll shut the fuck up and do what you’re told.”

“Sir yes sir,” Vopni says, saluting.

Caldwell rolls his eyes. “Partner up.”

Despite their shoving match earlier, Vopni and Merchant partner, along with the players on David’s right, which seems like cheating, since they already knew each other well enough to ask about each other’s home lives. David looks around the room for someone he knows, even just by name, or who doesn’t seem to be already in conversation, but he’s still searching when Lourdes walks up to him, stopping short once he’s a foot away.

“Can I sit?” Lourdes asks, and David stares at him for a moment before he gestures to the empty spot beside him.

Lourdes sits down, knee touching David’s, and David swallows, hard. “What are you doing here?” David asks, looking at the floor.

“Same as you,” Lourdes says. “Getting training.”

“You’re American,” David says, looking up. “Isn’t it a bit of a trip?”

Lourdes blinks. “You do know Detroit’s like, the same distance from Toronto as Ottawa is, right?”

David chews his lip.

“Look,” Lourdes says. “I know you like — I know you hate me, or whatever. But apparently we’re on a team for awhile, so maybe we can call a truce?”

“It isn’t a real team,” David says.

Lourdes’ mouth quirks. “Or maybe we can’t,” he says, finally.