When Jake sends him a text that just consists of a string of idiotic smileys, David sends back Congratulations., and doesn’t let it burn in him. He tries not to, at least.

The Islanders’ season starts in much the same way the last season had, perhaps a little better: a handful of wins, a handful of losses. Kurmazov is playing strong and David tries to be a part of that, hand him the passes he needs, take the passes he gives, counter the poor defence and worse goaltending and make something of themselves. It works sometimes, doesn’t work other times, and David tries not to let it frustrate him, but no matter how well he plays, no matter how well his line plays, they lose as much as they win.

It’s a few weeks into the season, just long enough to settle, when Jake texts him. Jake texts him all the time, has since David left Toronto, sometimes inane chatter David sees no point in responding to, sometimes decently intelligent hockey talk David finds interesting, but this text sets a stone in his belly.

excited for trmw ;), is waiting for David when the Islanders land in Sunrise, and David doesn’t know how he’s supposed to respond to that. He sends nothing, in the end. Jake will see him on the ice.

*

It’s ugly. There’s no other way to describe it. It’s an ugly game against a team that doesn’t care about fighting fair if playing dirty means they win. It starts ugly, and it stays ugly, and nothing about it comes out right in the end.

The aggression starts early, fourth line scuffles that don’t turn into full-fledged fights but notch up the tension on the benches. The refs start looking wary, stern-faced, one of them leaning over the bench to talk to Kurmazov.

“Rein your boys in,” he says. “The next time any of you so much as tap a Panther, I’m calling it.”

He’s as good as his word, though Barker does a little more than tap, Petrovic vehemently gesturing at the refs with blood on his fingers after a stray stick to the face. Barker sits the four minutes, but they’re only shorthanded for the first three, because the Panthers aren’t interested in playing nice either.

Lourdes is arguing as he’s gestured toward the penalty box, but as far as hooks go, catching David around the middle with the blade of his stick the second he managed to skim toward a shorthanded breakaway is pretty blatant. David watches, jaw set, and looks away when Lourdes meets his eyes from the box.

The locker room’s tense after the first, all clenched jaw, grit tooth silence. The Panthers get under David’s skin in a way they shouldn’t, he knows that, but he isn’t the only one annoyed right now. When you’re trying to avoid being dead last, losing to a team that’s even worse leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

The refs’ warnings basically go unheard, and instead of continuing to make calls, they sit back on their hands and take no one, let it play out: more hits than shots on net, David’s ribs stinging from a stray elbow, Barker furious with the refs, blood down his chin. The ref tells him to wipe it off or they’ll send him to the locker room. David doesn’t hear what Barker says in response, too far down the bench, but it ends with a game misconduct, the Islanders down a man, and Kurmazov loses his temper so spectacularly he almost follows Barker down the tunnel.